If I had time to blog ... which I don't ... I'd tell you about my son, Peabo. He somehow became a teenager overnight on me, complete with stinky teenaged feet and a compelling need to use (moderately) foul language around his mother.
That last part? Totally won't fly.
He wanted total world domination for his birthday. Again. He got this cool book called Rule the World: 119 Shortcuts to Total World Domination from his grandparents. Now he's well on his way.
I'd tell you about the cupcakes I made for his party: Martha Stewart's mint-filled brownie cupcakes. Not one of the kids liked them, except for my diva, but she likes brussels sprouts, so you never know with her. I'm still transitioning from the Big Get Healthy to the Big Stay Healthy, so I couldn't even try them. I was smart enough to bring a back-up cake to the party, though. Talk about over-prepared - I mean, who brings a back-up dessert to a birthday party? But at least all those brownie cupcake haters had something sweet and sugary to chase down their pizza and popcorn.
I also made Peabo cinnamon buns from scratch, and the world's most chocolatey brownies, also from scratch. My first ever from-scratch brownies. And homemade mac & cheese with chicken and ham and broccoli. It tickled me pink that my Peabo, who used to eat nothing but chicken nuggets and frozen pizzas, wanted a slew of homemade birthday treats. Needless to say, I made him everything he asked for.
If I had time to blog ... again, I don't ... I'd tell you about how the crazy dog is no longer satisfied with barking at my beautiful children but is also herding them and occasionally nipping at them, and twice left little bitty tooth bruises on my Peabo's thigh. This, after all my researching and training and learning to use a clicker and pretending I don't mind having stinky, oogy fingers from treating my dog with cut up hot dogs and chicken. We're now down to the last option, the one where I call the rescue group and suggest that we may not be the right family for this beautiful dog. They are investigating. But I think the upshot of it is, perhaps, that kids with loud voices and spectrummy tantrums do not work and play well with border collie. We are stressing him out.
We'll see how it goes.
If I had time, I'd tell you about the afghan I started knitting, with fat circular needles in a rich purple and olive. It's for a friend. I think she doesn't read the blog, but if she does, well, dear, it's NOT for you! (It is, but we'll keep that between the rest of us.) I made up the colorwork myself - the pattern was for a solid - and it's blending beautifully. Except that not having time to blog means I have no time to knit, either, so I probably won't finish it until 2015. If I'm lucky.
I don't have time, though, to tell you about it. Instead you get little snippets that are not particularly well thought out.
Better than not blogging at all. Right?
And now I'm going to bed.
Showing posts with label dieting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dieting. Show all posts
October 26, 2011
September 23, 2011
Wrap Me In Happy
I found myself in my basement earlier this week. It doesn't happen often, because my basement is scary as hell. My ex-husband collected pretty much every collectible thing ever made, and he left all that collectible detritus behind him when he moved out. Now there are mazes of old boxes and the empty wrappers of baseball cards everywhere. It's a rodents paradise.
I don't have rodents, of course. I mean, who the hell knows, really, rodents are squirrely little things. But since my basement is also full of mousetraps, I seriously doubt it.
So I was down there, climbing over the tipping towers of crap in search of Peabo's old size 7s to pass down to my redhead, when I ran into a treasure trove of clothes. My clothes. My old, teeny, tiny, I used to be a skinny person clothes.
Skinny for me predates Peabo, which means this stuff is really, really, colossally old. Like, 14 years or better. And I should have gotten rid of it a long time ago. But some stuff you just can't part with.
Like the first interview suit I ever bought, back when I was in grad school.
The only bridesmaid's dress I had that I ever considered wearing again. Except that I squeezed into it pretty much that just that one day before I grew right out of it.
An old, blue sheath dress that once fit me like a glove. I don't remember where I wore it, but I remember I felt fabulous in it. And that was apparently reason enough to keep it forever.
The slim-waisted, full cut white skirt my mom bought me for my birthday the summer after eighth grade.
The nearly backless, slit-up-to-here revenge dress I wore to my 10-year high school reunion, where I knew I'd run into my very recent ex. I'm pretty sure he didn't notice, and actually it wasn't really that racy, because when you get right down to it I'm just not that flashy. Or revengy. But it gave me the courage to walk into the room, and that's all I needed that night.
