Recently, a friend and I decided to do a little home version of “The Biggest Loser.” She was going to challenge her brother to it and I begged to be let in on it. I needed some motivation. It seems that over the years and through two pregnancies, I’ve lost my 6-pack abs and somehow they were replaced with a 2-liter.
So we weighed in via text message last week, on Monday. And this week I’ve been putting forth an honest effort. However, I’ve suffered some setbacks and I want to tell you about them.
First, I am trying to drink fewer calories. I think aside from milk, calories should not be wasted on anything that can be taken in through a straw. I am aware that many in the medical field say that diet soda is also not good and to them I say, “Shut up.” So when I have soda, it has been diet. Mostly. This summer the McDonald’s in our town (is it across the nation or just here?) has put all of their soft drinks, any size, on sale for $1. I go there to cash in on that great deal about once a week. This week, I ordered myself a large Diet Dr. Pepper. Zero calories, baby, even in a cup the size of a scuba tank! It has been so hot that I drank it down pretty quickly. And on the very last sip, I realized why it seemed even more refreshing than usual – it wasn’t diet at all. Those turds had given me regular Dr. Pepper – and probably about 600 calories.
In another attempt to be healthier, I went for a walk with my friend. We agreed to meet at the park in the evening, hoping it would be cooler. As I drove to the park at 7:00 p.m., I saw the bank marquis flashing that it was 106 degrees. But I didn’t let that deter me because, hey, there was a breeze at least. The loop around the track is 1.25 miles so I figured if I did that twice, I could call it exercise. It turns out, it wasn’t just a light breeze, but a 45 mph hot wind blowing in our faces from every direction. It was like someone was walking in front of us with their hair dryer on the hottest setting, blowing it right in our faces. We quickly decided that it probably was best to only do one loop – it didn’t even seem safe to be walking in such horrible heat. By the middle of the loop, it started to feel a little less hot, perhaps heat stroke was setting in, who knows? The walk ended quite nicely. I stopped sweating and there was a big purple hippopotamus giving out free jelly beans. And I was invisible but I could see with x-ray vision. And there were angels singing songs about staying away from fallen power lines.
After I regained consciousness, I planned all of my meals for the next day. I was going to eat so well! It was exciting to get through the whole day, having followed my plan and knowing that I had cut back on my calories and fat successfully – it wasn’t so hard after all. AND THEN Bryan came home. He had gotten us both Giant Krunch ice cream bars from the gas station as a surprise. The kind with 300 percent of your daily recommended fat intake. What was I supposed to do?!? If I told him I didn’t want it, I would be un-doing all my thoughtfulness training for the last four years! But if I ate the ice cream bar, I would be waving goodbye to my hopes of being the biggest loser for the week. And I could put it in the freezer, but that would only be prolonging the inevitable – me eating that delicious thing.
I ate it. And it was yummy. I had to or he would never bring me a thoughtful surprise again.
Stay tuned for week two.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
hey, baby, can I get your number?
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,530268,00.html?test=latestnews
Instead of a freak accident of the week story, I wanted to share this story with anyone who will read it. Did you read it? It’s worth your minute.
There are a few things that struck me while I read it. First of all, in case you missed it, his late wife’s name was RebelJane. I don’t want to be disrespectful to RebelJane, but I think the name itself speaks volumes about the situation. So this guy basically dumped his nine, yes nine kids AND NOW he is going to have two more with a new girlfriend. Where do men like this even find girlfriends? But they do.
I could almost respect the fact that he gave up his nine kids initially – I could assume that RebelJane had done most of the parenting, he panicked, decided he couldn’t take care of them, and left them (legally, thanks to a really bad loophole). If you didn’t get all the way to the bottom of the article, it also stated that this family has received an estimated $995,000 in government aid already. That is 110 times my current annual salary. So does it make me mad? It makes me so mad I could spit nails. Sadly, nothing can be done about this guy, who can go on having more and more and more babies.
I have to get off my soapbox now. But please, please, if you are reading this, promise me that you will never, under any circumstances, reproduce with this guy. Thank you.
Instead of a freak accident of the week story, I wanted to share this story with anyone who will read it. Did you read it? It’s worth your minute.
