The Year of Robyn?

There's comes an age when -- for the sake of appearances -- we claim we don't believe in Santa, the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy. There also comes an age, I believe, we are no longer required to make New Year's resolutions. I say that age is 41.

That's a cop-out, I know. But frankly, my resolutions are already being made for me. Sort of.

With this new healthy choices participation plan at work (the one to help us save on insurance premiums), both hubby and I will automatically have weekly weigh-ins, be part of some top-secret weight-loss team and, in my case, clip on a pedometer to achieve 10,000 steps daily.

We still have to do all the legwork, obviously, and make the healthy choices. But for 52 weeks, we sort of have somebody to answer to. I'm kind of looking forward to it. My pedometer arrived in the mail the other day so I have been keeping an eye on what a person has to do get 10,000 steps (basically 5 miles) in per day. I found that on 2 separate trips to Wal-Mart, I logged just over a half-mile each time. So I guess I could make that part of my daily routine...

Of course, by the end of the year, I may be physically fit, but flat broke, too!

I am expecting good things out of this year, though. Just this morning, hubby made some remark that bordered on sarcasm and complimentary. I gave him a questioning look and he innocently says, "What? This is the Year of Robyn." Cool! Awesome, I say.

Then he bends down to scratch Sylvester behind the ears and attempts to recant his statement: "Oh, I mean this is the Year of Kitty." No way, says I. She had her year this year! She's always spoiled.

I threatened to directly quote hubby to the millions, well 12 or 13 people, who read my blog -- just so he follows through. So there you have it. Check back for details.

Seriously, for the record, I do have the best husband in the world. You can quote me on that, too! Happy New Year!