Christmas and the pre-Aruba diet

I couldn't resist this picture of the ridiculously adorable Husband opening his first real set of tools from my Daddy-o. My dad's a little short on sons, so I get the sneaky suspicion that he might have spoiled Paddy just a little. I'm pretty sure Paddy's just itching for something to break 'round our place so he can get them, I don't know, greasy or something.


In other news, I'm finally going to get a stamp on that hideous passport I secured a few months ago. We're headed to Aruba with one half of the fam-damly, which will be wonderful. Swimming suit time, however, is decidedly less wonderful. With the announcement came the immediate decision in our family that a serious lifestyle change was in order. I'll spare you the horrific details and the even more atrocious 'before' pictures we took. I'm shuddering just thinking about it. Suffice it to say that Husband is having infinitely more success dropping the nasty poundage than I am. Rather than lose all of our friends by posting pictures of us scantily clad with our dismal facial expressions, I'll just show you that at least one part of me is Aruba-ready:In college, the roomies and I always strove for 'perfectly suckable toes'. I'd say these qualify (even if Dane insists my toes are forever tainted by that one admittedly nasty barefoot-at-Warp-Tour incident. Don't bother asking; I'm not sure I can even explain why I was at the concert in the first place, nevermind the lack of footwear. The whole thing is surprisingly hazy despite the fact that I was among a handful of people not intoxicated.)