Dear Kid,

My body and I are arguing a lot these days.

Body: Let’s eat cake!
Me: No.
Body: Let’s eat cookies!
Me: No.
Body: Let’s eat chocolate!
Me: No.
Body: Remind me again why I hang out with you?

Me: Tell the fat cells to go.
Body: Not so much.
Me: This is an eviction notice for the fat cells.
Body: But they live here!
Me: That’s the point. They are no longer welcome.
Body: I think I’ll keep them anyway.

Me: Get up and get moving.
Body: I got up and got moving yesterday.
Me: We have to do it again.
Body: I beg to differ.
Me: It’s not really optional.
Body: Yeah? Just try moving without me.

Body: I hurt.
Me: You don’t hurt. We went to the gym yesterday.
Body: I hurt.
Me: You feel energized.
Body: I think we’re using a different dictionary.

Body: It is time to eat.
Me: We just ate.
Body: It is time to eat again.
Me: It is time to clean the kitchen.
Body: My idea is better.
Me: True. But…
Body: So we eat!
Me: No.
Body: The cookies are tempting….
Me: Yes, but…
Body: We could just have one.
Me: Now I know you’re toying with me.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Still having Fitbit issues.

As a fashion accessory, I love it. It’s chic, it’s purple, and it’s mine.

As a toy, it’s fantastic. I push the button and I get all sorts of data. Heaven.

As a tracker of calories, I’m pretty sure we have a colossal #Fail.

Lemme ‘splain.

I am what you might call “an active person.” For example, yesterday I did all sorts of physically active things.

I sat. I stood. I walked. I wandered. I showered. I sat some more. I baked. I ate. I drank. I watched TV. I ate some more. I walked the Puppy. I wrote. I read what I wrote. I read things I didn’t write. I cleaned (not really). I sorted. I tracked. I went to the gym. I worked out. I texted. I telephoned. I washed the Puppy. I glared. I growled. I grimaced. I grinned. I coffeed. I calculated. I computed.

In short, I used a lot of verbs.

According to my highly scientific assessment and calculations, I burned 4,827 calories yesterday. According to my Fitbit, I burned 62.

Just kidding. My Fitbit said I burned 1,628 calories.

Either way, do you see my problem? There is a HUGE discrepancy!

I prefer my methodology to Fitbit’s algorithm.

No, that’s not exactly true. I don’t really care which method we use. I just like my answer better.

According to my logic, I lost 8 pounds yesterday. According to my scale, I need to wear stretchy-waist pants.

Which means my scale and my Fitbit are in cahoots.

If those two little devices are collaborating, we are in really big trouble.

But being a generous kind of girl, I’m giving my Fitbit another chance.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I am now officially a member of the Fitbit world.

Since I am new to Fitbit-ness, I am still trying to figure out how it works.

And I have a LOT of questions.

Like:

How does the Fitbit calculate calories burned when snuggling the Puppy? It can take a lot of energy to absorb all that love. Does Fitbit know that?

Can a Fitbit account for the difference between calories (and by “calories” I mean “chocolate”) eaten in annoyance versus calories eaten for pleasure versus calories eaten for sustenance? Clearly, they are not all the same, but I don’t know if Fitbit is tracking my consumption correctly.

Does my Fitbit measure running on a treadmill, running on the track, and running late at the same rate?

Is there a different formula for walking in sneakers versus walking in 4 inch stilettos? There should be. Especially if the stilettos have scrunchy toes.

How does a Fitbit know if I’m biking? My arms aren’t moving (usually) and my feet are just going round and round. Do I still get credit?

How does the Fitbit measure the impact of the crazy, sadistic physical therapy exercises? (And by “exercises” I mean whatever gadget they choose to use to shove my leg muscles around.) I would assume there is a lot of energy being burned there, what with all the screaming (mine) and yelling (also mine).

What about pushups or leg curls? How do I tell my Fitbit to count that kind of exercise?

Or gum chewing? How does the Fitbit account for the incredible number of calories I burn chomping on Trident?

And thinking. Thinking burns a lot of, well, a lot of something. For instance, how does the Fitbit tell the difference between sitting and watching bad reality TV (no effort) and sitting and contemplating bad reality TV (a great deal of effort)?

These are important questions. I hope someone has correspondingly important answers.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Did I mention the sheer quantity of food I’ve encountered in Dallas? It’s been good, but mostly there’s been an excessive amount of it.

Fortunately, the hotel has a Fitness Center. Well, more Center than fitness. Actually, more Ness than Fit.

It has perfect music—if your idea of great music to work out to is Harry Chapin and elevator jazz.

Despite the now-it’s-working-now-it’s-not aspect of the elliptical, I managed to get a decent workout in.

And by “decent” I mean I burned at least 87 calories.

Did I mention the abundance of food? I figure I ate at least 8,700 calories today. Before we went out for dinner.

So clearly, working out made a huge difference.

I probably lost at least 3 pounds, right?

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

My arms got fat during the night. Specifically, my right arm got fat during the night.

Not a bug bite, not swollen, just fat.

My arms, which looked quasi-normal last night, look Quasimodo this morning.

Me: Do my arms look fat?
Dad: Huh?
Me: Do my arms look fat to you?
Dad (without looking up): You’re gorgeous
Me: Seriously, do my arms look fat to you?
Dad (sensing landmines): Gotta go walk the Puppy
Me: He was walked and fed an hour ago! Coward.
Dad (under his breath): You betcha
Me: My arm muscles are drooping and you’re evading the issue

The next sound was that of the door closing as he escaped the house.

I went back to the mirror. It lies all the time, but at least it doesn’t have the option of leaving the conversation.

Mirror, mirror on the wall…

I made a pump-your-bicep pose. All my fat cells applauded and then brought friends to watch the entertainment. My arms drooped 6 inches lower.

The mirror smirked. Showing great restraint, I did not throw a shoe at the mirror. I value my shoes too much. And I’m not sure my enormous arms would have let me.

I called my friend Bev.

Me: I think each of my arms gained 20 pounds overnight
Bev: I hate when that happens. I have racoons in my chimney

I have great friends.

Amazingly, my clothes fit fine. I glared at the mirror. It continued to smirk as I left the room.

You do not have a mirror that lies to you and smirks about it.

See how easy your life is?

Love, Mom