And a whole slew of what we'll call vintage Victoria's Secret - that is, some very pretty bras that I retired when I was pregnant with Peabo and never fit back into. They all have real wire underwires. Can you imagine? Real wire.
It all fits. Even the skirt my mom bought me when I was 14. Granted, it's snug. But it buttons. And I can sit down in it. And it still fans out beautifully when I spin around. Which I most definitely did when I tried it on.
That's what happens when you lose 47 pounds. You fit into not just your skinny clothes, but your very skinny clothes.
Most of this stuff is ridiculously dated. I'm talking giant shoulder pads and pocket hankies here, folks. But it fits. And while I may never, ever wear it, I put every bit of it back into my now empty closet.
Right next to the size 14s I can't bear to part with.
The black and white dress I bought at the Loft on the one and only shopping trip I've ever made with both my sisters together.
The dark orange shirt with 3/4 sleeves that I bought for my very first post-divorce date.
The soft gray sweater that made me smile every single time I put it on, mostly because someone once told me I looked pretty in it.
The form-fitting blue dress I wore on a very special Christmas date with my fella. I still remember walking home, warm and happy, in tall black pumps that left soft prints in the snow that had fallen ever-so-gently while we were at dinner. It's a great dress.
My closet is empty now, but for this handful of outdated or oversized memories. I've shrunk right out of pretty much every single thing I own.
I miss my clothes. I don't miss the extra weight, of course. And I don't want to fit back into that stuff again. But I miss my clothes. I miss the memories, and the feeling you get from wearing something that wraps you in happy.
Time to make some new happy. Which would be a lot more fun if I didn't have to go shopping to do it.
I don't have rodents, of course. I mean, who the hell knows, really, rodents are squirrely little things. But since my basement is also full of mousetraps, I seriously doubt it.
So I was down there, climbing over the tipping towers of crap in search of Peabo's old size 7s to pass down to my redhead, when I ran into a treasure trove of clothes. My clothes. My old, teeny, tiny, I used to be a skinny person clothes.
Skinny for me predates Peabo, which means this stuff is really, really, colossally old. Like, 14 years or better. And I should have gotten rid of it a long time ago. But some stuff you just can't part with.
Like the first interview suit I ever bought, back when I was in grad school.
The only bridesmaid's dress I had that I ever considered wearing again. Except that I squeezed into it pretty much that just that one day before I grew right out of it.
An old, blue sheath dress that once fit me like a glove. I don't remember where I wore it, but I remember I felt fabulous in it. And that was apparently reason enough to keep it forever.
The slim-waisted, full cut white skirt my mom bought me for my birthday the summer after eighth grade.
The nearly backless, slit-up-to-here revenge dress I wore to my 10-year high school reunion, where I knew I'd run into my very recent ex. I'm pretty sure he didn't notice, and actually it wasn't really that racy, because when you get right down to it I'm just not that flashy. Or revengy. But it gave me the courage to walk into the room, and that's all I needed that night.
And a whole slew of what we'll call vintage Victoria's Secret - that is, some very pretty bras that I retired when I was pregnant with Peabo and never fit back into. They all have real wire underwires. Can you imagine? Real wire.
It all fits. Even the skirt my mom bought me when I was 14. Granted, it's snug. But it buttons. And I can sit down in it. And it still fans out beautifully when I spin around. Which I most definitely did when I tried it on.
That's what happens when you lose 47 pounds. You fit into not just your skinny clothes, but your very skinny clothes.
Most of this stuff is ridiculously dated. I'm talking giant shoulder pads and pocket hankies here, folks. But it fits. And while I may never, ever wear it, I put every bit of it back into my now empty closet.
Right next to the size 14s I can't bear to part with.
The black and white dress I bought at the Loft on the one and only shopping trip I've ever made with both my sisters together.
The dark orange shirt with 3/4 sleeves that I bought for my very first post-divorce date.
The soft gray sweater that made me smile every single time I put it on, mostly because someone once told me I looked pretty in it.
The form-fitting blue dress I wore on a very special Christmas date with my fella. I still remember walking home, warm and happy, in tall black pumps that left soft prints in the snow that had fallen ever-so-gently while we were at dinner. It's a great dress.
