the brakes are on

I'm in for it now. I have hurt my back. Not at the gym, not while doing 100 sit ups, not while lifting progressively heavier weights for less reps (Body for Life people!). No, I threw out my back bending over to put snacks in the stupid snack bin.

Just got back from the grocery and I was unloading the groceries. Stupid teenage baggers think, because I didn't use plastic bags but brought my own, they could pack the sum total of the store into three bags. At least it seemed like it. They were heavy. And, instead of waiting for my dear hubby to get off the roof (where he was cleaning gutters- Sundays are so fun at our house), I dragged them in. I bend over and "OH" I'm gripping the wall, legs bent not able to stand up straight.

Somehow I managed to get onto the floor. My legs won't move. It's like I'm willing them to move, but they just don't listen. Kind of like my kids. I have pulled a muscle in my back or I'm having a spasm. I don't know, but I can't stand up and walking is painful with my legs periodically giving out underneath me. Makes for an interesting day.

My family and I went to our 4-H club meeting (since I'm the advisor, I kind of have to) and I proceeded to stay in one place. I hobbled back into the car and spent the better part of the evening on the couch with a heating pad and a big glass of wine. I'm out of muscle relaxants so wine had to do.

Sleeping was interesting. Nothing like waking up when you go to turn over and you can't. Kind of like a turtle stuck on its shell.

Today, I am about the same. I have a dr's appointment that my husband is coming home for. Not sure I can drive if my leg won't work to put the brakes on. Hopefully she'll give me a scrip for muscle relaxants. And I can slip into oblivion.

Did I mention that getting old sucks? So much for the weight loss train going full speed (or at least chugging along smoothly). I'm derailed for the moment. At least I can't walk around a lot so I'm not getting to the snackies. Walking is highly overrated.

Can someone come over here and make me snack?

Argument

I yelled at my scale this week.

"I hate you!" I said to the white scale, just lying there with a smug look on it's face.

"_" it said back.

"What is wrong with you?" I yelled, "I am working my butt off here. Can't you give me a little slack?"

"_" it murmured.

"What do you want from me? I'm exercising, doing what I'm supposed to. Sure, I had some chocolate...had a lot of chocolate...more than I should. Yes, I did have a glass of wine, but only once this week. I did extra sit ups! Doesn't that count for something" Arguing was getting me nowhere. I thought I'd try a different tactic.

"Look, seriously, can't we just be friends? You lie to me a little," I asked, hopefully, "and I'll try harder, K?"

"__"

"Well, now you're just being a hardass," I exploded. This was ticking me off. Up, down, up, down, this scale was all over the place. "Give me the number I want, or so help me God, I am chucking you out the window."

"___" it chuckled, just a little under it's breath. "____"

"I know, I know. I can't get the storm window off. And the screens don't come off on the other windows. I know!" I was getting annoyed. "The worst I could do would be to throw you in the trash. How about that?"

"^^^^" whimpering, the scale thought it through. "_"

"Fine. Be that way. I'm done with you. I'm not checking for at least three days. We'll see if you have straightened yourself out by then." That was it, no more crap from the scale.

"_" it blinked back, nonchalantly, mocking me.

"I'll be back tomorrow," caving, I picked it up and put it back in the closet.

"_" it answered.

Progress - slow and steady wins the race

I am the tortoise. I want, so desperately, to be the hare. But I am the tortoise. Slow, lumbering, crawling to the finish line. A careful plodding forward, eye on the finish. That's what weightloss is.

I was becoming frustrated by the ups and downs. I've been weighing myself almost every day. Oh, boo, you say, don't do that. Bad idea. Well, it works for me. It keeps me in check. It's too easy to say, 'oh, I have four days until I weigh in again, I can work it off.' This way I am constantly checking my progress, making adjustments and keeping myself honest. Which, honestly, isn't too hard these days.

I am not starving. Last night I was so full I didn't even want to finish my favorite apples - Honeycrisp. All I had for dinner was vegetable soup, some cut up peppers, and a one roll (crusty rolls I made from Cook's Illustrated, yum!) turkey and havarti sandwich. This roll was maybe 2 inches by 2 1/2. And the apples. It was almost too much. Crazy that I would be stuffed from that.

But, I digress. Back to progress. I have lost 16 1/2 pounds. I have two more pairs of pants I can fit into. I no longer have bra cleavage (you know, that annoying bump of flesh that hangs out of your bra where your cleavage should be if you have the right size bra on?). Hooray! And it seems to be a slow and steady decline.

Out of curiosity, I plotted my weight loss on a tracker online. I thought I would see wild fluctuations up and down. Actually, it looks like a steady line downward. A nice and even decent back into my healthy weight. Even with a one or (gasp) two pound gain (what the heck did I eat?) overnight, when seeing them all in a line, it's the picture of success. This feels good. I'm not struggling. I wish I could tell you it's been hard every day. But it's not. My biggest problem is resisting temptation and overcoming thoughts that I should be eating something when I'm not even hungry.

The hard part comes when it's time to maintain it. Talk to me then.

Addiction

I think I'm an addict. Not drugs or cigarettes or sex, although that would be pretty funny. My husband sure would appreciate that. No, I'm a food addict. I don't think I need pills for that. Do they make any? And I'm not morbidly obese, even though my BMI puts me right up there with the Pillsbury Doughboy. I just think about food all the time. How to make it, when to eat it, what to do with the leftovers, when I can have chocolate, what kinds of chocolate, snack foods, regular foods, fruits, bread...food.

I want to know when this obssession with food began. I don't think my mom was a pusher. She's skinny as a rail. She can eat anything. She also smokes a pack a day, in secret, when she thinks no one can tell even when she comes out of the bathroom reeking of smoke and purfume. She's not Italian or Jewish, so no pushy mother saying "Eat, Eat, you're so thin!" I'm guessing she set a good example for us. But, I'm thinking the vegetables we ate growing up (green beans, wax beans, peas, corn, potatoes, occasionally the salad when I was in my teens) didn't help much in my pursuit for eating well.

But I have always loved chocolate. I think even before I knew I loved chocolate, I had to have it. My mom likes to tell us how she hid chocolate in the house and ate it in private so she wouldn't have to share it with me or my brother. No matter where we were in the house, when we heard the tell tale crinkle of that Hershey bar wrapper, we were right there by her side, begging for a piece. Maybe it was her rationing of that chocolate that made me think, "when I get older, I'm going to have all the chocolate I want. So there!" And I do. Or did. And I even hide it from my kids, too. But I'm smart enough to not eat it when they're around!

Food makes me happy. There's nothing like fresh baked bread from the oven, slathered with a little butter. Just thinking about it makes me want to get my oven cranked up right now! Crusty brown, soft squishy insides...Enough! I wish playing outside made me happy, but mostly I don't like the bugs, or hot weather or when it's too cold. I don't mind gardening, but I would prefer to cook or bake. It's something I enjoy and I'm good at. Which, these days, mean a lot to me.

I am happy to report I am down 15 and a half pounds. I am more comfortable sitting and have noticed that my pants are looser. Very helpful. Still a long way to go, but I feel motivated. I feel like I am making progress. It was a good morning (even with a sick kid at home) and that always helps when the food dreams begin. Time to make some bread - banana bread that has been healthified. Yum!

Someone is lying

I'm having a good day. I got on the scale this morning and saw a good number. I'm down 14 1/2 pounds. That's not too shabby. I fit into my fat-fat jeans again. Things are looking up. So, forgive me for my cynicism, but someone is lying.

My mom sent me a shipment of her People magazines. A guilty pleasure, but I do enjoy reading about celebs to a point - who got married to early (Kourtney Kardashian, anyone?), who's getting separated (Avril Lavigne, who didn't see that coming?), who is no longer engaged (Katrina Smirnoff, Dancing with the Stars), and the lovely celeb baby pictures (how cute is that Shiloh, anyway?). And there are stories about real people, too, doing important, heroic things. But, really, it's about the celebs, right?

So, here's my dilemma. There is a starlet who has recently lost weight. She lost 14 pounds, just like me. She's eating healthier, leaving the Fritos behind. Working out, doing things right. She's down two dress sizes...HOLD on there, what? Two dress sizes? Are they kidding me? I wonder how that works. I'm not down two dress sizes. Does that only work if you're talking about sizes under a 10? Can you go from an 8 to a 6 by losing 14 pounds when you are barely over 100 pounds to begin with? I guess so. It's so frustrating.

It's like they stopped drinking soda and lost the "baby" bump the newspapers have been speculating about. I'll tell you what, my "baby" bump isn't going away that quickly and my baby is 7 years old. Even if I stop drinking diet soda, eating chocolate and most other foods, I will not lose my baby bump and go down two dress sizes by losing 14 pounds. It's unrealistic.

So, I'll wallow in my happiness about losing 14 pounds and wonder how much more I have to lose to go down one dress size. Or fit into my "just-a-bit-fat" jeans. Or move beyond the first foot of my closet where I relocated all the clothes I can fit into, leaving another 4 feet full of clothes that DON'T fit. Rock on, sister. Keep it up. It's working. Slowly, but surely.

