Friday, June 11, 2010

Ye Old Nervous Break Down

O.k. So it hasn't been a stellar week; however, since I've been reassured from multiple sources that this kind of occurrence is nothing to be embarrassed about, please bear with me as I use my next couple of blog entries to deal with life in my own special way--i.e. turning it all into something laughable. After all, laughter is rumored to be the best medicine. Hence, in the tradition of an old classic, let us proceed.

This is the sun that rose before six
On the day of my nervous breakdown.

These are the children, roused by the sun,
That rose before six
On the day of my nervous breakdown.

These are the diapers, soiled by the children,
Roused by the sun, that rose before six,
On the day of my nervous breakdown.

This is my coffee, spilled after the diapers
Were soiled by the children, roused by the sun,
That rose before six, on the day of my nervous breakdown.

These are the parents, who come in a crowd
whose checks buy the coffee, spilled by the children,
Roused by the sun, that rose before six,
On the day of my nervous breakdown.

These are the children, all noisy and loud,
Loved by the parents, who come in a crowd,
Whose checks buy the coffee, spilled by the children
Roused by the sun, that rose before six
On the day of my nervous breakdown.

These are the toy boxes, greatly endowed,
Unloaded by children, all noisy and loud,
And Lysoled for parents, who come in a crowd,
Whose checks buy the coffee, spilled by the children
Roused by the sun, that rose before six
On the day of my nervous breakdown.

This is the dad, who says what's not allowed
When it comes to the toys boxes, greatly endowed,
Now dumped by the children, all noisy and loud,
Loved by the parents who come in a crowd,
Whose checks buy the coffee, spilled by the children,
Roused by the sun, that rose before six
On the day of my nervous breakdown.

This is the crawler, who through toys has plowed
To send her own e-mail--now that's NOT allowed--
And the children near toy boxes greatly endowed,
All tattle in voices, quite noisy and loud
To me, who is wishing for parents in crowds,
Whose checks buy the coffee, spilled by the children,
Roused by the sun, that rose before six
On the day of my nervous breakdown.

This is the luncheon for six that is served
To the toddlers who through all three courses have plowed
And started the food fight that can't be allowed
Among all these children with plates so endowed
Who clammer out prayers all so blessed and so loud
For the safety of parents now out in the crowds,
Whose checks buy the coffee, spilled by the children,
Roused by the sun, that rose before six,
On the day of my nervous breakdown.

This is the rest-time for my lunch reserved
While the children with sweet dreams from heaven are served
But first through the mess left behind I have plowed
And hope for the best with the time I'm allowed
And finally settle with my plate endowed
While listening for dreamers snoring too loud--
They just won't believe it!--that far away crowd,
Whose checks buy the coffee, spilled by the children,
Roused by the sun, that rose before six,
On the day of my nervous breakdown.

This is the baby untimely unnerved
Who cuts short the lunch time so daftly reserved
And wakes all the others who cry to be served.
When I through the next round of diapers have plowed
I swallow Excedrin as I am allowed,
And pray for more patience than I've been endowed
While juggling children, all noisy and loud,
Quite glad that their parents will come in a crowd,
With checks that buy coffee, that the children will spill,
When they're roused by the sun, schlepping up before six,
on THIS. WHICH COULD BE. THE DAY OF MY NERVOUS BREAKDOWN!!!

This is the chest pain that takes all my verve--
I can't hold a baby now, I'm so unnerved
And the all-screaming masses now wait to be served
While daddy through stopped intersections has plowed
As my doctor says waiting just can't be allowed
Lest my term-life insurance should soon be endowed
To the father of two, so noisy and loud,
And the rest will be out in the cold with the crowd,
Whose checks bought the coffee, that was spilled by the children,
Roused by the the sun, that rose before six,
On Tuesday, the day of my nervous breakdown.

You see what I mean?! Next week HAS to be better! I just hope a nervous breakdown looks good on the scale!

Saturday, June 5, 2010

There are Rocks in my Socks!

When I was a girl, we had a book in our home library called, "'There are Rocks in My Socks!' said the Ox to the Fox." When my grandmother would come over, we would beg her to read it to us, because when she read it, she would get tickled, and we would all laugh so hard, we were hard-put to finish the book.

I hadn't thought about the book for a long time, until this week, when I discovered that my son had been putting rocks in my purse. He loves rocks--mostly pieces of cement and hunks of asphalt at the moment--but apparently he's been loading the stowaways from various parking lots into my purse when I'm not looking, and they've all been congregating at the bottom of my pocketbook--leaving me to wonder why the doggone thing was getting SO HEAVY.

I wish the explanation for my weight-gain last Sunday was that simple. After a week of less than ten flex points, lots of exercise, and a dropped point, I managed to gain almost two pounds. This is the most weight I have gained in a week during my entire time with Weight Watchers. Mentally, i knew it was probably girl stuff, but that did not make me feel a bit better about it. If it was just girl stuff, shouldn't I have experienced it about 5 other times?!

Of course, I was being unreasonable with myself. Instantly, I slipped into an old mental mishap-a very unhealthy one--the habit opposite of emotional eating. This habit is the one that says, "Your best was not good enough; you obviously must not have been honest with yourself about what your best was, and dishonesty deserves to be punished." If that looks irrational written down--that because it is. I am finding it extremely helpful to see some of these wrong thoughts in black and white, so bear with me.

So what did I do? Did I acknowledge the good work I had done that week? Did I exercise a little self-forgiveness? Noooooooo. I put myself in bootcamp. I dropped another point way too soon. I denied myself ANY flex points, which meant i didn't eat cake or ice cream with my son at his birthday party, which seemed to send me into an emotional nose dive. I made myself exercise in excess when i was exhausted--all because I felt guilty over a gain of 1.8 pounds.

Evidently, I still have some mental roadblocks to overcome, but that's o.k. because that's what this journey is about for me. It's not just changing my dress size, it's changing my mind's eye. How I think about food, activity, and myself is not a fad I can give up next year when I've tucked the receipt for my skinny jeans into the file cabinet--it's a lifelong practice of right thoughts that lead to right choices.

This week is not a failure if I learn something from it, and as fortune would have it, I just realized a bit late that this is the week that I'm supposed to be replacing a bad habit with a good one. I wish I had realized this fact earlier, as thinking about it might have saved me from a week of self-imposed "bootcamp;" however, I can still make up for lost time by replacing the bad habit with a good one.

I resolve not to do this to myself again. The next time I suffer a set-back on the scale, I will not impose unreasonable boundaries upon myself as punishment. If indeed, poor habits were responsible for the set-back, I resolve to change them, but not to with-hold from myself nourishment or rest. I will stay on track, but I will not make myself run suicides for the next several miles!

So there. I resolve to keep my resolution--even if I go to Weight Watchers on some Monday morning in the future and find myself facing something like the following:

"There's a Whale on the Scale!" says some gal to my Tail.
"a jiggly ol', piggly ol' biggly 'ol gal!
At watching her points, the girl must have failed,
And at midnight her fridge, she must have assailed,
For yes," says the gal, "there's a whale on the scale!"