Off the wagon, off the treadmill

I never, ever look this happy while exercising.

A couple of months ago, Scott and I realized we were in need of a change. Turns out, the happier you are in a marriage, the fatter you get. And believe me, we're pretty happy. Our arteries, however, probably cry themselves to sleep on their little blood cell pillows. (Would it make more sense if the arteries slept on nerve ending pillows instead?)

So our master lifestyle overhaul began. The usual residents of our fridge like cheese, Tacquitos, ice cream and Vanilla Coke were replaced with lettuce, fish, carrots and low-fat mayo. It kind of looked like that commercial where the corndog parachutes out of the fridge with the lettuce leaf — except for more weeping on our end and less bossiness from a bottle of Ensure.

It was tough at first. We would a hallucinate about dancing bowls of macaroni and cheese or large pans of brownies, dream of the chocolate torte one chef prepared on Top Chef, linger too long on the cookie and chips aisle, break out into a cold sweat whenever anyone mentioned Nutella (OK, maybe that was just me). That was the withdrawal phase. It doesn't help that we watch a lot of food-centered TV, like Top Chef, Next Food Network Star, and several other Food Network shows — not to mention we get Food Network and Food & Wine magazines. (We're addicted!)

In addition to our diet remodel, we began to exercise — 30 minutes on the treadmill everyday. At first, I was less than a happy camper. Not only did this mean I had to give up 30 minutes of precious sleep, but it also meant I had to run — and there is a reason I have never been or ever claimed to be an athlete. Physical activity and I do not get along. I have no coordination, poor reflexes and low levels of team spirit. We just weren't meant to be. With each pounding of my (rarely-ever-worn-before) tennis shoes on the treadmill's ever-moving conveyor belt, I would think "I hate this. I hate this. I hate this."

Slowly but surely, we began to see results. No longer were we staring with mouths agape while watching the Barefoot Contessa whip up lobster mac and cheese. (That's a bold-faced lie, but anyone with eyes and taste buds would do the same.) Running became easier and more of a welcome addition to our routine and not a sleep thief. We were feeling healthier and lighter. Clothes fit better, and we felt less tired throughout the day. Our hard work was paying off.

And then it hit.

Vacation.

I know what you're thinking: "But, Jennifer, vacation is a good thing." Yes, vacation is a good thing — a good thing for lounging, eating, lounging while eating and eating while lounging. It's also a fantastic motivation thief. And that's just what it did. While we were in Panama City, we decided it was good for us to take a little vacation from our diet/exercise plan too. Nothing wrong with a week off, right?

Now, two and a half weeks on this side of vacation, we're still struggling to get back into our routine. We've fallen off the exercise wagon. (Is it on the wagon or off the wagon?) Or treadmill, in this case.

So we're in need of some motivation, some spurring on. We felt so much better while we were sticking to it, but now my mindset is that, we've undone it this much, why start up again? I'm open to any suggestions you might have, especially if it includes large plates of pasta and a DVR-emptying TV marathon.

Lucky streak

I've always fallen into the "I never win anything" category. Until lately, the best prize I'd ever won was a beach towel featuring a cartoon duck named Quacker who had a very short-lived children's book series. I did a killer duck impression. (I know it's hard to imagine, but I was a pretty big attention hog as a kid.)

However, thanks to my avid blog reading, I've won a couple of good prizes lately. (I'm proudest of my $50 JCrew gift card and $75 DSW gift card. Scott likes that I got a cardigan and two pairs of shoes for $10 total.) Scott and I were able to take advantage of another one of my winnings on Saturday — a free photo session with Cassie Jones Photography. I'm always giving Scott a hard time, saying we never get our picture taken, so I was very excited to toss every excuse he could come up with out the window. After all, you can't turn down free, right? (It was here that I was going to say how long it had been since we'd actually had our pictures taken professionally, but it wasn't a staggering amount of time and made my argument look weak, so we're going to leave that out.)

We had a great time with Cassie. It's great when your photographer is also a friend. It takes away the slight awkwardness that comes with lurking around downtown, PDA-ing* with your husband, and having someone staring at you from behind a camera. Because, honestly, what could be awkward about that?

Want to see more pictures of Scott and me looking unbearably adorable? Click here!

*"Public display of affection" for those who a) never went to church camp or b) never attended middle school.

Relax and enjoy

That's what Frankie says...

