"Humble Enough to be Rescued." This phrase is the one with which I was confronted when I started to argue with health professionals about their strong suggestions for me to make lifestyle changes after my recent nervous breakdown. “But, but, but,” I said, “But people are DEPENDING on me. I can't just drop everything because I'm having a health problem!” Yada. Yada. Yada. And that's when I was put squarely in my place. Just be humble enough to be rescued.
And it did take humility to accept where I was, to walk away from commitments, to let other people field jobs that I took pride in doing, and to admit that I HAD LIMITATIONS. The humility to be rescued? This was not my forte. As a damsel, if I happened to be locked in a tower with a dragon at the door, I had it under control. When the knight showed up, if I bothered to page him, I was bound to tell him to stand aside, because I had just a few good ideas about how to get this job done.
As a damsel of 32, it seems I still have quite a few things left to learn. I had more than a dragon at my door, I had a whole nest of them, and they seemed quite determined to stay. Some I could expel by choice; some I would have to patiently starve; some I would have to leave entirely to others. Again, in the midst of it all—the breakdown, my closing business, my gambit of emotions, my daughter suffering a seizure—I drew encouragement from my weight loss experience.
After all, isn't “humble enough to be rescued” exactly where I was the first time I walked into a Weight Watchers meeting? All on my own, I had tried it all. I had counted calories, fat grams, and carbs. I had taken pills, elixirs, and vitamins. I had done aerobics, strength training, and karate. I had prayed, addressed the heavens, and made deals with the evening star--all to no avail. In my mind, Weight Watchers was a last ditch effort for people who had failed in every other way. When I went to my first meeting, I was admitting defeat. And yes, I was asking to be rescued.
Well, so far the rescue has turned out pretty doggone good, since as of my Tuesday meeting, I am down 44.2 pounds, and I am very excited that in 2.8 more pounds, I will be 10 pounds from my lifetime goal, and in a position to apply as a Weight Watchers receptionist. I am starting to feel excited about the possibility of helping other people like I have been helped, and if you're out there reading, don't make the mistake I did. Weight Watchers is not a last ditch effort for people who have failed in every other way. What Weight Watchers can be, is the first ditch effort of people who don't want to have to fail in every other way.
So whether you're a duke or a damsel, and whatever your dragons may be, don't be afraid to be humble enough to be rescued. Join the human race. Truth is, everybody's been there or going there, and anyone who says otherwise is lying! And don't forget the upside to this adventure tale. The upside to being humble enough to be rescued, is that you have the opportunity to realize how many people in your life love you enough to come running when you call for help. Now there's a shot in the arm!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Masquerading as Wonder Woman
Sadly, despite all my good intentions for June, I hit an all time low when it came to blog entries, success and sanity. So readers, forgive me, it has been a month since my last blog-fession. I promise to try to do better in July. If I had to offer an excuse for June's absenteeism, I would say only this. I kept waiting for it all to turn funny. You've probably noticed by now, making hard things funny is how I deal. Well, weeks kept passing, and I still wasn't laughing. I'm still not.
The truth is, I've been masquerading as Wonder Woman, and Wonder Woman finally crashed. The descent from the heavens totaled her wardrobe, and as it turns out, you can't replace red spandex just anywhere. Walmart certainly doesn't carry it. But seriously (SEE, here I am trying to be funny again), I have always been an extremely goal oriented person. In fact, I have been called the “Unsinkable Molly Brown” by some; however, an individual can only go great-guns for so long, before the body decides to put the breaks on.
That, all considered, is exactly what had happened to me on the Tuesday, June 8th, when I ended up in the Emergency Room with all the classic symptoms of a heart attack. I felt absolutely ridiculous when they sent me home with a clean bill of health and instructions to rest. I felt even more ridiculous when the Adavan that they gave me in the ER to help me rest, sent me to a different planet for the next 24 hours—a planet on which I probably could have purchased red spandex. According to my mother, I spoke Spanish to her all the way home.