And coming up, another diet book to read. I'll let you know how that goes.

My fat has a name

I've been watching the Dr. Oz show during my workouts at the gym. And some when I get home and do ab work. Although, I'm starting to think that's a bad idea. He has a segment where he shows what kinds of bacteria or diseases or bugs are on your everyday items - like the remote control (enterococcus - fecal matter), mattress (dust mites eating your dead skin), and the bottom of your purse (some other coccus thingie that I can't remember but causes asthma, yeast infections, meningitis and other bad things). It's painful to watch. It makes me not want to sleep at night. I should probably skip that segment.

But I disgress. Another segment deals with weight loss. He's had several morbidly obese people on that he will hopefully help. He's got some great tips. Did you know that by adding Brewer's Yeast to your popcorn, you gain protein, vitamins and help regulate your glucose levels? And, this is when I found out that my fat has a name.

Omentum - the greater and lesser. There is an organ attached to the stomach that stores fat so your stomach has easy access to it when it needs it. Like when I'm starving - not! There is a lesser omentum and a greater omentum. Mine is definitely Greater! When Dr. Oz showed the audience what it should look like, it was like a lacy flat yellowish thing. That was the omentum of a skinny person. (You know where this is going.) The omentum in an overweight person? Big, fatty, bumpy, gross. The omentum is behind your stomach, so as you store fat (like the 30 extra pounds I'm carrying) it gets bigger and pushes your organs out of the way. That might explain the stomach pain.

Stress can also enlarge your omentum. Another good reason not to fret over that piece of chocolate.

Can my omentum get smaller? I'm hoping. Because now that I know it's in there, I'm determined to get it flat, along with my stomach. Ew. Hard to believe that in my 39 years, I have never heard of the omentum fat organ. Fat organ. I think that will be my new nickname.

*(*&#*&^(@*&^%@%@%*$&^)#(*^(*$&

That's about how I feel. I am &%*&(($*%& MAD. Once again, it is the scale. I have been nothing but good for the last two days. Felt pretty good about myself yesterday, I was down 13 pounds. Felt like I was actually getting somewhere, finally! I've been bouncing around the same numbers for two weeks and WOW, here was a new one.

Cut to this morning. Feeling all good. Know I've been good, made good choices. Get on the scale.

What the F***?

Again, there is it. That stupid number I really don't ever want to see again. The one that has been haunting me for the last two weeks. WHY? WHY? WHY? I'm asking. Why? I don't get it? Am I not eating enough? Does my body think I'm starving? Stupid body. Isn't it obvious we're not starving here? Can't you tell from all the extra fat stores that we wouldn't start wasting away at least until we've been out of food for a month. Come ON! Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I'm calm now. Sorry about the rant. Really, it makes no sense. I will probably eat some chocolate today. Have wine with dinner. Go a little nuts in the snack department. And then tomorrow, the scale will be down again and I'll have learned that I do better when I cheat than when I'm eating right. Crazy.

Wine? Anyone have some wine? I could probably use it about now...

Saboteur

I'm writing this blog now so I can keep from running into the kitchen and eating anything not nailed down. I'm not hungry. I have no need for food. I just want it.

Watching TV is some kind of food desire hypnosis. I don't even have to see an ad for Wendy's or Dove Chocolates or Applebee's latest food offereing. Just the act of watching TV makes me want to grab a bag of chips. Or sip a soda. Or munch on something...maybe a pencil, if I could find one.

I am sabotaging myself. I am bouncing around from pound to pound, with nary another one lost. That's kind of poetic. I finally get on the bandwagon, the weightloss train, start working out, eating right, feeling good and I just can't seem to lose more weight. It's been a month. I think that's about how long you need to do something to make it a permanent part of your routine. I've got the routine down, I just keep fudging a bit.

A little Graeter's here. A little cookie there. A bit of chocolate in my hand. It all adds up. I know this. I get it. But I'm just weak.

It's back to the gym tomorrow. I feel like I've been lazy this weekend. Only a little bike ride on Saturday and walking around the market. Nothing major today. I guess it's my day of rest. I've rested enough. Back to work.

If all else fails, I'm moving on to another "program." Grapefruit diet, anyone?

No fun

Can't a girl have some fun? Really, just a little? A dinner out? Some hummus and whole grain pita chips? And, o.k., some really good chocolate cake with gooey, pecan encrusted frosting. But, that was an afterthought. A big afterthought. Twice.

Fine, I cheated. I splurged. I went a little crazy last night. It started with a trip to Applebee's. The hubby is gone for a conference (coming back tonight) and I took the kids out to eat. Thought it might be something fun to do, plus then I wouldn't have to do dishes. And I had been cleaning all day, so that's fair, right?

I was trying to figure out what to order. They have some Weight Watchers items on their menu, but one time I got a salad that was pretty tasteless. I went my Chicken Fajita wrap route. Chicken, lettuce, cheese, tomatoes. Not too bad, but not the best choice. I only ate half.

Yeah, yeah, wait for the applause...it came with fries. I thought, I'll only eat a few. Have you eaten Applebee's fries lately? Oh, my. Very good. Delicious with ketchup. I got a little carried away. Probably ate more than half, more than I should have. Fine. I paid for it, with a very full stomach. And it most likely didn't help that I also drank two huge glasses of diet coke with that. Free refills. Who can argue? I should have.

Should have. That seems to be my mantra. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. But I didn't. I think it was a set-up. All that diet soda was just BEGGING for company. After we got home, I remembered the Texas sheet cake from this weekend. I froze large sections of it so I wouldn't have it sitting on the counter mocking me. Good thing was it was gone from my sight. Bad thing...it was frozen, so it wasn't getting moldy so I'd have to throw it out.

Did you know that you can eat frozen cake out of the freezer? Seriously, no wait. It tastes wonderful. I know...bad.

I put the kids to bed and started reading. That's a good distraction. Then the hummus started calling me. I know it's hard to imagine. It's all the way in the fridge, there are a few steps from the couch to the fridge, there was the book, the TV, really I shouldn't have been able to hear it at all. But I did. Calling me, teasing me, telling me bad things that made me want it.

Fine. I ate the hummus. Grabbed the Stacy's MultiGrain pita chips (again, not feeling righteous, but they were whole grain...but still fried...right?) and went to town. Pretty sure I ate more than two tablespoons worth. And that stuff if fattening. I know they're just garbanzo beans, but it's mostly fat.

Once I polished those off (I did leave a few chips in the bag), my distended stomach was begging for more. Stupid stomach. Doesn't know to leave a good thing alone. I had more cake. Another sliver. O.K., big sliver. Do you see the madness? The decent into pure food madness? It was a feeding frenzy. I couldn't stop myself.

Well, I could have. I'm just weak. And now it shows on the scale. I gained three pounds overnight. Is that even possible?

It's going to be a long, painful day. I just finished my trough of egg whites, so I should be on the right track to get back to healthy eating. Thing is, I thought I was eating healthy, up until last night. I guess it doesn't balance out when you go whole hog on a dish of hummus.

Here's to better eating.

Oooey, Gooey, Sticky Mess

I am the creator of my own messes. I am a mastermind of self-destruction. I am...a baker.

My son was crazy yesterday, wanting to do something. But everything he wanted to do involved something we didn't have or something we didn't have time for. So, I resorted to baking. He wanted to bake cupcakes with frosting. I talked him into Texas Sheet cake.

Why would I think that was a better choice than cupcakes, I'm not sure. It was a Cooking Light recipe. A bit better than the original, but still a stick and a half of butter in the 10 X 15 pan. I used some organic whole wheat pastry flour and natural cane sugar in place of the white sugar. But, still, it's sugar.

It's chocolate, which is my Kryptonite, my downfall. I just can't stop. I should be able to take one little slice, enjoy it and be done. But I can't. I had my piece. And another small one. And another. And some frosting from the side of the pan. And this morning, I had some more. Already. It's not even noon yet. Even with waking up with a sugar headache this morning, you'd think I could control myself, but no. It's chocolate. I get weak, my head gets fuzzy and suddenly I'm struggling to regain consciousness.

Maybe it's better if I don't bake. It's too easy to make ooey, gooey, sticky cakes, cookies, bars, brownies. There are so many yummy options out there. I think it was the curry. We had chicken curry for dinner. So sweet, almost like candy with a kick. Am I doomed to just never taste sugar again, ever? Cold turkey. It seems like the only way. What a mess.

On the positive side, I'm now down 11 1/2 pounds. Not too shabby. Now if I can just keep away from the sheet cake...

Exercise blues

I'm doing it. Don't go there, filthy people.

I'm exercising. Our gym finally opened and I'm back at it. Doin' the elliptical, the recumbent bike, the ski machine, lifting weights. I can barely type this, my arms are so sore. Don't even think about touching me. I hurt in places I didn't even know could hurt. At least sitting down doesn't hurt. That is the worst feeling. Can't even sit on the toilet without wincing. I've been there. But that was when I had a really great teacher who worked us to shreds. We looked good. We worked hard. I want to get back there. Maybe.