I think I might be a bit of a hypochondriac. The imaginary sickness I've been battling lately is baby fever. It seems like everyone I know is pregnant or just had a baby, except me — a fact I'm all too quick to remind Scott. I'm ready to be a mom, and I push Scott to be as ready to be a dad, but he's not. In our young marrieds class at church yesterday, it was brought up how sometimes you just have to stop worrying, stop dwelling on the past or worrying about the future and relax and enjoy this moment, because, thankfully, we have it so good — right now.

I let a lot of this present good go to waste pining for the future to hurry up and be here. I had a middle school teacher who would say "You're wishing your life away" whenever we'd whine that we were ready for that afternoon, ready for the weekend, ready for summer... there's a lot of wonderful that happens in those times we wish would hurry up and pass us by.

My new mantra is to relax and enjoy. There is a time for everything, after all, and I will not only accept but rejoice that this is my time to be wife, to have Scott all to myself, to get eight full hours of sleep. And when the next chapter comes, I won't regret that I missed a lot of good rushing to get somewhere else.

Meet Elizabeth Hunter

This precious little ball of pink is Miss Elizabeth Hunter, the newest member of the Pruitt family. Hunter's mommy and daddy, McKenna and Michael, are our dearest couple friends ("couple friends": defined as those who are willing to spend most Sunday nights dining out and playing Friends Scene It!, who cause much laughter and happiness, and who share in the common joys and occasional difficulties in the blessed union of marriage, letting you know that most marriages don't look like those in the movies). Scott and I are so blessed to have them as our friends. After all, a couple who can recite an appropriate "Friends" quote for any situation is hard to find.

I know it's easy for me to say, seeing as I haven't been toting an ever-growing human inside of my body, but it seems like just yesterday that Michael and McKenna told us they were expecting and that Hunter was no bigger than a hockey puck (according to Tarzan’s Ultimate Guide To Baby Sizes Week-By-Week For Soon-To-Be Fathers). And now, here she is. Much cuter than a hockey puck.

Obviously, pregnancy usually ends in a baby and is not a permanent state (for which I'm sure McKenna is grateful), but it amazes me that yesterday there was no baby and today there is.

Hunter, I want you to know that, if you promise to hug me when you see me and make "Jennifer," "Jen" or any variation of my name at least your fifth word (I'll take "blsstt..." if that's the best you can manage), I will always have candy for you. And, if you bat your eyes just right and wrap your little hand around Scott's finger, I'm sure you and your magical baby ways could convince him to say "OK" to getting you a playmate sometime soon. Just saying.

Happy birthday, Hunter. Your mommy and daddy are pretty spectacular!

Running

[While deciding if we would run while on vacation]

Scott: How do you run? I don't know if you could keep up with me.

Me: I run like a velociraptor.

Scott: What?

[Insert demonstration where I jog in place with my wrists awkwardly bent down making little velociraptor claws.]

Scott: Yeah, we're not running together.

Side note: At least I don't run like Phoebe.

"I can do anything good!"

Is it sad that some days I have to take my motivational cues from a four year old dancing in her bathroom?

Fireproof

Scott and I joined a new Sunday morning class back in January for young married couples. We've really loved being a part of a class from the beginning and have loved getting to know the people around us. Our group has couples who have been married nine months to 10 years and all the varieties in between. I love leaving feeling closer to God, Scott and my class once the last bell rings.

Last week we began a series based on the movie "Fireproof" and corresponding Sunday evening small groups this week. So far, I'm really loving it.

Yesterday, we talked about loving your spouse as God loves you. This is something I'm admittedly lazy at. While we were getting ready for church yesterday, I was telling Scott how he needed less negative to me and everything would be better. He needed to change. He needed to be better.
There are so many ways that I fall absolutely flat on my face when it comes to loving God like I should and obeying his commands. Yet he doesn't sit on his throne looking down on me saying, "Well, if you did this and this and this, you and I would get along better." He loves me unconditionally.

Yes he wants me to improve, yes he wants me to love him like I should, but he takes care of me and fulfills my needs, hoping I will look to him and realize my short comings and want to change because of his good and perfect love.

That is how I'm supposed to love Scott. Telling him to love me in a certain way won't fulfill my needs like letting him love me will. If I learn to love him like the Lord loves me, then he will give me the love I need and so much more.

Luke 6:38 says, "Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."

If I give love like that to Scott, to God, it will be "poured into [my] lap." It doesn't say if you ask, nag, pester, accuse... it says give.

This week, I pray that I can give Scott the love he deserves, to love him as my Father loves me.