And it didn't end there. My two year old daughter sat on my lap that night and fed me dinner. My son asked me what I was doing out of bed every time I emerged from the bedroom. I received replies to e-mails that I do not recall sending. I wept over the deaths of tiny insects. On Thursday, I returned to my usual schedule, but all was not well. My church sent me meals for two nights, which was a tremendous boon, as suddenly the construction of a simple salad seemed like rocket science. What was WRONG with me?!
Well, the truth was a whole lot harder to swallow than the Adavan had been. Fact one: I had experienced a nervous breakdown. Fact two: I had developed an anxiety related problem that was not going to disappear simply because I wanted too. Monday morning, I reported to the doctor for my ER mandated follow-up, and I left thinking, “well that was all very nice, but now I need some practical suggestions!” You see, though I was profoundly glad she did not want to medicate me just yet (and there's not a thing wrong with that), her primary three suggestions were 1) change professions, 2) take a vacation, and 3) get some regular counseling until you're through this.
YEAH RIGHT! But with another appointment scheduled in two weeks, and being a chronic people pleaser, I hired help for the following week and planned a stay-ca-tion. During that stay-ca-tion, I made an appointment to see her recommend counselor. Two out of three isn't bad. At least when I went back, it would look like I was being a good little mental case. By the time the Tuesday rolled around that I was scheduled to see the counselor, it had been two weeks since the ER, and I thought I was doing SOOOO much better. But then.
Then it all shattered again. As soon as I started to talk about it—watching six kids for the last years, keeping up with the house, a husband with a full-time job and in school full-time, financial strain, and all the many other things that I felt were spinning out of control—I just lost it. Suddenly, I was right back where I was two weeks ago. I felt like someone was sitting on my chest. My heart hammered my back bone. My hands were clammy. My arms were weak. My breath was short. My head was absolute static.
The counselors conclusion was excruciating for me. I would have to give up my child care business—MY KIDS. I could not continue doing what I was doing and expect to recover; in fact, his prognosis for me if I continued was grim. I would be in a state of shut-down by the end of July. I needed to make a change, and I needed to do it quickly. I can not express to you the feeling of failure that hung over me as I left his offer. I was failing my customers, failing my husband, failing my children. I couldn't quit. I just couldn't.
But I did. Partially, because I didn't have any strength left to fight, but also partially because I knew this. If I didn't get better, I would fail entirely—in mind and in body and in spirit. And if I failed in those ways, I really would fail the people that mattered most to me.
Well, as you can imagine, it's been a hard month for Wonder Woman. I'll be staying on the ground for a while, but everything has worked out, and I am gradually feeling ever so much better. I am starting to find the humor in things again—starting to feel a bit more myself. The changes have all been for the good, and what I know for sure now, is that I am NOT the only one who has passed through this valley. I hope that talking about it will help someone out there. I am learning to catch myself in the negative thought processes that cause my anxiety, and turn the tide for the good—and that's something I definitely want to talk more about in the weeks to come— the positive thoughts we need to stay afloat in the midst of our anxieties, be they job related, child related, spouse related, check-book related, or yeah. Food related.
But actually, here's a positive thought, and one that was a shining light through all these trials and tribulations. Through it all, the one thing I could say that I had not failed at was my weight loss. I still stuck to the plan. One week (the week of my birthday—that's another blog in the making) I even gained about four pounds, but I did not give up. During a time when everything seemed dark, I could hang on to that one thread of success. That was important.
So. A couple days ago when I was wandering around the mall with my daughter in the stroller, and I saw this great set of gold-wristlets that looked like they could definitely deflect a few bullets—be proud of Wonder Woman. She kept on walking.
The truth is, I've been masquerading as Wonder Woman, and Wonder Woman finally crashed. The descent from the heavens totaled her wardrobe, and as it turns out, you can't replace red spandex just anywhere. Walmart certainly doesn't carry it. But seriously (SEE, here I am trying to be funny again), I have always been an extremely goal oriented person. In fact, I have been called the “Unsinkable Molly Brown” by some; however, an individual can only go great-guns for so long, before the body decides to put the breaks on.