I've lost 11 pounds so far. And holding. It's a slow road now. Those first few days where I was losing all that water weight. That was fun. Now, it's torture. But at least I'm not hungry.

Had veggie soup with a little pesto stirred in for lunch, along with cherry tomatoes from my garden with fresh mozzarella balls and I'm supposed to eat a salad that has some roasted chicken in it, sunflower seeds, carrots, peps and lettuce. I'm full. Think I may save the salad. Is that even possible? To be full?

I think it was all the contraband crackers I had last night during wine night. Bad, bad influence, you wine ladies. Too much wine, lots of laughing and some crackers. I'd say it was a good night!

Weighing crap

This post is going to be gross. I'm just warning you. Just in case you are eating or thinking about eating or just finished eating. Which is where I am most of the day. You've been warned.

It's day....what day is it? How long have I been doing this crap? This eating right and eating veggies first and being good? How long? Right, three weeks, I think. I have lost and gained the same pound over the last week and half. I am getting frustrated. I'm a making deals with myself and the universe. I am getting on the scale naked, like my 1 ounce nightgown will make a HUGE difference in how much I weigh each morning. It's all a mind game.

And so, we come to the gross portion. It's a crazy busy morning. I got up to weigh myself first thing. Same stupid number staring at me that has been staring at me for the last week (give or take a half pound - up, down, up, down). I go back to bed, deflated. When I finally do wake up, it's after 7. We're late.

Kids get up, drag themselves downstairs and get breakfast. Or more like, I get them breakfast while they ponder what to pack for lunch. I haven't eaten breakfast because I'm trying to calm down my oldest who freaked out when she saw what time it was when she got up (for the record, she was out the door, dressed, with her lunch packed on time). I start packing lunches and decide it's time for a trip to the bathroom. You know, the morning constitutional, as my husband says. Maybe it's a different time of day for you. But mornings are productive here.

Usually I have eaten my breakfast by now. You can't weigh yourself after you've eaten breakfast. That's not allowed. You might weigh a whole pound more with those four egg whites and few sips of water sitting like a lead weight in your stomach. But this morning, I haven't eaten. I do my duty. (I'm trying to be cool here.) I think, well, that was surely worth something off at the scale. Do you feel the desperation here? I get on the scale, naked of course. Close my eyes, wishing, wishing, wishing for some sign that I am doing things right...and Whammo, sure enough, half a pound gone. Seriously. Half a pound of crap. That's a lot of crap. (I told you it was going to be gross).

But I'll take it. I need it. Just that one half pound put me past another ten pound mark. I'm in a different bracket now. I'll take it, no matter how gross it is. That is my half pound I earned.

Now I'm off to the gym. Maybe I can sweat more off. I'll see tomorrow.

And again, apologies for the gross content. Really, you can't make this shit up! hee, hee.

Yo-Yo-Yo-Yo

Tuesday: Lost ten pounds, yippee. Write blog. Feel great.

Wednesday: Gained a half pound. WTF? How did that happen? Official lost 9 1/2 pounds. Feel deflated. Still eat well anyway.

Thursday: Damn stupid half pound still there. Pissed. Angry. Not blogging.

Friday: Half pound gone. Yippee. Ready to go, workout, do something. Nobody wants to workout with me. Instead I clean.

Saturday: Didn't weigh myself. Too busy. Figure I won't like it anyway.

Sunday: Gained a stupid pound. How does that happen? This Skinny program tells you to weigh yourself every day. I know, it makes sense to see how you fluctuate, but a pound? I'll be good today. I promise. Eat good, be good, weigh good. Stupid scale.

Yo-yo-yo-yo-yo. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

WhooHOO

Well, I've done it. The first milestone. Ten pounds lost. WhooHoo! Let's party.

Or not.

It's not making a huge difference, at least regarding my clothes selection, but I can tell that I feel better. And I'm definitely eating better. Funny thing about it is, it doesn't feel like a diet. I feel like I can eat things I want (not the poptarts, though, those are evil) and still do well. I'm eating a variety of things. I'm filling up on soup and salad and then eating the other stuff if I'm not full already. And, amazingly enough, I am almost always full.

So, that was it. Had to post. Nothing else exciting to say. Just wanted to say it 10 pounds lighter.

Oh, and here's a lovely picture of the Fillapia (as my son says) that we had on Sunday. Even he ate it. That, in itself, is an accomplishment!

The face looks familiar, but I just can't place it...

You said your name was weightloss? Wait a minute...yeah, I think I do remember you. Doing the skinny thing? Coming off pound by pound? Inch by inch? Yes, I know you. We met about three years ago? Or five? Or eight? Or ten? It's been a while. I remember that. Eating right, exercising, getting motivated. It's all coming back to me now.

Oh, I loved that feeling, when clothes would fit and I didn't have to suck it in. My stomach was where it should be and not six inches out from my waist. I actually felt good, headaches were less. No stomach pain. Clearer skin. Those were good times. Yep. Good times.

Why, exactly, did we stop being friends? You were tired of me bad mouthing you? You didn't like it when I cursed you for not showing up at the scale. I can understand that. But some weeks, you should have been there and you just weren't. I did everything you asked of me and then when the time came, when it was important to me, you just didn't show. That wasn't very nice of you.

Well, I'm sorry. You showed up sometimes when I hadn't been good, or I hadn't been working hard and that just sent me the wrong message. Do you know what it's like to work like that, to do everything right and then nothing? I don't need friends like that.

But I'm glad you're here now. I could sense that you were coming. I felt lighter, somehow. I thought, before I stepped on that scale, this time...this time you'll show up and we can be friends again...I was right. Thanks.

Stick around this time, would you? I like having you around. You're my newest best friend. We'll go everywhere together. We could even go to that brownie place, you know, the one you got kicked out of? They don't talk about you there. You're bad for business.

That's what got me here in the first place, you say? That's not nice. Fine. Be that way. I'm going to go hang out with my friend weight gain instead. At least she's fun. Until she doesn't get the message and she keeps hanging around too long. Like the last time.

O.K., you're right. I'll stick with you. I'll forgive you for the last few years. It's my fault too, I know. I'll be a better friend from now on. Come on, let's go have a salad with fresh tomatoes, purple peppers from the farmer's market and bibb lettuce. You know you want to. Come on!

Something New

Driving back from the grocery store today, I could smell the chocolate donut my daughter had selected for her "treat" and the cinnamon roll my son chose. The smell permeated the car, even with the windows open. I could smell the rich chocolate icing, the chocolate crumb cake of the donut. It was pure evil. But I loved it. Better still, I didn't eat it. Just sniffed. I'm pretty sure there aren't any calories in sniffing, but I could be wrong. Boy, would I be in trouble then.

I managed to get home without eating anything "bad." It really wasn't even that hard, frankly. Which is surprising. It's been almost two weeks now. Shocking. Two weeks with my new style of eating. Can't say I've lost any weight for the last two days. And not like I've been eating badly, with the exception of the latte on Saturday, but I don't think there are a whole bunch of calories in that, right? I even rode my bike downtown yesterday. We are planning a hike today, but my husband is finally working on my daughter's room again, and I don't want to interrupt that. We'll see.

Trying something new tonight for dinner. Fish. I'm not a big fish fan. I eat tuna and sometimes salmon and shrimp, but I'm not adventerous when it comes to seafood. I just don't enjoy it. And honestly, sometimes it makes me gag. When I was little, I had some shrimp and then got violently ill. I don't know if I was coming down with something anyway or if it was the shrimp, but that pretty much set the stage for seafood and me. Wouldn't want to meet seafood in a dark alley. Not going steady with seafood. Acquaintances, really. Never friends. I'm a little wary.

So we're trying tilapia. It's pretty mild. The kids aren't thrilled about it. That's my fault. I just don't cook it. And we rarely eat it when we go out. It's strange and different. I'm making Broiled Tilapia with Thai coconut-curry sauce. I'm hoping the familiar sauce will make it easier to try. I'm also making a jicama and carrot peanut lime salad to go with it. Just getting all international today. Doin the Thai thing.

I'm just waiting to see how long it is after dinner that someone asks for a snack.

Satisfaction

Now that I have gotten rid of the Skinny Bitches book, I'm eating very well. There is no fear that I'm poisoning myself. I live in a world of denial. And it's a very tasty world. I've been eating well. Not a lot, but well. I have not found myself hungry very often, unless it is warranted. Like before dinner or lunch. I don't wake up with a sugar hangover. And I'm enjoying a wide range of fruits and veggies as my "appetizers" before my main meal. Really, a decent system.

Down another pound, I'm reaching my "how long is this going to take?" phase. I'm looking down the road at the other 43 pounds I'd like to lose and I'm thinking that it's going to be a long, bumpy annoying slow ride. Patience is not my strong point. I'm like Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka...I want it NOW. But it won't come off now. And that is the hardest thing to deal with.

