Taxiing the Runway

I sort of started my diet. I've been eating many of the recommended meals. I ate some almonds while watching TV last night. Although, I think the idea is to eat the almonds during the day, not at 11 pm. And not with white chocolate squares.

I couldn't help it. I got this cool little almond tin yesterday that I signed up for for free through Mir's site. I needed to try them out. The long term idea is that I'll keep the squee little tin in my purse and eat the almonds when I want to go through drive through for some french fries. We'll see how that goes.

So far this week, I ate three donuts. Who the hell bought donuts? Don't they know I'm on a diet? Is it possible to diet with donut-eating people in the house?

Do you ever get that thing where just because you're starting a diet and you're motivated and you ate a few healthy meals you feel like your jeans should fit better instantly? Yeah, I have that. I've started a little weight training every day, so every limb aches and must be swollen because my clothes feel even tighter. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the donuts or white chocolate. Or the beer.

I do have to admit, I feel better right now than I have in over a year. I bought myself a pair of jeans that fit (for you, Amanda!), I'm getting to bed by 11:30 every night with no night nursing, and I'm taking my vitamins. The little bit of weight training and stretching makes me feel like I'm 80, er, makes me feel better too. I have a bit of energy. I'm not sitting at the computer all day. I'm not stuffing myself with white pasta and butter.

We're off to speech therapy, so I'll leave you with two random quotes from this morning:

Me: Honey, we don't throw stools at people.

Shall Remain Anonymous: I am an evil knight. And I have to go poop.

A Title Escapes Me

Today is the last day of February vacation. We hit the mall, twice, Chuck E. Cheese, the bowling alley, McDonald’s ... OK, the week was kind of lame, but the kids liked it.

As punishment for taking the kids to places with actual germs, I came down with a head cold yesterday, and feel pretty much like dirt. John woke this morning with a suspicious, gurgling cough. However, I would much rather have this than a virus of the “stomach” variety, so no complaints here.

Let’s see, what else did I do this week.... Oh yeah, procrastinated going to the post office. Mike and HomeMom, your packages will go out tomorrow, promise! Also, Land’s End? Why do your clothes seem normal online but once in my house seem like the height of dorkdome? Even my 6 year old won’t wear your stuff. Also, why must I re-learn this every few years?

I also decided on the diet I’m going to use to lose weight, or at least stop gaining it. The YOU on a Diet program from doctors Mehmet Oz (Oprah’s new boyfriend) and Michael Roizen (the Real Age guy) appeals to me for several reasons.

• At first I couldn’t get by the “no white flour/sugar/salt in first five ingredients” aspect of it. It just seems so painful, like, liposuction would hurt less. However, since surgical correction is for the rich, I’ll have to settle for old fashion eating less and exercising. And with this, there are no arbitrary food restrictions. For instance, watermelon? Fine. Whole wheat bread and pasta? Go for it. Millet? Sure, why not. (Millet’s not allowed on the GI diet. Millet. Rarely have I felt so virtuous as when eating millet, my God people.)

• The plan focuses on eating well, and until you’re satisfied. It also strives to take the emphasis OFF of eating. That’s one thing that I hate about Weight Watchers, with all it’s damn points and lists and frozen treats. I would end up thinking about nothing but food, 24/7. With this plan, eating is simplified, especially breakfast, lunch and snacks. I’ll be eating the same small group of things (i.e., cereal or yogurt and fruit, salad with tuna or chicken or whatever, soup, nuts) every day. There is no 20 pound tome of “YOU” recipes for me to learn. In fact, check out this awesome meal planning tool I found at Real Age/YOU. Love it!

• The YOU plan is almost exactly the same as the eating part of the Solution training that I’m doing. The two are so alike that it’s kind of freaking me out, like God is holding my head in both hands, pointing my chubby cheeks in this direction and saying, "Go."

The other decision I made is to buy a treadmill instead of joining a gym. This decision has taken months, mainly because a treadmill is so large and heavy and and expensive. I need one I can run on, and according to Consumer Reports, it will cost me about $1,000. Holy debt accrual, Batman! The thing that pisses me off is my insurance, Blue Cross, will reimburse me $150 if I join a gym but not if I buy a treadmill. They may not change their minds, but when I’m done with the customer service manager, he will wish he could give me the money just to make me shut up.

Since we’re talking about decisions, here’s another one: I realized that part of the reason I don’t enjoy blogging as much any more is that I don’t reply to many comments. Chatting with you guys is the fun part! What the hell is my problem? Part of it is that I can’t just hit reply to a comment and send it, because of Blogger and Outlook conspiring against me. So from now on I will reply to comments in the comments. Big news, I know.

OK, that’s about it. I’m offline today so I can make it a fun day with the kids. There was a lot of yelling this week, much of it by me, unfortunately. Wow, do my boys know how to piss me off. Wow, do I still need to work on being patient with them. So today will be all about edible necklaces and peanut butter pine cones. With, God help me, no yelling by mom.

