Sam-I-Am,
That Sam-I-Am.
How I love my Sam-I-Am.
I could eat him up with jam.
Happy Birthday, Sam-I-Am.
No secret, I've been going to Weight Watchers* for seven weeks and one of my biggest supporters is my now-11-year-old son, Sam.
I hadn't seen him for three weeks because his father was on holidays and had the kids with him on the weekends I normally would have had them. (Missed them fierce, by the way.) Sam never forgot that I was on a diet, though, always remembering to ask me, "how much did you lose this week, Mom?"
When I finally saw him on Friday he said, "You even LOOK skinnier."
Fine words, those. Of course I had to milk it. "Oh yeah?" sez I. "Where exactly do I look skinnier?"
He looked me up and down, analyzing, then said, "Your outline is skinnier."
(I got him a really, really good birthday present.)
* There was no meeting here on Monday, which is my WW night, because of the Labour Day holiday so I haven't been weighed for almost two weeks. Except for Sam's birthday cake, a hot dog at the drive-in (that wasn't even very good - does that count?) and a pot luck last Sunday, I have been on plan. I'm hoping for a few more pounds down the drain to make that outline of mine even skinnier.
