New Year's Day

I didn't make it to the ball drop. I fell asleep around 11:30 and I was content. We had no plans. No snowy cabin. No streets filled with people swarming like ants, making out just as randomly with champagne breath. No, the most attractive plan for Maya and Me was to just hunker down, eat nachos and (drumline please) watch some bowl games. We had the grandparents over (I'm their fault) and had nachos, assembly line style.
My Mom asked if she could bring anything over beforehand and I seized the opportunity to enlist her as an accomplice in violating the first rule of my now fading diet regime. "Would you pick up some of that nasty nacho cheese in a jar please?"
My wife shot me a "I won't let this happen. Not on my watch.", sort of glance. It was the kind that says, "I'm not going to make a big deal of this now, lest I appear overly controlling and oppressive in front of your mother, but I will get you back for this later. OH yes, I will make you pay." Now it might seem just a tad over reactive for just a jar of nasty nacho cheese. But to understand things in their full context well, you have to know the full context.
I applied for life insurance about a year and a half ago. My triglyceride count was through the roof and it cost US. I thought I was in fairly good shape, but these triglyceride numbers were through the roof. So I try the latest pharmaceutical concoction from my doctor who professes to "be hesistant to use them unless absolutely necessary" and then waits for me to say yes to them like a car salesman. They helped, a little. So now he says I should try a diet and exercise. Duh, I could've told him that. Only one problem. That means I have to diet and exercise.
Ok, so Maya and I sign up for weight watchers. She is losing weight form her second pregnancy. She needs my support and my new health crisis is like a weapon of mass destruction for Dick Cheney. We report five minutes late. (Rounding up the kids, diapers, snacks, etc will make another great blog at a later date.) We have to go in shifts because we're afraid. Afraid to remove tanner's glued eyes from the five inch DVD playing CARS in the back of the car. Afraid the baby will cry and we won't be able to soothe him. When Maya returns from her journey, she gives me a slough of directions to follow. Needless to say, when I walk in I'm lost. Luckily one of the nice ladies helps me and I obey the customary procedure: remove your shoes and weigh in like a black angus steer. Then have your score dutifully recorded in your log book.
So, we stopped going after about three or four weeks and then consciously weighed ourselves on the bathroom scale, recording our weight on the calendar until we decayed, subliminally of course, into subconsciously ignoring the whole weight thing all together.
She corned me as I tried to return to the house, defenseless with a stack of firewood under both arms, and delivered her guilt ridden ultimatum: "Sure, you can have the nacho cheese, but then you can't have any beer then." As I tucked the kids in and bade farewell to the grandfolk, I kept noticing the Nacho cheese on the counter. The lid was still sunken in at the top and the cheese extended nearly to the lid. I reflected that the answer to our successful marriage was right there, vacuum sealed inside that nasty nacho cheese jar. We look out for each other. We've got each other's back even when it's inconvenient or even painful. I tucked the nasty nacho cheese jar back deep into the cabinet with pride.