The Big 4-0

My husband turns 40 tomorrow. In an hour, my mom will be here to spend the night with the kids. I’ll get the house together while Brian takes the boys sledding. Then we’ll go to Macy’s for some clearance shopping, maybe hit our favorite Chinese place for lunch. Tonight, we’re heading up to Portsmouth, N.H., for dinner out, then we’ll go to my mom’s place to spend the night. In the morning, we’ll sleep as late as we want, and go out for breakfast before heading back home.

When I met Brian, I was 17 years old (20 years ago, holy crap!), and he was engaged to marry his high school sweetheart. When they broke up the following spring, we started dating within a week. I didn’t take the relationship seriously in the beginning. I was only 18, after all, with no intention of meeting The One just yet.

That summer, my bad grades and state budget cuts (remember Dukakis?) resulted in my suspension at school and the loss of my financial aid. My parents, annoyed with my irresponsible behavior, threw up their hands and said, “Oh, well.” I couldn’t go back to UMass. I’d have to go to Salem State and live at home.

Sitting with the telephone on the floor of my tiny bedroom, I told Brian I couldn’t go back to UMass. I got suspended. There was no money.

Without missing a beat, he said, “Of course you can come back to UMass. Just go to a bank. Just appeal the suspension.”

In the end, unbelievably, he was right. I appealed my suspension at UMass, and they gave me another chance, one I didn’t squander. We went to the bank and discovered Plus Loans, which allowed my parents to pay the interest while I went to school, and me to pay back the principle when I graduated.

My dad was proud that I took control and got myself out of the mess I’d created. But without Brian, it never would have happened.

I fell in love with Brian that summer. And I fall in love with him every night when he gives the kids their baths and reads them stories, when he takes the boys out for some fun every weekend, when he gets me a beer while a sit on my butt on the couch, when he cooks dinner on the weekends, when he gets up with Ava in the middle of the night so she won’t see me and bee-line for my nipples.

Brian let me sleep in every single weekend, both days, from the time I got pregnant with Ava in fall 2004 until a few weeks ago, when we weaned her from night feedings. When the dreaded stomach flu enters our home, he cleans up the messes. When we eat a chicken, he roasts the bones and makes a stock. When I ask him to rub my shoulders, he does.

Even though he always said he didn’t want more babies once he turned 40, he told me recently that he’s up for a fourth if I want to. And I know he meant it.

In other words, Brian's a giving person. In other words, I'm a lucky wife, and I couldn't possibly list all the reasons why.

Happy birthday, honey. I love you.

158

Every time I weigh myself, I weigh more. In fact, my five year old took this picture a month ago, and I’ve gained a few more pounds since. Taking another picture to match this post's title seemed self-abusive, though, so you guys can extrapolate.

What you can’t see:
• My double chin, artfully ensconced behind the turtle neck.

• My flesh extending a good 2 to 3 inches over my waist band, all the way around.

• My bulging tummy, which a side view would have revealed. If you look closely though, you can see the lines in my sweater billowing outward.

• The zipper on my jeans that keeps unzipping, which is probably unrelated to my weight but somehow makes me feel fatter anyway.

• My ass, because I care about you.

What you can see, besides the fact that I needed to wash my hair, is my thighs. Behold, the thighs! They were the bane of my existence from age 13 to 33. On reflection at my advanced age, however, I’m more pissed about not having breasts. Don’t you think a size C cup would balance my lower half nicely?

I don’t believe that I look disgusting or unattractive the way I am right now. Although I would look better if my clothes fit.

For many years I thought thin equalled attractive. It doesn't. So many other things go into "attractive" besides weight.

I just don't feel like myself at this weight. I don't feel comfortable. When I run my stomach flaps up and down and I have to hold it. This isn’t as obvious as holding large breasts but it’s much less fun. Also, the scale keeps climbing. I don’t like that either.

Then there's the fact that, if I don't eat well and get some exercise, my health suffers, regardless of what the scale says. I have enough working against me already: genetics, 12 years as a smoker, other things I don't care to mention. I don't want eating and not working out to go against me too. I want to meet my grandbabies.

Many of you reading this may weigh 160 pounds or more and feel fantastic. Maybe you’re on a diet and 160 is your goal weight. Maybe, if you could, you’d slap me across the face and say, “Quit bitching, skinny girl!”

I try not to get on my soapbox too often, but I want to point out that, in a Self article I read last night, the featured weight-loss woman's "before" weight was 156. Also, and more importantly, just because I don’t weigh more than X number of pounds, my struggle with weight and eating is no easier than anyone else’s. (Except for people with eating disorders.) I think about everything I put in my mouth and feel either virtuous or, to varying degrees, guilty. I have done this since age 10, when, because of my metabolism, I looked so skeletal that my teachers brought up my weight at parent-teacher conferences.

My mom always had ice cream, candy bars and pastries in the house. I don’t know why. Because it was 1980 and the living was easy? I remember sitting on the couch watching TV with my parents and older brother, eating a Snicker’s bar. I felt bad about myself with every bite. Looking back now I can’t believe that at age 10 I was already so worried about getting fat. One would think that, for someone who weighed 68 pounds soaking wet in snow boots and a parka after eating Thanksgiving dinner, “getting fat” wouldn't even be on the radar.