My closet is empty now, but for this handful of outdated or oversized memories. I've shrunk right out of pretty much every single thing I own.
I miss my clothes. I don't miss the extra weight, of course. And I don't want to fit back into that stuff again. But I miss my clothes. I miss the memories, and the feeling you get from wearing something that wraps you in happy.
Time to make some new happy. Which would be a lot more fun if I didn't have to go shopping to do it.
January 3, 2011
Living the Hottie Life
My San Francisco sweetie, awesome fella that he is, thinks I'm a hottie. And he tells me so, which I very much appreciate. I do, however, have mirrors in my house. And a scale. And skinny jeans that haven't fit since kid number three first made his presence felt. And while they all like me well enough - I'm a cheery gal, after all - they're a little too honest in the "hey, babe, you've let yourself go" department.
It's January, so I decided to listen. You'd think I'd listen when it's swimsuit season and I'm all exposed and everything. Not me. I decided to listen in the dead of winter, when I can hide all my rolls and flabby bits under flannel and fleece and thick wool sweaters.
I know how this works, though. It's not enough to decide a thing. You have to do it. And you have to do it right now.
So I did.
Today, I made healthier choices. I drank water. Lots of water. I ate a high-fiber, whole grain English muffin with some all-fruit spread on it for breakfast. I had plain yogurt and a pear for a snack. A baked potato with veggies and cheese for lunch. Salmon, spinach, and a bit more potato for dinner, with a half cup of blueberries for dessert. And a handful of M&Ms. Because life isn't worth living if it doesn't include chocolate.
But that's not all. I got moving. I took an actual, honest-to-goodness lunch break and exercised. Which I don't do. It's been long enough that by the end of the DVD my body was screaming at me, "Wait! Are you actually moving? Don't do that. Hey, stop that! Did you hear me? I said STOP!" And just to show me it was serious, it made me all woozy and nauseous, right at the end when I was meant to be stretching. And then it said, "I told you so."
Yeah, that was fun.
And that's when I realized I needed partners. Because there's no way I'm doing that again unless someone makes me. So I enlisted the kids. I gave them permission to wake me up (gently, mind you - I'm still not a morning person, even if they are). My oldest keeps a clock both in his head and on his wrist, so he's the Owner of the Schedule and is in charge of Waking Up Mom. Then we're all going to head down to the living room and do my little DVD workouts together. Which is a very good thing. Because today the only person in the house who can do a full push-up is my five-year-old, who was born with six-pack abs and eerie, Herculean strength. It's time to bring the rest of us in line.
After I shared this news with my kids, my oldest - I really do need to come up with blog names for these kids - said, "I know, Mom. You want to lose weight. All those New Year's resolution people want to lose weight."
But that's not it, and I told him so, very clearly. I want to be healthy. I have three little people to see into adulthood. I want to take them for hikes and bike rides and canoe trips on the Potomac. And, in 20 years or so, I want to play catch with my grandkids. If one workout - one puny little beginner's workout - can make me woozy, then I'm not going to get there.
I also want my kids to be healthy. I've been teaching them about diet, about proper nutrition and portion control. I feed them fruit and veggies and whole grains in ever increasing varieties. I pay for and drive them to sports, and I cheer my heart out when I watch them play. But I don't live that life myself.
It's high time I did. Because you don't teach by telling. You teach by showing.
I also wouldn't mind getting into a bikini again at least once before I'm 50.
Wish me luck. I had similar plans last year that were derailed by a bursitis in my hip and a change in the kids' scheduled visits with their dad. This time, though, I've got helpers. So stay tuned, and let's see if we can't make this actively sedentary family just a little bit healthier.
It's January, so I decided to listen. You'd think I'd listen when it's swimsuit season and I'm all exposed and everything. Not me. I decided to listen in the dead of winter, when I can hide all my rolls and flabby bits under flannel and fleece and thick wool sweaters.
I know how this works, though. It's not enough to decide a thing. You have to do it. And you have to do it right now.
So I did.