There are a few things that struck me while I read it. First of all, in case you missed it, his late wife’s name was RebelJane. I don’t want to be disrespectful to RebelJane, but I think the name itself speaks volumes about the situation. So this guy basically dumped his nine, yes nine kids AND NOW he is going to have two more with a new girlfriend. Where do men like this even find girlfriends? But they do.
I could almost respect the fact that he gave up his nine kids initially – I could assume that RebelJane had done most of the parenting, he panicked, decided he couldn’t take care of them, and left them (legally, thanks to a really bad loophole). If you didn’t get all the way to the bottom of the article, it also stated that this family has received an estimated $995,000 in government aid already. That is 110 times my current annual salary. So does it make me mad? It makes me so mad I could spit nails. Sadly, nothing can be done about this guy, who can go on having more and more and more babies.
I have to get off my soapbox now. But please, please, if you are reading this, promise me that you will never, under any circumstances, reproduce with this guy. Thank you.
Monday, July 6, 2009
lunch, anyone?
I typed up a post today, copied it, and when I pasted it, it was the serial number from our high chair. Instead of getting really, really mad that I couldn't find my post that I had just typed (Okay, I got mad but I'm over it now) I am posting something that I wrote in February but didn't post then. Please read on.
Last Friday was an odd day. We woke up Friday morning (5:30-ish) to the sound of really, really loud hail hammering our house. And then for Friday, the trusty weathermen had predicted a blizzard. So the area schools closed down even though no snow had actually fallen at this point. Being from Colorado, this is hard for me to understand, but I guess they were erring on the side of caution. Bryan’s school was not cancelled for some reason. And one by one my daycare kids’ moms called and said that they would be staying home until…no one was coming! Wheeee! It was like someone told me that cookie dough could now be injected directly into my vein.
Since I never get to have lunch with my dear husband, I decided the boys and I would pick up some lunch for him and take it to his school. We got him some food and headed that way. We didn’t call first because I wanted him to be surprised. THAT was my first mistake.
About that time, the blizzard started. But I really, really wanted to surprise him with lunch so I just figured we could drive slowly and it would be okay. We finally got there and went to his classroom. We waited. And waited. Still no Bryan. So we went to the school lunchroom thinking that perhaps he had eaten there. No Bryan. Some older women saw me lugging around a baby in a carrier and a squirrely toddler and told me I should just go to the office and have him paged. We went into the office, which was jam-packed with people and I told the woman sitting at the counter that I needed to page Mr. Phillips. The office got quiet. She looked at me with a big smile and said, “You must be grandma!”
In my mind, I was thinking, “Do you want me to punch you in the face now or wait for you after school?”
I replied, “No, I’m mom. These are my babies,” I pointed to the boys and tried to sound undisturbed.
“Oh, you mean you’re Bryan’s mom?” the lady asked me. Did this mean that before she thought I was Bryan’s grandma?
“No,” I told her, “I’m Bryan’s WIFE.”
“Oh,” she said with a confused face which quickly turned into an embarrassed face, “Nevermind.” And then she paged him to the office. (Later I found out that he had gone to lunch with his dad - lesson learned: call first.)
Really, what is WITH these people? Do I honestly look old enough to be Bryan’s grandma or even his mom? I know that starting a family at age 29 makes me an old maid in these here parts but cut me a little slack!
So much for my expensive age-fighting eye cream.
Last Friday was an odd day. We woke up Friday morning (5:30-ish) to the sound of really, really loud hail hammering our house. And then for Friday, the trusty weathermen had predicted a blizzard. So the area schools closed down even though no snow had actually fallen at this point. Being from Colorado, this is hard for me to understand, but I guess they were erring on the side of caution. Bryan’s school was not cancelled for some reason. And one by one my daycare kids’ moms called and said that they would be staying home until…no one was coming! Wheeee! It was like someone told me that cookie dough could now be injected directly into my vein.
Since I never get to have lunch with my dear husband, I decided the boys and I would pick up some lunch for him and take it to his school. We got him some food and headed that way. We didn’t call first because I wanted him to be surprised. THAT was my first mistake.