Went back to the gym yesterday and today. I'm sitting here feeling sore, but good. Did leg work and now I wince when I walk upstairs. It's a good pain, I know. It means that the fat is going to go away. But right now, it would be nice if I could move without the agony. My children look at me funny when I get up from a chair with an "oof" sound. Yes, I'm old. But I'd rather be skinny and old than fat and old. I'm trying.

Lunch today, a bowl of three bean chili I made, a cup of carrots with 2 tbsp of really spicy hummus, one slice of homemade banana bread (Cooking Light recipe) and water. I'm full. Can't even think about eating anything else right now. But I think a soda might be in order later today. Can't ditch the soda habit. I don't drink it every day, but I do like a bit of bubbly once in a while. Simple pleasures.

hiccup

I'm flummoxed. Flabbergasted. Floundered. What the heck? Got on the scale this morning and I GAINED a pound. Yes, gained. That is not right. I know, I had some croissant yesterday. And a bite of a bear claw. But certainly not a pounds worth. Oh no. Now I'm pissed. What the hell is all this scrimping and saving of calories? The waiting to eat starch until after I've eaten all my veggies and protein? I have been so good. And I gain a pound?

That's it. I'm going out to eat. O.K., not the right attitude. Don't throw it all away. But, darn it, I'm ticked. I did end up taking the kids out but I ordered a basic salad with chicken and some cheese. Not the best lunch, but certainly not as bad as it could have been. I could have eaten at Max and Erma's. That was my first choice. Silly children wanted to go to Skyline. So, we went. I wanted to order the bean burrito. Or the Southwestern Chicken wrap. Any of those would have gone well with my grumbling stomach. Literally, I could have eaten a card board box by the time we got to Skyline.

If you've never been to Skyline, you wouldn't know that they give you a little bowl of oyster crackers to munch on while you wait (which isn't long. Most orders take about 5 minutes to get to your table). I was munching mindlessly (really shouldn't have had them anyway) when I noticed some legs sticking out of my bowl. Yes, legs. There was a dead cricket in my bowl. Ew. Double Ew. Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew. I got the waitress's attention, while trying not to gag. She took it away but didn't say anything. Not even sorry. I should have gone for the free meal. I think she brought us extra cheese. Like I need that. Definitely have to say that crickets in your crackers makes for a great appetite suppressant. Ew.

Stomach is grumbling. I didn't get enough to eat at lunch. Will have to go now and find something appropriate to eat. Bugger it all. I'm still pissed about the pound. Going to the gym tomorrow, that's for sure.

Ew.

Giddy with success

Already one week since I started this "lifestyle" change. Who are we kidding? Diet. Anyway, I've started eating differently. I've lost 6 1/2 pounds. Not too shabby for one week. But there is a lot more to lose. And that's mostly water. So, really I can talk myself out of any amount of congratulations.

It's necessary. If I didn't, I would be drunk with success. I would think, well now, I can fudge on this a little. I can have that chocolate. I can eat those chips. It's necessary for me to keep it down so I'll keep losing. A mind game, I know, but really what else is there?

This morning, after running errands, I stopped at a local shop La Chatelaine. As you can see from the link, it's not a lo-cal place. Hardly. I was good. The kids each got a pastry and I just had one bite from each, a croissant and a bear claw with pistachio paste inside. MMMMMmmmmmmm. Yummy. But it was an interesting experiment. Could I just sit there and not eat more? Would it make me hungry later?

I could sit there, but it was hard. And the pastries were SO inviting. It was a struggle. But I managed. And I did notice, on the way home, that my stomach was growling a bit. It was hungry for more. Feed-forward thinking. That's been my problem all along. I was feeding the next hunger. Now, if I just feed my current hunger, eat the filling veggies and soup, then I'm not hungry for the more fattening foods. I can have a bite and not want more.

Will I go back to La Chatelaine? Yes. But it will be after a very hearty breakfast of egg whites!

Viva la Chatelaine!

Another hour, another minute, another meal

Things are moving fast in the Pudgy Mom household.

Not really, but it sounds good. I am, once again, waiting. Waiting for my family to return. Waiting for people to call. Waiting for meal inspiration. Waiting for the next time I can put something in my mouth. It's a good thing I'm not a smoker, because I'd probably smoke 10 packs a day. I'm bad at waiting.

I'm trying to fill the time between meals with getting things done. You know, follow the list, cross stuff off, add stuff. Two things crossed off, three things added. I'm not making progress.

Lost another half pound today. Better than nothing. But my stomach is gurgling. Could be the small glass of wine I had last night after dinner. Or the one can of soda devil I drank. I had to. I was desperate for something different. There's nothing like watching a little "War of the Worlds" Tom Cruise action and drinking a diet soda. Chemical shit storm all around. This is what I do when no one is home.

I'm starting to question the whole "no starches except with dinner for three months" mantra of this new "diet/lifestyle" book. Really? Nothing? Thought I should have the new Bob's Red Mill Organic High Fiber Hot Cereal mix I bought yesterday for breakfast. Add a little yogurt, some dried cherries, nuts. Mmmmm. But no. I had a breakfast shake instead. I have to save the hot starch stuff for November. I keep thinking "it will be worth the look on my sister-in-laws face...it will be worth the look on my sister-in-laws face..." It better be.

They must be joking

The Skinny Bitches are staring at me. So smug and confident. "Don't eat that you fat pig." "That is a chemical shit storm." "Toughen up." "Sober up." "Drama queen." Boy, are they mean.

There' s a lot of turmoil going on here. I want to eat right. I want to reset my fullness meter. I want to make healthy choices. But then a whole 'nother contingent is yelling at me about the earth and the environment and chemicals and organic. Caving in, I went to the local organic store The Raisin Rack to stock up and just about choked.

They must be kidding. "Think about all the money you spent on junk food, cigarettes and alcohol" they whine. For the record, I do not smoke so at least I'm not in that category of reckless. But they seriously think I can spent $6. 89 on a 6 oz package of quinoa? Or $3. 59 on Earth Balance buttery spread. Agave nectar to replace sugar? $7.99. Cereal, $4.49 - $7.50. Nut butter, $5.69. This is not sustainable for me in the long run, people.

Why is eating "right" so expensive? Add the word organic and you can add $$. There are some great products in this store. But I can't justify spending $3.59 for a 1 1/2 candy bar just because it's organic or free trade. I'm sorry, I just don't have the cash for that. There are kids that need new school clothes. And a driveway that needs repaved before winter. And a car that needs brakes and a new A/C. Hell, I should just get a new car for how much we'll pay for repairs on that thing.

But seriously, how can I be healthy and earth conscious without going bankrupt? What good is that to my family. "Well, we were eating really healthy organic stuff, but then they took the house away." I'm stumped.

My plan to drink only water and eat nothing really didn't last past this morning. I was hungry. I had to eat something. And it wasn't organic or free range or nitrate free. But it was protein and it kept me from snacking until lunch and I'd say that was an accomplishment. Down another pound. Let's keep this party going...

My new solution

I have a big problem. Beside the obvious overeating one. I have been reading The Skinny by Dr. Aronne. I bought the powdered protein (in chocolate form) for breakfast shakes. I've cut out a bunch of carbs and only eat them at dinner after my protein. I feel great.

But then I was introduced to Clean Eating. The idea is to only eat products with one or two ingredients. So, you're eating foods in their most basic and natural form. An orange. A pepper. A stick. Kidding on that one. If you can't pronounce it, you shouldn't be eating it. I've found that I can pronounce Disodium Guanylate (in Doritos) quite well and sodium acid pyrophosphate (Wild! Berry Poptarts) just fine, thank you. OK, I'm lying. Not sure, but I think most of those have something to do with salt? But certainly not in it's purest form.

It's a neat concept. There are some great recipes in a magazine I borrowed from T. I'm going to make one for dinner tomorrow. Really, how hard can that be? Basic foods in basic forms. I decide to work with that program, too. So I modify the Skinny plan and try to add only basic ingredients. I'm left with salad, veggies, some fruit (some - like grapes and bananas are high on the glycemic load), chicken, tuna, eggs, milk, yogurt - even that causes some concern. It's only been four days. I'm finding myself a bit bored already. Still not hungry. Down another half pound. Made a yummy veggie soup that was spicy and filling. Not bad, really. I haven't been to the grocery store since I made "the switch." We'll see how that goes.

Then the real trouble starts. I picked up The Skinny Bitch book by Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin. The intro is funny (sorry, T) and has me laughing. Until they start to attack dairy. And chicken. And yogurt. And fish. And... now...what the hell am I supposed to eat?

They promote vegetarianism. I'm down with that. I haven't had red meat or pork since 1990. Yes, a pseudo vegetarian. I eat chicken. Some fish or shrimp. And dairy. I LOVE my dairy. I love cheese, yogurt, a glass of milk. Oh, these skinny bitches are making it impossible for me to eat. I'm poisoning my body. I'm full of toxins. I'm killing my children. They're going to get cancer. WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!