Just because someone’s thin doesn’t mean they have food and eating “figured out.” I sure as hell don’t and didn’t when I weighed 130 in my 20s and early 30s, either. It doesn't mean that person doesn't eat to feel better. It doesn’t mean that person doesn’t spend every day thinking about food and working out for fear of putting the weight back on. Because that’s what I did for a long time. Until I gave up and started gaining this weight.

I’m sick of the roller coaster, personally. I’m sick of thinking about food and my weight. But I still hope to get it figured out. Which means I'll have to think about it some more.

Yesterday I got a new book, Living the GI Diet. I was excited about it but now I see that I can’t eat peanut butter or watermelon on the plan, and my enthusiasm has dwindled. Because, I mean, watermelon? Peanut butter? It reminds me of the time my mother told me to stay away from corn and peas, and I was all, “Mom, I don’t think anyone ever got fat from eating peas.”

Eh. What do I know.

Cough and Cold Medicines Not for Toddlers

I've got a new post up at DotMoms.

Last month, my 18-month-old daughter had a cough and a fever. When I called her pediatrician, the nurse told me give to her an over-the-counter cough and cold medicine ...

Friday Post of the Random

• Blogger forced me to upgrade to the New! Non-beta! Blogger! I am scared.

• After a fantastic weekend of scrapbooking, where I completed eight pages and laughed so hard I got buzzed from endorphins (And chocolate. And beer. And having no one ask me to wipe their butt.), I have decided to stick with it. At least until I finish and album for John and Ava. Then, we'll see. I think digital albums will be the way to go once I get caught up to 2005.

• Going forward, the Tuesday Giveaway will be called the Now-Defunct Tuesday Giveaway. It didn't work out, for a couple of reasons. First, having to do it every week, I ended up doing give aways with no review at all. I at least like to make some effort to do a real review, but with the weekly self-imposed deadline I couldn't keep up. And finally, I just didn't get that much of a response. I'll still do giveaways from time to time, just not every week. Or month.


• Remember how I said I couldn't find my motivation to lose weight? Guess what I remembered. My 20th high school reunion is this November. I was chunky in high school and I will be damned -- DAMNED! -- if I'm going to be chunky at the reunion. Especially since I was skinny most of the time since I left high school! I am, however, appropriately leary of using my high school classmates as motivation, since they didn't work so well the first time around.

• Kraft fat-free shredded mozarella tastes like rubber, and when you melt it, it somehow gets harder. I thought I was eating the fake cheese from Ava's kitchen play set.

• Last night, I met with John's preschool teachers. Can I tell you how in love with John's preschool teachers I am? So in love. I want to box them up and take them home with me. I want them as honorary family members. John is thriving, is brilliant, loves school again, etc. etc. The Preschool Crisis of 2006 is officially over.

• I owe DotMoms some posts, and I've started working with a coach for training in the Pathway/Solution program that I mentioned last month. So posting here will be a little light for a while. But when I do post, hoo boy, look out! Quality, coming your way! Or, not.

• This post brought to you courtesy of Little Einsteins, the magical cartoon that holds the attention of both my 18 month old and my 5 year old, thank you, God. And thank you Disney.

Scrapping the Weekend Away

I'm off for a weekend of relaxation, eating and mad scrapbooking at an inn on the coast of Maine. I've been going with a small group of women on these weekends every spring for the past five years. This year we couldn't wait until spring ... why wait?

It's a little nerve wracking this year because it's been a crazy couple of weeks, and I never had a chance to get the house together or my pictures for that matter. I'm not exactly up to date on my scrapbooks. Um, I haven't touched them in two years, since the last time I went on this trip. (I missed last year because Ava was still too little for me to rip myself away from her.)

Scrapbooking is a love/hate thing for me. Here's the DotMoms post I wrote about it when I got back from the last trip. It's just that it takes so long for me to get pictures into books, and I end up with everything in boxes. This weekend will be make or break for me. I'll either decide to call it quits on scrapbooking, or I'll be motivated to get back into it.

The other annoying thing is that I have to bring my breast pump this weekend. That's the downside of nursing into toddlerhood. She doesn't need my milk, but all kinds of catostrophic things will happen to my chest in the next two days if I don't pump while I'm away from her. Still, I think I'd rather be me pumping at an inn in Maine than Brian, here, dealing with screaming, nipple-seeking Ava at 4 am.

I'm sorry I never got to tell you more about Madea's Family Reunion, the giveaway for charity, along with Brother Bear 2, that you can see right below this post. Trust me, it's funny, though it's more for mom and dad than the kids.

I know a few DVDs isn't the most exciting prize, but if you have even $5 to spare for Adelaide's cystic fibrosis fundraising team, it would mean a lot.

Have a great weekend, and thanks for stopping by my blog.