Today, I made healthier choices. I drank water. Lots of water. I ate a high-fiber, whole grain English muffin with some all-fruit spread on it for breakfast. I had plain yogurt and a pear for a snack. A baked potato with veggies and cheese for lunch. Salmon, spinach, and a bit more potato for dinner, with a half cup of blueberries for dessert. And a handful of M&Ms. Because life isn't worth living if it doesn't include chocolate.
But that's not all. I got moving. I took an actual, honest-to-goodness lunch break and exercised. Which I don't do. It's been long enough that by the end of the DVD my body was screaming at me, "Wait! Are you actually moving? Don't do that. Hey, stop that! Did you hear me? I said STOP!" And just to show me it was serious, it made me all woozy and nauseous, right at the end when I was meant to be stretching. And then it said, "I told you so."
Yeah, that was fun.
And that's when I realized I needed partners. Because there's no way I'm doing that again unless someone makes me. So I enlisted the kids. I gave them permission to wake me up (gently, mind you - I'm still not a morning person, even if they are). My oldest keeps a clock both in his head and on his wrist, so he's the Owner of the Schedule and is in charge of Waking Up Mom. Then we're all going to head down to the living room and do my little DVD workouts together. Which is a very good thing. Because today the only person in the house who can do a full push-up is my five-year-old, who was born with six-pack abs and eerie, Herculean strength. It's time to bring the rest of us in line.
After I shared this news with my kids, my oldest - I really do need to come up with blog names for these kids - said, "I know, Mom. You want to lose weight. All those New Year's resolution people want to lose weight."
But that's not it, and I told him so, very clearly. I want to be healthy. I have three little people to see into adulthood. I want to take them for hikes and bike rides and canoe trips on the Potomac. And, in 20 years or so, I want to play catch with my grandkids. If one workout - one puny little beginner's workout - can make me woozy, then I'm not going to get there.
I also want my kids to be healthy. I've been teaching them about diet, about proper nutrition and portion control. I feed them fruit and veggies and whole grains in ever increasing varieties. I pay for and drive them to sports, and I cheer my heart out when I watch them play. But I don't live that life myself.
It's high time I did. Because you don't teach by telling. You teach by showing.
I also wouldn't mind getting into a bikini again at least once before I'm 50.
Wish me luck. I had similar plans last year that were derailed by a bursitis in my hip and a change in the kids' scheduled visits with their dad. This time, though, I've got helpers. So stay tuned, and let's see if we can't make this actively sedentary family just a little bit healthier.
April 21, 2009
THE Tuna Salad
So, no surprise here, I am a mom. Mom of three, in fact, and quite proud of it. I also look like a mom of three. Gave birth to all of 'em myself and have the scars, stretch marks and cellulite to prove it. And for the past decade or so, I've been happily convincing myself these are badges of honor.
I am also now a not-quite-single mom who is considering reentry into the dating universe after 15 years. Frankly, unless you've been through this experience yourself, you cannot possibly imagine the sheer terror involved in putting yourself out there again. Dating was hard enough before I looked like this. And I can only imagine the challenges of dating now that I do.
To that end, I've been trying - at least a little, when I have time - to eat more healthfully. Lately that's meant that I've scaled back the late-night binge eating, and I'm trying to stay away from the macaroni & cheese and chicken nuggets. The kids may get McDonald's, but not me! Well, maybe a fry ... or two. But that's it!
Today, in an effort to be healthy, I sat down to make myself a salad. Checked the fridge. No lettuce!! How does one make a salad without lettuce? Oh, sure, there are ways ... but my creativity was stifled for a minute. Just a minute, mind.
And then I came up with it - the Ultimate Tuna Salad. High in protein and veggies. Not a refined carbohydrate in the bowl. Satisfying. Full of flavor and crunch. And I just gobbled it up in about 30 seconds. Hope it's to your taste.
1/2 red pepper, chopped (though my red pepper was admittedly the largest I've ever seen, so you may want more)
2 whole carrots (or about 10 of the minis), chopped
6-8 sweet baby gherkins, chopped
1 can quartered artichoke hearts
1 can hearts of palm, halved or quartered and sliced
2 tsp olive oil
2 tsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp dried tarragon (rubbed in the palms)
salt & pepper to taste
1 can chunk light tuna packed in water, drained
Dump it all in a bowl and mix. I would have added a quarter cup or so of pepitas if I'd had them around. Maybe some corn. This would be fun to play around with a bit.