Do you sense the problem here? I have a solution. I will just not eat. I will drink water. I will certainly lose weight that way and then won't have the nasty problem with toxins and ruining the environment and causing cancer in myself and my family. Unless my local water supply is poisoned, but I can't worry about that right now because water is my only food group. It's so simple. Just water. Why didn't I think of that before?

I'm going to start reading. A lot. To keep from eating. To keep my mind from thinking about food. Or chocolate. Or diet soda...the devil. At least they didn't totally rule out wine. An organic red without sulfites is the only thing I can drink or eat besides water. Oh, and I can have some fake chicken or soy milk. Mmm. Sounds like a...treat. Yeah. Anyone else depressed?

Day three - supplies are running low

It's day three on the desert island I call Skinny Eating. Supplies are running low. Fattening, scary foods abound. Trying to stick with the high protein, heavy weight, low glycemic foods. May have to start eating the natives...

I'm kidding. It is day three. I've lost four pounds. I'm guessing it's mostly water weight. Yesterday I couldn't get my head off the couch. Summer cold and a migraine. Not sure if they are related or I was coming down from my three year long sugar high. Could be a mixture. I have to say I'm surprisingly not hungry. Thinking I should get a snack, but I'm not hungry yet, so I'll wait.

Went out with the kids to do school shoe shopping. We ate out at McDonald's. I had a grilled chicken Caesar salad with half the packet of dressing, no croutons. Broke down and ordered the diet soda (sorry, T) and it tasted awful. Not sure if that was the soda - didn't seem very fizzy so I'm guessing their CO canister was low - or me. Then, we went to Meijer and bought some more lettuce and a huge packet of eggs and some protein powder for morning shakes. We'll see how that tastes.

Somehow, I managed to gag down four egg whites and one yolk for breakfast this morning. Damn, that's a lot of eggs. It held me over, though, until lunch. And I actually felt hungry then. I didn't just eat because it was lunch time. I was ready to eat.

But, this Skinny book is depressing. It says the same damn stuff that all the other books say. Eat a lot of veggies. Well, I get bored easily because I don't like a whole bunch of veggies. I grew up with green beans, peas and wax beans as my vegetables. Sometimes we had salad. I have branched out to carrots, broccoli, zucchini, squash, tomatoes, celery, peppers and some others I can't remember now. I still am not fond of eggplant or okra or artichokes. Or mushrooms. My friend T tells me I should try portobella mushrooms, grilled. I'm going to have to drink a lot before I try that. Can't get my mind around the fact that they are fungus. I'll try, though. I'm going to have to branch out or I will fail. Again.

So, here's what I'm eating now: breakfast, protein - egg whites or turkey sausage or turkey bacon or protein shake. Lunch - appetizer (salad or veggie soup), veggie side dish, protein. And dinner - appetizer again, veggie side dish, protein and whole grain starch. So far I have "cheated" a bit. Can't go completely cold turkey at first. Breakfast I can commit to. Lunch is a little more fluid. And dinner gets complicated, because I am cooking for the whole family. They certainly don't need to be on a "lifestyle change" like I do. I spend a lot of time trying to think how to incorporate my needs with their needs. It's exhausting.

Off to make some veggie soup and find a healthy, low glycemic snack. If I can reset my fullness guage, this may just work. Talk to me next week. Tomorrow, Clean Eating and other complications.

Judgement Day

Dear GOD, what have I done? Stepped on the scale this morning. Guess I'm going to have to adjust my weight loss goals a bit. 40 pounds to lose? More like 50. I am NOT kidding. Ladies, I have done it. I have hit the unforgivable mark. I have reached a weight that I only previously hit while pregnant. And I don't have that excuse.

Might explain why my shorts, my fat fat shorts, are getting tight. I have gained, roughly, 15 pounds this summer. I don't think I've been out of control eating, but I haven't exactly been eating right all the time. And the chocolate continues to come into my house and get eaten.

First thing I did after getting off the scale was put on workout clothes. Then I did 50 sit ups. Drank a Dannon adult drinkable and went to the Rec Center. Worked off 350 calories (by the elliptical's estimate). Came home, ate some scrambled eggs and started to read "The Skinny on Losing Weight Without Being Hungry" by Dr. Louis J. Aronne.

One night, when I couldn't sleep (another result of my bad eating), I saw David Letterman and one of his staffers was on a scale. He was very overweight and Dr. Aronne was helping him lose weight. On this particular night, he had lost about 50 pounds. I don't remember the exact amount of time he'd been working on it, but everyone seemed impressed and he seemed happy about it. What I remember most was the guy talking about Dr. Aronne made it easier for him with his plan, little steps in adjusting his diet.

My tendency is to cut it all out. No more sweets, no more wine, no more high fructose corn syrup. And then I can't keep it up. I fail. Time and time again. Yo-yo back and forth. The gist of Dr. Aronne's book is that some of us, predisposed to gaining weight, have a broken fullness meter. I can eat and eat and not feel full. My brain isn't getting the right message that I'm full and I need to stop eating. My husband does that. And even when he overeats (cookies, mainly) he will eat less at the next meal. He has been blessed with an excellent metabolism. One I hope my kids inherited. I, however, have not. I can try to lose weight, do well for a while, but I feel deprived. And when I feel deprived, I start to eat.

This is a bad time to start losing weight. Typically I do better in the winter. Not sure why. Filling soups? But also, I'm feeling financially pinched. We're trying to pay off credit card debt. And I have that goal in mind. I'm o.k. with it. But to have two things I'm trying to control at once, eating and money? It's overwhelming.

I'm really starting to like this book. It's not about willpower. It's about fixing my fullness meter and retraining it to feel full again when I'm supposed to, not after overeating.

Gotta go read. Maybe I'll learn that I can have my chocolate and eat it too!

Acai Berry Trap

I'm just trolling websites, checking out recipes for sangria, when I see an ad for a Mom with her gut hanging out saying she lost 30 pounds in some insanely short amount of time. So, of course, I click it.

I know whatever they are selling will not actually do what they say it will. But the company has actual videos from Rachel Ray's TV show, Fox News (like I'd take them seriously) and some health expert I've never heard of. And they throw around Ophrah's good name. I have to check it out.

The miracle berry, Acai - pronounced ahSahee - from the Amazon rainforest is the "cure." High in antioxidents, vitamins and helps you with just about any ailment you might have except for whining children. For that you need an entirely different drug. This woman, Judy, has a "blog" and is offering a free sample of Acai Berry pills and Colon Cleanse because, apparently, you have to use the two together to get the full effect.

I'm skeptical. So I click out of it. But the website won't let me. There's a pop up window. "Skeptical? I was at first, but if you just give it a try...blah, blah." I'm sucked in. I read a bit more, watch some videos, think "hmm, this might work. Why not give it a try?"

I actually fill out the form on the website, and click Rush me my FREE offer. That's when I'm directed to another site. Looks all official, has the Security lock symbols and hacker free symbols. Then I notice the company name, Preciousmind, and address, Cyprus. Ah, no. You'll get all my information, my address, my phone number, my credit card number for a 99 cent shipping fee and then what? Will I find charges on my credit card for plane tickets? Extravagant furs, luxury suites, electronics? I don't think so.

This time, I click out, all the way out, past all the pleading pop ups and back to my sangria recipe.

It's just not that easy. There is no miracle cure. There is no pill, procedure, program that can keep me from stuffing my face. It has to come from inside. Maybe if I keep saying it, it will sink in.

I'm off now. Have some Stacy's Pita chips and pine nut pesto hummus to attend to. That's healthyish, right?

Change is in the air

I feel a change coming on. It's been a long, busy, lonely, crazy summer. I feel out of the loop. Like the world is passing me by and I'm running, running after it but can't quite catch it.

It's time for a change. Change can be good...I think. I'm usually opposed to change. I like routine except when I don't want routine. That's the tricky part. Making routine not feel routine. Get it? Maybe I should say consistency.

First off, I'm changing my blog. Still the Middle of Nowhere, but now, I'm talking about my midriff. See that picture of me with the two chins? That's not me. That has to change. So, I'm going on a reading binge of diet books. Just a sampler, if you will, of what's out there and then writing about it. Seems like I can get fired up about that. More so than my life right now. There are some crazy diets out there. And some decent plans. If I can just find something that works for me and continues to work for me so I can fit back into my pre-fat clothes, I'll be happy.

One incentive is that I'm getting a wii for Christmas and I have already asked my Santa to get me a wii fit board and game. My hope is that I'll be in good enough shape to deal with the wii fit and have something to balance the gym time. I enjoy going to the gym, when I know there are going to be people there to talk to. Otherwise, it's kind of boring.

I'm hoping that my loyal readers (all three of you) will follow me on this silly journey. I've lost weight before. I know I can do. It's just a bitch. I can get cranky and I hope you will deal with me. I'll be in a great mood if I can lose the weight. But then comes the part when I get to my goal and I say "what now?" That's when I'll need you to keep me going and show me that there is something beyond goal weight, some purpose.

Happy slimming.