That, all considered, is exactly what had happened to me on the Tuesday, June 8th, when I ended up in the Emergency Room with all the classic symptoms of a heart attack. I felt absolutely ridiculous when they sent me home with a clean bill of health and instructions to rest. I felt even more ridiculous when the Adavan that they gave me in the ER to help me rest, sent me to a different planet for the next 24 hours—a planet on which I probably could have purchased red spandex. According to my mother, I spoke Spanish to her all the way home.
And it didn't end there. My two year old daughter sat on my lap that night and fed me dinner. My son asked me what I was doing out of bed every time I emerged from the bedroom. I received replies to e-mails that I do not recall sending. I wept over the deaths of tiny insects. On Thursday, I returned to my usual schedule, but all was not well. My church sent me meals for two nights, which was a tremendous boon, as suddenly the construction of a simple salad seemed like rocket science. What was WRONG with me?!
Well, the truth was a whole lot harder to swallow than the Adavan had been. Fact one: I had experienced a nervous breakdown. Fact two: I had developed an anxiety related problem that was not going to disappear simply because I wanted too. Monday morning, I reported to the doctor for my ER mandated follow-up, and I left thinking, “well that was all very nice, but now I need some practical suggestions!” You see, though I was profoundly glad she did not want to medicate me just yet (and there's not a thing wrong with that), her primary three suggestions were 1) change professions, 2) take a vacation, and 3) get some regular counseling until you're through this.
YEAH RIGHT! But with another appointment scheduled in two weeks, and being a chronic people pleaser, I hired help for the following week and planned a stay-ca-tion. During that stay-ca-tion, I made an appointment to see her recommend counselor. Two out of three isn't bad. At least when I went back, it would look like I was being a good little mental case. By the time the Tuesday rolled around that I was scheduled to see the counselor, it had been two weeks since the ER, and I thought I was doing SOOOO much better. But then.
Then it all shattered again. As soon as I started to talk about it—watching six kids for the last years, keeping up with the house, a husband with a full-time job and in school full-time, financial strain, and all the many other things that I felt were spinning out of control—I just lost it. Suddenly, I was right back where I was two weeks ago. I felt like someone was sitting on my chest. My heart hammered my back bone. My hands were clammy. My arms were weak. My breath was short. My head was absolute static.
The counselors conclusion was excruciating for me. I would have to give up my child care business—MY KIDS. I could not continue doing what I was doing and expect to recover; in fact, his prognosis for me if I continued was grim. I would be in a state of shut-down by the end of July. I needed to make a change, and I needed to do it quickly. I can not express to you the feeling of failure that hung over me as I left his offer. I was failing my customers, failing my husband, failing my children. I couldn't quit. I just couldn't.
But I did. Partially, because I didn't have any strength left to fight, but also partially because I knew this. If I didn't get better, I would fail entirely—in mind and in body and in spirit. And if I failed in those ways, I really would fail the people that mattered most to me.
Well, as you can imagine, it's been a hard month for Wonder Woman. I'll be staying on the ground for a while, but everything has worked out, and I am gradually feeling ever so much better. I am starting to find the humor in things again—starting to feel a bit more myself. The changes have all been for the good, and what I know for sure now, is that I am NOT the only one who has passed through this valley. I hope that talking about it will help someone out there. I am learning to catch myself in the negative thought processes that cause my anxiety, and turn the tide for the good—and that's something I definitely want to talk more about in the weeks to come— the positive thoughts we need to stay afloat in the midst of our anxieties, be they job related, child related, spouse related, check-book related, or yeah. Food related.
But actually, here's a positive thought, and one that was a shining light through all these trials and tribulations. Through it all, the one thing I could say that I had not failed at was my weight loss. I still stuck to the plan. One week (the week of my birthday—that's another blog in the making) I even gained about four pounds, but I did not give up. During a time when everything seemed dark, I could hang on to that one thread of success. That was important.
So. A couple days ago when I was wandering around the mall with my daughter in the stroller, and I saw this great set of gold-wristlets that looked like they could definitely deflect a few bullets—be proud of Wonder Woman. She kept on walking.
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!
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!"
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!"
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Cheeseball Emergency
Six months ago, my life was full of food emergencies. Cookie emergencies. Cocoa emergencies. Sandwich emergencies. Ice cream emergencies. Cheeseball emergencies. Regardless of the snack food involved, these emergencies always found me responding to hormonal and emotional crisis with the nearest available snackfood. I was the Krishna of the Cookie, the Diva of the Dagwood, the Champion of the Cheeseball.