This iteration, though, was definitely good enough for me. The crunch and the soft, the salt and the sweet - it just worked. I want more. My cats are going nuts, as well - though I think that's all about the tuna.
This should probably serve 4. It's going to give me just two meals, though, I can tell that already. And please don't tell me that eating healthfully also includes portion control. That particular rule does not apply today.
I am also now a not-quite-single mom who is considering reentry into the dating universe after 15 years. Frankly, unless you've been through this experience yourself, you cannot possibly imagine the sheer terror involved in putting yourself out there again. Dating was hard enough before I looked like this. And I can only imagine the challenges of dating now that I do.
To that end, I've been trying - at least a little, when I have time - to eat more healthfully. Lately that's meant that I've scaled back the late-night binge eating, and I'm trying to stay away from the macaroni & cheese and chicken nuggets. The kids may get McDonald's, but not me! Well, maybe a fry ... or two. But that's it!
Today, in an effort to be healthy, I sat down to make myself a salad. Checked the fridge. No lettuce!! How does one make a salad without lettuce? Oh, sure, there are ways ... but my creativity was stifled for a minute. Just a minute, mind.
And then I came up with it - the Ultimate Tuna Salad. High in protein and veggies. Not a refined carbohydrate in the bowl. Satisfying. Full of flavor and crunch. And I just gobbled it up in about 30 seconds. Hope it's to your taste.
1/2 red pepper, chopped (though my red pepper was admittedly the largest I've ever seen, so you may want more)
2 whole carrots (or about 10 of the minis), chopped
6-8 sweet baby gherkins, chopped
1 can quartered artichoke hearts
1 can hearts of palm, halved or quartered and sliced
2 tsp olive oil
2 tsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp dried tarragon (rubbed in the palms)
salt & pepper to taste
1 can chunk light tuna packed in water, drained
Dump it all in a bowl and mix. I would have added a quarter cup or so of pepitas if I'd had them around. Maybe some corn. This would be fun to play around with a bit.
This iteration, though, was definitely good enough for me. The crunch and the soft, the salt and the sweet - it just worked. I want more. My cats are going nuts, as well - though I think that's all about the tuna.
This should probably serve 4. It's going to give me just two meals, though, I can tell that already. And please don't tell me that eating healthfully also includes portion control. That particular rule does not apply today.
March 3, 2009
The Distraction Diet
Over the last three to four years - basically, since I started working at home and stopped moving - I have put on a lot more weight than I am comfortable with. Who knew one could burn so many calories just walking to meetings? But clearly, it's made a difference. My scale says so, as does the fact that I've had to replace most of my wardrobe.
But in the last week or so I've discovered an amazing new diet. The distraction diet. Get too lost in your own head, and you will totally forget to eat. It works! I've dropped 7 pounds so far. Don't think it'll stay off - at some point my love of all things food will kick back in and I'll remember to cook again. But for the time being, I'm enjoying watching the numbers on the scale go down and the fact that my big pants are a little bigger, and my smaller pants almost fit.
Small victories.
On my plate: actual food. We had a celebration breakfast for our au pair - it's her 20th birthday, which in her country is a big huge deal and the entry into adulthood. So, chocolate chip pancakes, berries and thick-cut bacon. Which I haven't had time to eat because I've been busy in meetings. It's all sitting cold on a plate on the floor next to my desk.
But in the last week or so I've discovered an amazing new diet. The distraction diet. Get too lost in your own head, and you will totally forget to eat. It works! I've dropped 7 pounds so far. Don't think it'll stay off - at some point my love of all things food will kick back in and I'll remember to cook again. But for the time being, I'm enjoying watching the numbers on the scale go down and the fact that my big pants are a little bigger, and my smaller pants almost fit.
Small victories.
On my plate: actual food. We had a celebration breakfast for our au pair - it's her 20th birthday, which in her country is a big huge deal and the entry into adulthood. So, chocolate chip pancakes, berries and thick-cut bacon. Which I haven't had time to eat because I've been busy in meetings. It's all sitting cold on a plate on the floor next to my desk.
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