Renewal

I was thinking about Jon and Kate +8. Not sure why. I don't even watch the show. But there is an irony there that I just can't stop thinking about. J & K renewed their wedding vows in a fancy outdoor ceremony in Hawaii this past year, with the TV cameras rolling. Kate was wearing a lovely white number (probably worth 10X was she spent the first time around), the kids were all there, cute and engaged. I don't remember what Jon looked like. I'm just thinking about the People Magazine spread on the family.

And now they are divorcing. What happened? They made the mistake of renewing their vows. Probably the same vows they took ten years ago, before children, before fame, before all of the little, insignificant events that have happened in the last ten years, shaping the people they have become.

Do those vows even still apply? And isn't renewing your vows tantamount to professing your undying love for your soul mate (whom you just met) in People Magazine? Give me one celebrity who has gotten married after knowing the person 2 weeks, three months, etc, who has gushed in a People Magazine article about how much they love the person, how they were made for each other, how they'll never love another who is actually still married. It's not realistic. You can't feel that kind of love for a person forever. It is all consuming. And when it starts to fade, they're gone.

Back to realism. Jon and Kate. Taking their vows. Honor, cherish, death do us part, sickness, health. Where's the vow of celebrity? The vow of picking your damn clothes up off the floor two inches from the hamper and putting them in? The vow of remembering your children's birthday without assistance? The vow to not give your wife something you think she needs (like an iron) but something she wants (like a ring)? The vow to remember that your wife is human and she needs attention, too, after all the kids taking, taking, taking from her all day long? The vow to not eat almost every last bit of chips in the house and then put the bag back on the shelf with barely enough crumbs to feed a mouse?

Their vows weren't realistic for their life. They had become celebrities, with or without the intention, they were now being followed by paparazzi. People craved stories about them. They were put under the microscope of public scrutiny. I don't know if that's what they wanted or not. But there they are. You need vows to address that.

It seems like a good time to secretly renew your own vows. What would you say this time around? What is more realistic and rational? Instead of "in sickness and in health" how about "I promise to not start throwing up myself when you are hurling into the toilet." Or "I vow not to hate you every minute of the day because you can eat whatever you want and not gain an ounce and I just look at a damn plate of cookies and gain 10 pounds." Instead of "to honor and cherish" how about "I vow to do the dishes for you because I know it makes you happy." Or "I vow to actually mean it when I say 'I'll try harder next time' after we've had an arguement." Instead of "until death do us part" let's try "Until we reach that point in our lives when we just really have nothing in common and decide it's for the best that we separate before we kill each other." Or "I vow to try to forget how mean you can get when you are angry and work with you to keep this marriage alive."

And where are the vows about taking turns putting the kids to bed? Or making an effort to take your wife out once in a while instead of falling asleep on the couch? Or learning to cook something other than scrambled eggs, tuna casserole and spaghetti? Those are the vows I'd like to see. Maybe if Jon and Kate had entered into their relationship with a more realistic view of how marriage would be, they might not be getting divorced. Who knows.

lost

I am feeling isolated. I don't know if it's the summer or school being out or my slow weaning of medication that I am beginning to think I really need to be on for the rest of my life, but I feel alone. And not in a good way. I feel disconnect from people. I am missing my peeps. Where has everyone gone?

I have struggled with depression in the past. Part of it is my pessimism. I think I was a pessimistic baby. I can hardly remember a time when I didn't doubt the world. And, unfortunately, the world usually rewards me with perfect examples of why I am right to be feel that way. The mom who invites my son for a playdate and doesn't come through. The man who said he would run a bake sale and I end up hounding him so much it would have made more sense to just do it myself. The children who don't do what I ask - fourteen times later. Disappointment all around.

It's so cliche to blame the mom, but really I think I had a great teacher. As I've gotten older, I realize that my mother most likely suffers from depression but has never taken any kind of steps toward dealing with it. Except for the backhanded comments, the brooding, the withdrawal from our family. I see indicators that I recognize in my own life, mirrored in my mom's. She would never talk about it. That just isn't something "we" do in our family. And, heaven forbid, she would see someone about it. A professional. A *whisper* therapist.

My therapist, K, was fired in March by me. I marched in there, feeling all in control of my life. I had good friends, a good routine, good exercise program. Things were looking up and I was ready to move on. What has happened in the last three months that makes me feel like I'm back to square one?

I think I expect a lot from people. And when they disappoint me, I begin to withdraw. I am having more arguments with my pre-teen daughter. She is withdrawing. My son has been more disagreeable than ever. My husband has been crabby. My friends are moving in different directions with their lives, looking inward and busy with their own interests. I am alone.

God, this is depressing. A weekend alone, that's what I needed. The family is gone and I have too much time to myself. Quiet time that can be filled with reading, TV watching, soul searching and paranoid thoughts. I'm thinking it wasn't the best idea.

Sleepy Morning

I love the first moments as I wake up. That groggy time between sleep and awake where you don't know where you are, who you are, what is going on. I can be anyone. I can be young, important, reasonable, kind, caring, tough. It can be any day of the week, weekend, special day, regular day. Before all the every day stuff comes rushing in.

I was being particularly lazy this morning. My husband was in a great mood. I wonder what kind of crack he is on. Not sure where he gets it, the morning perkies. It takes me a while to get there. That's why I like the first moments before the kid rush in. Or the time that I spend cuddling with them. Yes, they are 11 and 7, and they still like to cuddle with my in the morning. I'll take that for as long as I can. Because it won't be long before they are rushing out of the house and on to their own lives.

So I lay there, pondering the day.

It won't be a difficult day. I know that. There's only one child here. I don't have anything pressing on my list of things to do. We're going to a movie. We might even make donuts. And I get to go to dinner with my ladies tonight. What more could I ask for in a day?

I know some things will put a wrench in the works, but I feel like I can handle it today. I feel like I am on an upward momentum. Things have been going well. Our usual tight June (with all the birthdays, anniversaries, Father's Day, etc) is going smoothly. The whole summer is laid out in front of us. And even though it's busy, it seems like it will be a good summer.

Now, I don't know what kind of crack I'm on, but I think I'll stay with it. It's summer crack. It's the crack of warm days, cool nights and time to do what we want. Enjoy.

A Cog in the Wheel

I've been duped. Don't you hate it when you are led to believe one thing and then the big switcheroo happens. I'm doing a temp job, scoring for a national, well respected company. I read extended responses to questions on an assessment test. So, they read a passage about waterfalls, and then a prompt asks the students to "describe how the water falls over the rocks. What in the passage tells you this?" This is not my question, but this is the kind of stuff we're reading.

My question has a possible 4 points. That means I have to find four things correct with the response that they answered correctly. And two of the responses have to have details. But if the first part isn't there, they can't get credit for the detail. Got it? Me neither. It's a lot of thinking. And it's not exact. Because kids are different (boy don't we know that!) and each one will answer oh so slightly differently from the anchor set (these are responses that have been selected to best represent what you are looking for in each score range). There is a lot of wiggle room. It's called holistic scoring.

Basically, holistic means you can make a judgement call, but only if it completely matches the scoring guidelines, but not really. Confused yet. Yes, this is not an easy task. It seems like the rules are always changing.

"Well, that response gets a 3, but this one only gets a two because we don't like that word as well as we like this one."

I'm told it works. I can't understand how you can have 75 different people, from different backgrounds, opinions, biases, etc, score something the same, even with a detailed outline of what is acceptable. Because it just doesn't work like that. You have to make a judgement call most of the time. The kids don't use the words they're supposed to. Does surprised mean excited, nervous, amused? Can you take good to mean kindly, likes, accepts? It's crazy.

So the duped part. Last year, when I did this job, I was paid by the hour, with bonuses for extra good work (meaning fast work). I did fairly well. Got a bonus of varying amounts every week. Yesterday, the supervisor on the job drops a bomb. We're getting paid by the piece. That means, every response I grade, I get 13 cents. Yes, I said 13 cents. So speed is obviously the key. But is that accurate? And how much do I have to read to make what I was making last year?

Well, kids, here's some math for you: In order to make $12.50 an hour, I have to read and score 96 responses in an hour. That's about 1 and half responses per minute. I don't remember how I did last year, how many responses I scored, but it was also a much easier question, so you could do it quickly. Read 100 responses in an hour, make $13.00. Doesn't seem worth it.

That's a lot of brain power used at night, when I'm sleepy and cranky and ready to relax. Not very relaxing, I'll tell you.

Could all be for nothing. Maybe I'll score 200 an hour and make $26 dollars. Maybe pigs will fly out of my butt. Maybe I'll win the lottery. Who knows. It could happen.

Classy People

I don't know what to say. I had a contractor in my house, he's working for our local gas company. They're replacing risers? Still not sure what it is, but apparently it's the pipe part between the meter and the house. Not sure why they had to do it, but the flyer says it's at "no direct cost to you." What about indirect? I'm thinking I will see the charge at some point, in higher gas rates? Certainly.

Anyway, he finished his job outside and he had to check to make sure all our gas appliances were working o.k. I told him our water heater was electric. He didn't believe me. Then he saw it in the basement.