About that time, the blizzard started. But I really, really wanted to surprise him with lunch so I just figured we could drive slowly and it would be okay. We finally got there and went to his classroom. We waited. And waited. Still no Bryan. So we went to the school lunchroom thinking that perhaps he had eaten there. No Bryan. Some older women saw me lugging around a baby in a carrier and a squirrely toddler and told me I should just go to the office and have him paged. We went into the office, which was jam-packed with people and I told the woman sitting at the counter that I needed to page Mr. Phillips. The office got quiet. She looked at me with a big smile and said, “You must be grandma!”
In my mind, I was thinking, “Do you want me to punch you in the face now or wait for you after school?”
I replied, “No, I’m mom. These are my babies,” I pointed to the boys and tried to sound undisturbed.
“Oh, you mean you’re Bryan’s mom?” the lady asked me. Did this mean that before she thought I was Bryan’s grandma?
“No,” I told her, “I’m Bryan’s WIFE.”
“Oh,” she said with a confused face which quickly turned into an embarrassed face, “Nevermind.” And then she paged him to the office. (Later I found out that he had gone to lunch with his dad - lesson learned: call first.)
Really, what is WITH these people? Do I honestly look old enough to be Bryan’s grandma or even his mom? I know that starting a family at age 29 makes me an old maid in these here parts but cut me a little slack!
So much for my expensive age-fighting eye cream.
Friday, July 3, 2009
can't wait for three!
Really, could I be any lazier about writing? Somebody slap me!
Wesley has been having a hard time lately. He’ll be three in August so he is in the midst of the “terrible twos.” And since he is so close to three now, I’m getting excited – because it will all get better on his birthday, right?
When he first turned two, I thought, “This isn’t so bad.” But like a fine wine, he has perfected the terrible part of terrible twos with time. I’m not trying to be negative about my son. I still love him ridiculous amounts and I realize that this behavior is normal. But sometimes the constant whining/crying/arguing/rascally behavior gets a little old. Yesterday, he had had a particularly rough day. It was almost bedtime and he was having a mini-meltdown about which pajamas to wear. Something like, Not THOSE pajamas. No, now I want them. But only the shirt. Wait, I want the pants too. Right now! Give. Me. Those. Pants.
Finally, I put the pants aside and told Wesley to come sit with me for a minute. I realized that this had nothing to do with pajama pants but more with two year old angst. I pulled him onto my lap, his underwear-clad bottom on my bare crossed legs. I was trying to have a tender “mommy loves you” moment but he wouldn’t hold still. I asked him, “What is wrong, Wes? Hold still and talk to Mommy.”
And he exclaimed, “I can’t! There’s crunchy things all over your legs!!!”
Those “crunchy things” would be a week’s worth of not having time to shave in case you were wondering. I couldn’t hold it in any longer – I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
Crunchy leg hair saved the day. How cool is that?
Wesley has been having a hard time lately. He’ll be three in August so he is in the midst of the “terrible twos.” And since he is so close to three now, I’m getting excited – because it will all get better on his birthday, right?
When he first turned two, I thought, “This isn’t so bad.” But like a fine wine, he has perfected the terrible part of terrible twos with time. I’m not trying to be negative about my son. I still love him ridiculous amounts and I realize that this behavior is normal. But sometimes the constant whining/crying/arguing/rascally behavior gets a little old. Yesterday, he had had a particularly rough day. It was almost bedtime and he was having a mini-meltdown about which pajamas to wear. Something like, Not THOSE pajamas. No, now I want them. But only the shirt. Wait, I want the pants too. Right now! Give. Me. Those. Pants.
Finally, I put the pants aside and told Wesley to come sit with me for a minute. I realized that this had nothing to do with pajama pants but more with two year old angst. I pulled him onto my lap, his underwear-clad bottom on my bare crossed legs. I was trying to have a tender “mommy loves you” moment but he wouldn’t hold still. I asked him, “What is wrong, Wes? Hold still and talk to Mommy.”
And he exclaimed, “I can’t! There’s crunchy things all over your legs!!!”
Those “crunchy things” would be a week’s worth of not having time to shave in case you were wondering. I couldn’t hold it in any longer – I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
Crunchy leg hair saved the day. How cool is that?
