So it’s February 1. It’s a month after the beginning of this lovely year 2012.

Everyone has a bunch of goals every January 1, and for me, it was no different. My goals this year though, I have to admit, were meant to be different. It is simple: do less, better. This would lead to less stress, more energy. Paired with this in January was a challenge at work, called the Skinny Beeyach Challenge. It’s simple: four weeks, whoever loses the most weight (percentage wise) wins.

Now, I am not a dieter. In fact, I don’t believe in diets because I think they tend to be unhealthy, and ultimately unsustainable because who can only eat lettuce and carrots for the rest of their lives? Not me, that’s for sure.

So I have been eating less this month, fitting into the “do less, better” category by cooking the things I love and appreciating smaller quantities. I’ve gone back and forth with calorie counting, fitting it into my schedule when it makes sense, but not doing it when it’s too much. I am constantly aware of what I’m putting into my body, however, and as I don’t drink soda, eat high fructose corn syrup, or frozen food, I’ve been able to monitor my levels of sugar and salt well.

I’ve been trying to exercise, but January has been a sick month for me, so I’m not pushing myself. In the past, working out has been a chore, and I find that I can’t add anymore chores to my plate – stresses pop up enough in my life without adding another daily. Instead, I find exercises that make me happy, feel better, and that I look forward to. Like yoga, walking, biking, and hiking.

And, although I’ve committed to running 100 miles this year, that doesn’t mean I have to run a marathon. It means I need to figure out a way to work running into my life in a way I enjoy, because I truly think I will enjoy it. I’ve only run a scant mile this year, so I have 99 to go, and 11 months. Which is plenty of time to work up to that mileage — I think my sister runs 100 miles a MONTH.

So what does this mean for the Skinny Beeyach Challenge? It means I’ve had several people tell me I look slimmer. It means I feel better every day, and I sleep better at night. It means I’m aware of what I’m eating. It means I’m aware of how I’m feeling.

How are you doing with your resolutions?

Last night my family and I watched Muppet Christmas Carol after taking a walk in my parents new neighborhood and getting a drink at the local pub. Which was after we went to the Italian supermarket and got our second-to-last fish purchase to round out our feast of the seven fishes (for us: smelt, cod, shrimp, lobster, clams, crab, and mussels.)

My first twenty-four hours home have been splendid, and have included Christmas Jax (sorry Grandma Grace, we couldn’t wait to open them!) and steak ’ems, and seeing my puppies, learning my parents new house, skinning a fish, mincing four heads of garlic, and preparing for the feast.

Today, we head to Costco to grab our final fish, then will spend the day preparing for the most wonderful meal of the year. Hopefully before that feast I will get some yoga in, or at least a walk with Bailey, so I can get to know this new neighborhood that has a Dunkin within reach.

Have a lovely Christmas eve, all, and I’ll see you on Christmas!

This past weekend was a bit bittersweet. For a lot of reasons. There were people who weren’t there we missed. There were people who were there that we appreciated oh so much. And, for me, there was saying goodbye to a house.

A home really. Camp Waterloo is where I learned to call home these past twelve years. And although I kept reminding everyone that no, Thank God I didn’t grow up in this house, one house, because as it turns out that’s why I’m not so sad about leaving. But, as I thought more and more about it, I realized I’ve called Michigan home, Camp Waterloo home, Seymour Road home longer than any house before it.

Sure, I didn’t move to Michigan until I was in the seventh grade. Sure I was twelve-going-on-thirteen, and I only lived there until I was eighteen. But it’s where I came home to, Christmas after Christmas, in college, after college, into my twenties. What they don’t tell you is in your twenties, I think, you really find a home in the house your parents live in. You really crave that I am safe. I am here, feeling that is hard to find elsewhere when you’re living in a dorm, or with roommates.

I’m twenty five, which means my parents have lived in that house for twelve years. And I am sure that the next place they live will elicit the same feelings in me that Camp Waterloo has. And I’ve made a home with Jeff, and it gives me that same safe, here, home feeling I used to crave from Michigan.

I can’t wait for my parents to live in Chicago. To live in the same place as my sister where I can gather my family all at once. Somewhere that I can walk outside to a Dunkin Donuts, and somewhere we can go out to eat without driving thirty miles. I am excited for them to have a new chapter of their lives. But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss Camp Waterloo.

I will miss wide open spaces. I will miss a big backyard. I will miss the bats in the walls, the front porch, the chicken coop foundation where Dad and Mikie knocked down the old chicken coop. I will miss the fire pit, and the nature, and the cats, and the old tin garage, and both side yards, and the fields. I will miss my sixteen-year-old-self’s painting of a sunset, and a moon rise. I will miss the potentially haunted east porch. I will miss the dark.

I will not miss the isolation, or the lack of Italians, or the spiders. Or the bugs. Or the steep staircase. Or lack of coffee joints. Or five mile drive to the highway. Or the mosquitoes in every room. Or the cold, cold, cold winters in a house that never quite gets warm enough. Or the “Shoot I forgot to get…” and knowing there is no way to get whatever ingredient we need. Or the haunted east porch. I will not miss the dark.

Before I drove away for the last time from the house I am sure I will one day drag my kids to see, I made my parents pose in front of the house. One last goodbye to a house that has done my family good. As we move on to a new adventure in a new state, I can’t wait to see what is ahead, but I will never forget Camp Waterloo, Michigan, and the friends, family, and person I became living there.

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Thanks to Jeff for taking all the photos of my beautiful, wonderful home.