A lighthearted look at the struggle we all go through from New Years Eve to bathing suit season. I'm thinking I might not be the only one here...

The Perils Of Summer

The time of reckoning has come. The grass is young and green, flowers bloom everywhere. The birds have come back, noisily nesting in the woods outside my window. The black flies are back too, swarming over any bit of exposed flesh.

And it’s this exposed flesh that’s the problem. In fact, it’s an all-out crisis. Tank tops, shorts and most devastating of all — bathing suit season — has arrived. And I’m in BIG (and I do mean big) trouble.

You see, I truly believed that New Years Eve pledge I made — this was the year I would lose that last 10 pounds and get in shape. My resolve was firm I told my husband — in between bites of Christmas fudge that had to be eaten so it wouldn’t be a temptation.

By March, with the warmer weather looming, a daily walk around the neighborhood was my new plan to rid myself of the flab that had mysteriously appeared sometime after Valentine’s Day. But before I could get out there, I’d still have to take care of washing, feeding ,laundry, cooking, cleaning up, playing pony, making presentations, coloring…

Somehow Easter sunk up on me — it WAS early this year. And then, well, who can diet with all those chocolate bunnies and marshmallow eggs lying around? Once the baskets were empty there would still be plenty of time to get in shape.

Before I knew it, it was Mother’s Day. Undercooked pancakes and store-bought candy are the death knell of any diet — everyone knows that. Best to start fresh on Monday…

By now, you’ve probably guessed I never started that diet and the dust is still an inch thick on my exercise bike. Now I’m stuck — there’s simply not enough time to lose that extra 10 (okay, okay 15) pounds before the first heat wave hits. My only hope is to resort to Plan B —camouflage.

The results of my late-night snackfests will be cleverly concealed under pleated shorts (the more pleats, the more they hide) or, better yet, the elastic waist ones. Long flowing tops and sundresses are in — stylishly masking those extra pounds beneath the graceful sweep of material. No one will suspect a thing.

Of course, my biggest challenge is the dreaded bathing suit. I will not, under any circumstances go into a store. Instead, I’ll shop a catalog for the industrial strength, inches-off, spandex kind — a marvel of modern science.

Surely this will make that baby belly I’ve developed after three 8+ pounders shrink into some semblance of washboard flatness.

Should the spandex fail me, I have a backup. I’ll slip into (or more accurately pour into) one of the sharp bikinis I wore in my pre-baby days (ever the optimist I kept them) and cleverly conceal my couch hips under brightly colored swim shorts. Top the whole thing off with the longest coverup I can find and I’ll look thin without having to actually BE thin.

You see, what I lack in time and willpower I more than make up for in cunning and sheer determination. And, unlike my New Years promise, this time I AM resolved. I WILL look good this summer — not great — not wow, you had THREE kids you look so thin — you’re HOW old fabulous — but good.

And in this hustle-bustle, too-much-to-do, never-enough-time, do-ten-things at-once, we’re-late-again world, that will have to be good enough.