"Oh, yeah, it is," he says. Yeah, that's what I told you. I smile.

He putzes around looking for some switch. "O.K., asshole," he says to no one in particular, "where are you? There you are." He gives me a 10 minute lecture on furnaces and how (pay attention ladies, because this could save you money), if your furnace quits, just switch the power off, let it reboot (or think, as he said) and try it again. Sometimes if it loses gas pressure, it gets "confused."

The contractor tells me this because, he says, I am a lady and he likes to let us know because the $150 service call could be a nice outfit for me. Plus, the "old man" (his words, not mine) won't be happy when he has to pay for it. I can see where he's going with all of this. Classy guy.

So, he's leaving, still making sure I understand about the furnace, how it gets confused.

"So you see, when you lose power or the gas pressure, the furnace is out here." His hands go up beside his head. "I know you wipe your butt every day, but you don't know which hand you'll wipe with. It's like that. The furnace doesn't know what to do next. So, you reboot it to get it back on the right track."

Furnace lingo 101.

It's not until he leaves that I think, that man just said "wipe your butt" to me. Ew. Ew, EW, EW. I'm sure that's not in the employee handbook - "How to talk to customers" Use phrases like Wipe your Butt and Asshole.

I'm not sure how to take that. Good thing the kids weren't here. That would have been really classy.

Then, when he was putting the finishing spray on the new set up outside, he walks off my stone path through my garden and promptly tramples the only living balloon flower that came up from last year with his size 12 work boot. Aaarrrrggghhhh.

I love classy people.

House Rules

I had a busy weekend. Went to my parent's house for a birthday/Derby Party. We go every year. My mother has the unfortunate luck of having her birthday right around Mother's Day. Sometimes she gets two celebrations, sometimes she gets one. She'll get two this year, but one, Mother's Day, without her children around.

I think she prefers it that way.

Let me explain. My mother is very particular. She has always been that way. She believes there is a right way to do everything. And it's usually her way...no, always her way that is right. She can be fun, but she also forgets what it's like to have small children running around. I think she was that way when we were little. I remember going on outings and bike rides with my dad all the time, to give Mom a rest. I always thought it was a nice break for us from the rules.

Now that she is a grandma, she has all kinds of rules that we have to follow. There are certain places that toys can be played with. Toys are not allowed to migrate from the toy room upstairs. There is no running. Shoes must reside in the shoe stand in the laundry room. There is no food eaten anywhere except in the kitchen. When you are finished with your meal, you are to wash your hands...in the powder room off the laundry room - no where else. Save your napkin, or you don't get dessert. Take your leftovers with you when you leave. Please make your beds exactly the way you found them, down to the last crease. Put your dishes in the dishwasher, but wipe off the inside door of the dishwasher or else it stains the stainless steel. There are certain places for everything in the fridge and they need to be put back there. Etc., Etc., Etc.

There are many more, but it's starting to look ridiculous. She has created this perfect little life, with all her things in the right places and everything going neatly the way it needs to go. Only, it's not.

She has a 93 year old mother, my grandmother, who is constantly throwing her curve balls. And she hates it. Unscheduled doctor appointments, trips to the grocery store, illness - now I hate when that's not scheduled... Anything out of her schedule or happy little order throws her off. I used to think it was my fault. That if I was a better daughter, if I worked a little harder, tried a bit more, she wouldn't get so mad. But now I see, she just needs medication and a good therapist.

So, back to the weekend. Things are humming along. It's been rather pleasant for a change. Everyone is having fun. Kids are being good. There is wine, chips and dip, cheeses, funny hats, lovely hats, and running horses. She's in a good mood and, frankly, it's a miracle. Then, dinner time.

There are 10 people in the house for dinner. Four kids, one nonegenarian, three 30 - 40 somethings and my parents. It's bound to get a little chaotic. That's life. Not in my mom's house. We do what we've been asked to do. It's her birthday, we're supposed to help out and make it so she doesn't have a lot of work to do. That wouldn't be such a challenge if she weren't so damn picky. It's just not possible to do it the way she wants, because you just can't tell what that will be from day to day. And then my son, my lovely boy, follows orders to wash his hands after he is finished with his meal. But, he tries to wash his hands at the kitchen sink. Oh, horror! No! Yes, and he gets chastised for it. And then my mom is in a bad mood. The tension builds, her mouth tenses and everyone feels it.

It blows over, faster then I thought it would. But boils to the surface again the next day, when, once again, the boys - in their rush to wash hands like they've been asked to - go toward the wrong bathroom and get in trouble. I can't take it and I snap back. It happens. I reach a point where I just can't stand to see my kids get in trouble when they are making an effort. I argue with her. Her rationale? She doesn't want the kids messing up the guest bath (that I am currently using anyway) because the fixture is harder to clean and why the hell does everyone keep fighting with her about that?

I guess that's fair. It's her house. But it's not the hand washing we are argueing about. It's all the rules. A rule for handwashing, a rule for toys, a rule for activity, a rule for eating, a rule for sleeping, a rule for everything. It's too much. They're young, they're boys, they forget. I want to say, "Lighten up, woman. It's just a house. You're going to clean it anyway when we all leave, why does it matter? Do you want your grandkids to remember what an anal tight ass you were or how much fun they had at grandma's? Because, right now, it's leaning toward tight ass."

I can't wait to be a grandma. I'll let them run around the house, eat sugar, run their hands along the wall, scream at the top of their lungs, scatter the toys around, and wash their hands where ever they damn well please. At least they are washing them, right?

Shameless

I've been robbed. Not the knife at the throat, or gun in your back, give me your wallet kind of robbery. No, actually this one was quite painfree and silent. Our checking account was robbed, using my husband's debit card number. Not his card, just the number and expiration date. How it happened, I have not yet determined, but it has set off a chain of events that brings me to my next topic - we are a world without shame.

The robbers got off with roughly $2500, most of which we didn't really have. So our account was overdrawn. We're not liable. We have to sign some paper work. We'll have a bunch of fees posted to our account for being even more overdrawn as legitimate checks we have written are cashed. We'll get that money back, they say at the bank. But it will still require vigilance on our part.

Someone steals money from me, using a card number that they got illegally from somewhere (and now I'm suspecting it is a cashier at Caribou Coffee, as that was one of the last places my husband used his card), bought a plane ticket to go somewhere I'll never go and they get off, completely free. I, on the other hand, get to have a heart attack (when I first discovered the theft), a little crying jag, a whole bunch of time checking the account online, talking to the bank, signing papers and then making sure that everything is given back to us so our account is back to normal, basically for the next few months. Have they no shame?

We are a society that revels in our revelations of infidelity, children without fathers (I'm thinking Jerry Springer here), doing your own thing regardless of how it affects other people. Music in your car too loud? Who cares...I'm doing what I want. Smoke blowing in someone's face at a restaurant? So? It's my business, butt out.

I'm not a fan of the kind of shame that makes people feel bad for things they have no control over. I'm not a scarlet letter kind of lady. Or the kind of shame that might have been heaped, in a former time, on a child of mixed race. There is some shame that has had it's time and we must move on. I wouldn't shame someone for a birth defect, or wearing a skimpy article of clothing. But where is our own sense of shame that keeps us from doing something wrong. Something we know is wrong?

My friend, K, told me a story about a nerdy boy who was asked someone in a car (a thump thump car, as my kids call them) to turn their music down as it was too loud and it was disrupting the general public. What happened? Well, I thought he would get beaten up, too. But, no, nothing happened. That boy, that brave boy who stood up to bad taste and poor judgment, just shuffled off and the music wasn't turned down. I'll bet the kid in the car drove off, laughing, getting a big kick out of the nerd to tried to tell him what to do. He probably proudly recounted the story to his friends. Hah, hah, too funny, what a shmuck.

I'm sure there was a time when, a comment like that might have actually caused the driver to say "oh, I'm sorry, here I'll turn it down." Can't say I've known that time in my life. People just get nastier and nastier, with no shame for their poor actions. It's just sad.

So, there you have it. No shame. Robbing, cheating, lying, bad choices. Maybe a little shame wouldn't be a bad thing? Maybe I wouldn't have to be so paranoid about using my debit card if someone had just been a little bit ashamed. Is that so wrong to ask?

A window to another world

I hate catalogs. But, who am I kidding? I read them all. They show up on my doorstep, all shiny, clean, lovely, with lots to see and worlds to invite me into. They promise happiness from a billowing new blouse, a happy party with just the right dinner table accessories, an orderly house with another organizational tool. So easy. Just order, call 1-800-WESELLSTUFF, or go online www.promisingyoutheworld.com.

I got a catalog in the mail today. Coldwater Creek. The women look so happy, so bouncy, so ready for life. I'm guessing they have a lot of money. The clothes aren't cheap. I mean, come on, $80 for a cardigan and tank? That's way out of my budget. But you seem them, enjoying their life. Lounging on a wicker chair in their highly flattering ShapeMe jeans with front control panel. Tossing their hair as they laugh while their bandana patterned blue jacket, with just a hint of Ming florals, hangs so nicely over a crisp basic white t-shirt made from 100% cotton. It's so easy. I could have that jacket, with it's trapunto stitching at the waist - whatever the hell that is. It's handwashed, but really who cares when she looks so happy!

