Nothing special, just a restful weekend.
I made pizza for my parents yesterday. Thanks, Martha Stewart. Lately, my dinners have been so-so. I have realized that I am not a good cook. I can bake, but I'm really not a great cook. The hubs has lovingly started cooking, taking some work off of my hands. His food is a-ma-zing. His secret: fat. He is willing to deep fry things and smother them in butter, and he chooses thinks like pork chops and steak rather than lean turkey and chicken. I close my eyes to pretend that the food is healthy. I refuse to believe the calories count when your husband makes dinner.
Thankfully, my husband is also a fabulous personal trainer, so we headed off to the gym after lunch. I am never excited about going to the gym, but since we've been working out fairly consistently for the past few months, I can see some great changes. I feel a lot healthier, and it's helping our marriage because we're interested in this together.
Today, I think my body realized the Lord set aside this day to be a day of rest. I am completely exhausted. I barely woke up for church, and have had zero energy all day.
Our pastor included a story of a teacher who specially touched a student's life, a boy who had lost his mother to cancer. I realize the story was one often included in email forwards, but I could not help the waterworks. I love a good teacher story. I've seen all the movies. It doesn't matter how cheesy the plot is, how terrible the acting, how predictable the ending: if it's an inspirational tale of a teacher reaching out to her students, I will cry. Every. Single. Time.
It's 8:42. I'm going to bed.