Dark night. Chill in the air. Light fog. Raging fire. This is just for me.

When I started this series on health and well-being, I had all of the elements I needed to begin to improve my lifestyle except for “something just for me.”

I didn’t realize that I was over-thinking it and I already had a brilliant “just for me.”

I was thinking it would need to be something like knitting or gardening or (racks brain for something self-focused) polishing my nails. I looked for something engrossing and active, something to draw my mind into itself, a release propelled by a focus on repetitively minding details while simultaneously minding nothing. Definitely a “do something” something just for me.

Nope. I was wrong. This time. Again.

I’ve been building fires. We bought a lot on the bayou last year with a dream home in mind. So far, all it holds is a wooden playset from a generous new neighbor and a fire pit, both at the water’s edge. The lot is one of those opportunities we recognized because we were open to it, though certainly not ready for it. It may well remain an empty lot for years to come, but it’s ours. And it is on the water.

We have spent the last nine months slowly clearing the lot of overgrown vegetation and dead trees. Raised in a family that adored backyard fire pits, I carefully saved every single scrap of wood and made sure every tree was chopped to ridiculously pedantic firewood specifications. And then promptly never built a fire.

Apparently, one way to get back on track physically and emotionally is to hit the figurative reset button. I inadvertently did just that last week and, while I don’t recommend it, I’ll share with you my results.

Where is our reset button, you ask? I’m guessing somewhere in the region of our tummies. While I’m not sure how to hit it deliberately the first time, I’m quite sure that kneeling in your bathroom for hours on end has something to do with repeating the hit.

Yeah, I got the stomach flu.

Mere hours after publishing my last post full of high hopes of healthier living, all three of my children came down with the stomach flu. Each within an hour of the last. Despite making every effort to head it off, my husband and I caught the bug within days ourselves.

I can’t help but think that had my new water-drinking habit been more established even a week prior, I may have stood a chance of flushing it out of my system. But no such luck.

And the diet soda gods laugh.

Not so fast, ye gods of carbonation. Hear that? That is the sound of ice slowly cracking, melting in my water bottle as I type. Oh ye of little faith, I have kicked my diet soda habit cold turkey. With the help of what I’ll call the “Soda Bug.”

“Work it, Beyoncé!” My shoulders imperceptibly tensed as the anticipated low whistle sailed behind me across our neighborhood convenience store. I know how to play this game, so game-face on.

In one practiced motion, I grabbed the handle of the drink case, lowering my chin as I turned my head to shoot a targeted look over my shoulder. Just as the case door fully opened, I sassed, “Don’t you know it.” Then, turning my back to the three teasing men in line at the counter, I laughed, “You better watch yourself. You don’t want this kind of trouble.”

They always seem genuinely surprised at a mouth sized to match. And they always meet it with good humor rather than salacious flirting. I know this game by heart.

I have a big butt. I used to have a fine booty. Once, while leaving a movie theater alone, some college boys bounced a quarter off my behind. I should have been appalled. Instead, I kept walking as though I hadn’t noticed, fully satisfied at their wolf whistles. That’s right, boys, it works just like that.

Sigh. The metabolism gods caught on to me and things just don’t work quite like that anymore.

“You know what I see when I look at you, Mom?” Grey, five years old, grabs my hand in the dark of the movie theater, jostled from behind as the crowd exits.

The apples of his cheeks glow in the flickering light as he looks up at me. He looks so earnest. “What, sugar?”

“I see you are beautiful, Mom.” He squeezes my hand and, satisfied, nods to himself as he looks forward, toward his older brother entering the lobby. I can already tell Quinn is not going to want to talk about this movie.

Do you know how hard it is to find a movie that elicits applause from the audience as the end credits begin to roll? A movie you love so hard you just have to clap in thanks? As though it could hear you and blush in appreciation.

My final Canon PIXMA post, folks, the one where I go “Oh my Christmas cookies, Canon IS Santa!” and save Christmas by a pixel. Read this if you want to 1) save Christmas or 2) feel superior to me in your Christmas preparedness. We’ll see who’s laughing on Christmas.  ;)

Ladies and gentlemen, we have officially reached The Last Minute. It’s too late to order gifts from Amazon without paying $9.99 per item expedited shipping and I don’t feel like giving everyone gift cards printed on a piece of paper.

Sure, I could go out shopping, but I have three kids and I’m not into torture. I’m willing to make one trip to maybe one or two spots and that’s it, so I need to make them count.

Did I mention that I haven’t even begun Christmas shopping?! Right. This month has been one of those months (as evidenced by my dearth of posts on my lovely blog here) and I’m thisclose to calling it. But you can’t. Not on Christmas. You have to bring it.

Now, how am I going to pull on heartstrings and do it through roughly two hours of effort? I’m going to kneel at the altar of my Canon PIXMA printer and create heartstring-yanking gifts that keep on giving: photo gifts!

We can do this, people.

What do we need?