The clothes have a loose, casual look to them. See her, on the beach, in her light wrap with a slight sheen and beautiful crunchy texture. I am not making this up. It is in the catalog. She's got great teeth. Are those available in the catalog, too? She's probably on her way to a beach party with Kelly Ripa, ready to eat some fancy hors d'ouevres and drink cosmos with the celebrities. Now, if she can just find the right hand bag...wait, page 42, there. Now she's ready.

My life would be so easy. First, all I need is all the money I want. Makes sense. Then, with the right clothes, a new house, a different location, famous friends, a hairdresser, makeup artist, lighting expert, producer, agent, talent director, writer, set designer, set dresser, water boy, key grip, stunt double, catering service...I'll be so happy. Right?

Where's my credit card? I'm ready to order!

Job hunt

I'm supposed to be looking for a job. I've been looking...for the last year and a half. It's not going so well. It doesn't help that the economy has tanked and everyone and their uncle are looking for jobs. I have gone from being a college educated working citizen to a stay at home mom. And all that previous work experience? Worthless to me now. I haven't worked for 8, almost 9 years. That is not to say I haven't volunteered, worked for no pay, learned things I never did in my working life.

But these things aren't quantifiable.

You can't say "I've learned to be a good mediator when my son cut all the hair off my daughter's favorite horse and she wanted to kill him on the spot." Do you know how much self restraint it takes to not strangle one child and keep the other one from doing the job herself? A lot.

"I've learned patience from constantly repeating myself, not being heard and then saying it again a few more times for good measure." Here's the litany...'wash your hands, put the toilet seat down, leave the cat alone, pick up your coat, put your book away, don't put THAT in the toilet, leave your sister alone, leave your brother alone, stop hitting. It takes an enormous amount of patience to repeat yourself over and over again without going insane. I know, I've done it.

"I've learned how to budget my time." When you have a house to clean, laundry, a grocery trip, a birthday gift to pick up, Doctor appointments, painting (and not the fun kind), volunteering, soccer practice, club meetings, phone calls, cages to clean, rooms to pick up and only 7 hours in which to do that before the monkeys come home and make it darn near impossible to finish without whining, arguing and mayhem, you learn to budget your time.

"I'm a better employee now than I was before." Better how? Well, if you tell me that you are going to give me a job to do, and I have four hours in which to do it, and no one will bother me with "she hit me, he's reading too loud, she's being mean, he's singing too much," and at the end of that four hours I will actually accomplish something...damn, I will kick some butt and feel so good about doing it that I will happily come back the next day and do it again. How many of your employees can say that now?

"I don't have to work, I want to work." Why is this a big difference? Because I'm not working to pay the bills, although it would certainly make it easier to buy new furniture whenever my son decides to stop ruining everything I own, I WANT to be there. I want to be working. I look forward to going off to work, getting things done, being helpful, being recognized for my work. That says a lot. I will be a happy employee. Happy employees work harder. It's a fact.

"I won't live for this job, but I'll do my best work and you won't have to pay me any extra." Whatever I find won't be my reason for living. But I can guarantee that I will put my heart into it when I am there. And just being paid for working is such a bonus that I won't be looking for raises or bonuses or any of that stuff.

I'll keep looking. And at this point, I'm about ready to start putting some of that stuff into my cover letter. Honesty is the best policy. Let's try that.

"Frustrated and annoyed SAHM looking for work. Will do a damn good job at whatever you give her to do, because she's a mom and she's used to juggling 40 things at one time without messing up. She's laid back, easy to work with and just happy to be out of the house. Pay is negotiable, but appreciated."

I'll let you know if that works.

Getting a life

I had an altercation at the gym today. I was told to get a life by a man who chose not to follow the rules and was interrupting my gym time. Sounds silly, but when you think about it, this story just shows how badly people relate to each other.

At our gym, you sign up for machines for 15 minute intervals. You can sign up for up to a half hour, but that's it. The idea is, during really busy times, everyone has a chance at a machine. No one hogs a machine. It's a fair system and it seems to work. Except when people think they don't have to follow the rules. And let me tell you, this isn't the first time this has happened.

I had spent 30 minutes working out on a stationary bike. I previously signed up for the first ski machine in a row of four. My time slot was 9:45 to 10. As the system goes, your time starts at 9:45 until the end of the 15th minute, so just as the clock is turning 10, you should get off. Very simple. It works nicely and, frankly, it's not that busy in the mornings most days.

So, I'm peddling away, feeling good, glad to be working out. As the 9:45 time approaches, I see that there is someone on the machine I have signed up for. I wonder, will this person be finished by the time I get there. When I'm finished on my bike, I clean it off with a gym wipe. That's the way it's done here. A little soggy, but at least I'm leaving the machine nice for the next person. I walk over to the ski machine and notice that Mr. Man, as I will call him, has not signed up for the time slot before mine. Which means he thinks he's exempt from the whole "sign up for your exercise time" rigmarole.

I wait a minute. It is now 9:45. Things are not looking good. Mr. Man is still working out hard. I stand slightly to one side behind him hoping to jog his memory that maybe someone else might have this machine next. He looks over and says "are you signed up on this machine?"

"Yes, at 9:45" I say. No malice, no anger, just waiting for him to get off.

He says, "I have three more minutes on here."

"Uh, I'm signed up at 9:45 that is when I should get the machine." He huffs and ignores me. I stand there for another minute and the woman working out next to him speaks.

"I'm almost done with this one, you can have it." To which I reply,

"I've signed up for that one and that's the one I'd like." Silly, I know, but I don't like to be boxed in by people and the one I chose was on the end and closer to a TV. This is one of my few chances to catch the news in the morning and without my glasses it's hard to see, so I like the machine that has a TV right in front of it. There are reasons for my madness, not that Mr. Man gives a crap.

I wait another minute and the guy is still not getting off. So, then I walk over to the "Guy in Charge." Eric, the "Guy in Charge" listens to my little rant, and at this point, I am annoyed but not angry. He walks over and as he gets into position to tell the guy to get off, Mr. Man steps off, glares at me and walks away to the drinking fountain. I am standing there when he gets back, because he has not cleaned off the machine. And let me tell you, he was sweating like a hippo in the Sahara and I did NOT want any part of that slimy machine.

He breezes by me and I tell him this is the way the system works, I sign up for a machine and I get it when I sign up for it. (As an aside here, let me note that all the other ski machines were busy and one was out of order, so there weren't any others I could take) He tells me "You need to get a life" and gets on the machine next to the slimy machine I'm supposed to use.

"So, you're not going to clean it?" I say, huffy and annoyed at this point. He glares at me again. Apparently I am annoying him with my silly rule following. He steps off, lifts his sweaty, holey white t-shirt and wipes down the hand levers with his shirt. Oh, my GOD. Disgusting. I look at his and say, "You are an ass." And I walk over to the Guy In Charge to let him know that I am really pissed now and this is just inconsiderate and rude and what is going to be done about it?

He hems and haws, feels for me, but doesn't really do anything. I decide to leave. There aren't any other machines available. I am seriously pissed off and shaking. This has disrupted my morning and I am NOT happy about it. All I wanted was 45 minutes of workout time. De-stress, relax, get healthy and some asshole has to go and be a shit. Excuse my language. I'm angry.

I go downstairs and talk to Ralph, the really funny, nice old guy who works the desk. He feels for me too, gets me calmed down, commiserates with me and most likely keeps me from going all spider monkey on Mr. Man. I talk to my friend, Tracy, for a bit, get jacked up again trying to decide if I should confront Mr. Man, let him know that he is a jerk and he has ruined my workout. I decide to take the high road.

As I'm leaving, I see the Guy in Charge again, and we chat. He apologizes. That's what I really wanted, but not from him necessarily. He says they've had problems and some people are worse than others. We commiserate and I go home. But as I'm walking, I think - really, what a jerk. Tell me to get a life? Please, I have a life. A busy life. I'm a mom, a wife, I take care of the house, clean, renovate, volunteer, run a 4-H group, listen to my mother rant about my grandmother...I'm a busy person. And I had 45 minutes to spend at the gym to de-stress. That is part of my life. It is what keeps me from going crazy. Along with a bunch of medicine...but seriously, this is not the way I like to spend my workout time.

I came home and wrote a letter to the local paper. If I can't fight Mr. Man with my fist, even though I REALLY wanted to hit him, I would write about it. We'll see if they publish it.

It seems stupid, really, when you think about it. Arguing over time on a gym machine. When there is all this crap going on in the world, people losing jobs, our economy tanking, terrorists, car crashes, people killing other people. Yes, it's really minor. But it's a part of my life. And in that little sliver of time, Mr. Man had a chance to be a decent person and he chose to be an ass. What does that say about him?