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
pivot, turn, shuffle
My mom made her annual visit to Elk City a couple weeks ago. As you can imagine, we had a fun-filled week of sightseeing and enjoying the arts here in Elk City. (I just lied.) One of the things we had on the agenda was to learn a few country line dances. I know you are probably thinking, “Why in the world were you and your mom trying to learn country line dances?” and the answer is that there is a reason but I can’t tell you. Well, I could tell you why but then I would have to kill you.
One time way back in high school, we all had to learn a whole bunch of dances. I realize now that it was probably because the teachers didn’t want to make up real lesson plans for the week but back then I thought it was just because they wanted to torture us. Anyway, there were somewhere around a hundred of us at a time in the gym learning to “electric slide and “boot scoot boogie” and the most entertaining part was watching the line in front of me. Because at the high school I went to, we were all white. And that stereotype about white people not being able to dance, well, it’s pretty true. Especially if those white people are high school football players in the off season.
That became even more apparent as my mother and I were attempting to learn some new dances. I am the reason the stereotype exists. I am white as paste and I cannot dance. I like to think I can, but I can’t. I also realized that I am pathetically out of shape. How can this be when I have a callous on my knee from bending down (shouldn’t that count as squats or something?) so much and I lift oddly-shaped 30 pound weights all day long? I was actually sore the next day – I guess I don’t use the electric sliding muscles much on a daily basis. Who knew?!?
At least now I know I can safely scratch “rhinestone cowboy boots” off my birthday wish list.
One time way back in high school, we all had to learn a whole bunch of dances. I realize now that it was probably because the teachers didn’t want to make up real lesson plans for the week but back then I thought it was just because they wanted to torture us. Anyway, there were somewhere around a hundred of us at a time in the gym learning to “electric slide and “boot scoot boogie” and the most entertaining part was watching the line in front of me. Because at the high school I went to, we were all white. And that stereotype about white people not being able to dance, well, it’s pretty true. Especially if those white people are high school football players in the off season.
That became even more apparent as my mother and I were attempting to learn some new dances. I am the reason the stereotype exists. I am white as paste and I cannot dance. I like to think I can, but I can’t. I also realized that I am pathetically out of shape. How can this be when I have a callous on my knee from bending down (shouldn’t that count as squats or something?) so much and I lift oddly-shaped 30 pound weights all day long? I was actually sore the next day – I guess I don’t use the electric sliding muscles much on a daily basis. Who knew?!?
At least now I know I can safely scratch “rhinestone cowboy boots” off my birthday wish list.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
a happy first birthday list
Wyatt’s first birthday was this weekend. Has it really been a year since I last went into labor? It’s so fresh in my mind; the moment I realized I was in labor, arriving at the hospital that seemed deserted, laying there waiting to be prepped for surgery, the epidural (will I EVER forget that? Probably not), the words, “You might feel a little pressure,” right before it felt like my intestines were being ripped from my abdomen, and of course, seeing Wyatt for the first time.
I’m not pregnant this summer (dare I type those words?!?) but I was last summer and two summers before that. And I enjoy summer a whole lot more when I am not pregnant. In honor of Wyatt’s birthday, I thought of a list of reasons why I’m glad that I am NOT pregnant right now. Here it is. One reason for every month I was pregnant.
1. No one is using my bladder as a soccer ball.
2. I can walk to the mailbox without getting winded.
3. I can paint my own toenails and shave my legs.
4. I like walking by Motherhood Maternity and not needing anything. Like the ever popular maternity thong. I had to go in there with a pregnant pal the other day and I came across the maternity thong. Seriously?
5. Acid reflux for nine months is no fun.
6. Old ladies don’t look at my belly and give me that knowing smile that says, “I know what you’ve been doing, Dearie.”
7. I can bend at the waist. It comes in handy when trying to work in the garden or helping a two-year-old put on his Elmo underpants, among other things.
8. As sexy as the “nursing bra/nursing nightgown/orthodontic retainer combo” is, I think Bryan was ready for me to ditch the pregnancy and nursing stuff and don my much sexier “old t-shirt and shorts with orthodontic retainer combo”.
9. I like being able to eat popcorn and diet coke for breakfast and not feeling guilty that someone might have been counting on today’s nutrients to develop a spine.
And there you have it. I love you, Wyatt!
I’m not pregnant this summer (dare I type those words?!?) but I was last summer and two summers before that. And I enjoy summer a whole lot more when I am not pregnant. In honor of Wyatt’s birthday, I thought of a list of reasons why I’m glad that I am NOT pregnant right now. Here it is. One reason for every month I was pregnant.
1. No one is using my bladder as a soccer ball.
2. I can walk to the mailbox without getting winded.
3. I can paint my own toenails and shave my legs.
4. I like walking by Motherhood Maternity and not needing anything. Like the ever popular maternity thong. I had to go in there with a pregnant pal the other day and I came across the maternity thong. Seriously?
5. Acid reflux for nine months is no fun.
6. Old ladies don’t look at my belly and give me that knowing smile that says, “I know what you’ve been doing, Dearie.”
7. I can bend at the waist. It comes in handy when trying to work in the garden or helping a two-year-old put on his Elmo underpants, among other things.
8. As sexy as the “nursing bra/nursing nightgown/orthodontic retainer combo” is, I think Bryan was ready for me to ditch the pregnancy and nursing stuff and don my much sexier “old t-shirt and shorts with orthodontic retainer combo”.
9. I like being able to eat popcorn and diet coke for breakfast and not feeling guilty that someone might have been counting on today’s nutrients to develop a spine.
And there you have it. I love you, Wyatt!
Monday, June 8, 2009
and it goes a little something like this...
Vacation Summary
I have five days to start a new habit. I’m packing my tennis shoes and my shorts and the hotel has a very nice fitness room. Our friends sleep late so I’m going to make the most of my mornings by getting up a little earlier and getting some good, old-fashioned exercise. What a great way to spend part of my vacation.
Day 1
I accidentally slept until 10:30 but I was really tired from the drive so who can blame me. Maybe after we shop today I’ll go down and walk on the treadmill a bit in the fitness room.
Day 2
Oops. Slept in again. Tomorrow morning for sure. But I went for a leisurely dip in the pool last night and the fitness room looks really nice – could see it from the hot tub.
Day 3
Well, I got up earlier than anyone else today. And I found the piece of cake from Olive Garden last night in the fridge and ate it in bed. With a coffee stirrer because I couldn’t find a fork and using my own toothbrush to eat cake seemed a little barbaric. In my defense, I didn’t eat the whole piece. Didn’t make it to the fitness room.
Day 4
Got up early, finished the cake from yesterday (using another coffee stirrer). But there’s still one more day and I can start that one right! That cake was really, really good.
Day 5
Got up before 8:00 a.m. today but had to leave the hotel early – there was a breakfast buffet we wanted to hit before we left town. (Burp!)
Okay, so Monday it is – on Monday I start this new fitness thing. Yeah, that’s it.
I have five days to start a new habit. I’m packing my tennis shoes and my shorts and the hotel has a very nice fitness room. Our friends sleep late so I’m going to make the most of my mornings by getting up a little earlier and getting some good, old-fashioned exercise. What a great way to spend part of my vacation.
Day 1
I accidentally slept until 10:30 but I was really tired from the drive so who can blame me. Maybe after we shop today I’ll go down and walk on the treadmill a bit in the fitness room.
Day 2
Oops. Slept in again. Tomorrow morning for sure. But I went for a leisurely dip in the pool last night and the fitness room looks really nice – could see it from the hot tub.
Day 3
Well, I got up earlier than anyone else today. And I found the piece of cake from Olive Garden last night in the fridge and ate it in bed. With a coffee stirrer because I couldn’t find a fork and using my own toothbrush to eat cake seemed a little barbaric. In my defense, I didn’t eat the whole piece. Didn’t make it to the fitness room.
Day 4
Got up early, finished the cake from yesterday (using another coffee stirrer). But there’s still one more day and I can start that one right! That cake was really, really good.
Day 5
Got up before 8:00 a.m. today but had to leave the hotel early – there was a breakfast buffet we wanted to hit before we left town. (Burp!)
Okay, so Monday it is – on Monday I start this new fitness thing. Yeah, that’s it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)