Oddly enough, this week I find myself championing the cheeseball, for you see, this time I don't need the cheeseballs, the cheesballs need me. Yesterday while I was pushing the animal cookie container onto a top shelf after the kids' snack, I happened to notice some startling information staring me down. You see, the animal cookies live next to the cheeseballs, and as I craned my neck upwards, I could see that the cheeseballs had only a few more days to live. Specifically, shelf-safe D-Day is Saturday.
I really never thought I'd see the day that snack food at our residence would go out of date before it was eaten. Used to be, we could get snack food on sale, finish it, and make it back to the store for round two before the sale was over; but apparently we're turning over a new leaf here, because it seems our cheeseballs have been much neglected.
So, since I don't want the hu-snack-a-tarians out on my lawn with “Save the Cheeseballs” signs, we have responded to Cheeseball Crisis with Code One force. As everyone surely knows, cheeseballs cannot be properly consumed without rootbeer. So, on Monday night we drove directly to Bi-Lo and purchased Diet IBC even though it was not on sale, and believe me, at $3.79 for a six pack, the true tight wad only commits this kind of financial faux pas under the most dire of circumstances. Then we headed home, and applied ourselves to the problem. I suspect we'll be working on it for a few nights, but best-case scenario, no cheeseball shall perish stale.
I wish I could say that we are not going to make a habit of doing this to our snack food, but I'm afraid the descent into late night vegetable snacks and the regular abstinence from should-be controlled substances is already begun. I give you situation one: the cookie canisters. If you've been reading me since December, you realize that no cookie had a chance when it ran into me. Now, Grandma makes cookies and fills three containers for us every three to four weeks. With this retired cookie monster out of the picture, it takes three to four weeks for all those cookies to disappear.
Case the second. At the beginning of April, friends came into town and I hostessed a friendly ice cream social at our house. For this occasion, my husband picked up three ½ gallons of ice cream. We had about eight adult guests that night, but there was still some ice cream left in each container. What was left of those containers lasted until our friends' next vist FIVE WEEKS LATER. I don't know if I should be making this public, but the mint-chocolate chip ice cream got freezer burn!
So excuse me while I do my good deed for the night. I'm gonna pop open a rootbeer, use my last two points of the day, and usher another 22 cheeseballs into paradise. Cheeseball emergency diverted!
Oddly enough, this week I find myself championing the cheeseball, for you see, this time I don't need the cheeseballs, the cheesballs need me. Yesterday while I was pushing the animal cookie container onto a top shelf after the kids' snack, I happened to notice some startling information staring me down. You see, the animal cookies live next to the cheeseballs, and as I craned my neck upwards, I could see that the cheeseballs had only a few more days to live. Specifically, shelf-safe D-Day is Saturday.
I really never thought I'd see the day that snack food at our residence would go out of date before it was eaten. Used to be, we could get snack food on sale, finish it, and make it back to the store for round two before the sale was over; but apparently we're turning over a new leaf here, because it seems our cheeseballs have been much neglected.
So, since I don't want the hu-snack-a-tarians out on my lawn with “Save the Cheeseballs” signs, we have responded to Cheeseball Crisis with Code One force. As everyone surely knows, cheeseballs cannot be properly consumed without rootbeer. So, on Monday night we drove directly to Bi-Lo and purchased Diet IBC even though it was not on sale, and believe me, at $3.79 for a six pack, the true tight wad only commits this kind of financial faux pas under the most dire of circumstances. Then we headed home, and applied ourselves to the problem. I suspect we'll be working on it for a few nights, but best-case scenario, no cheeseball shall perish stale.
I wish I could say that we are not going to make a habit of doing this to our snack food, but I'm afraid the descent into late night vegetable snacks and the regular abstinence from should-be controlled substances is already begun. I give you situation one: the cookie canisters. If you've been reading me since December, you realize that no cookie had a chance when it ran into me. Now, Grandma makes cookies and fills three containers for us every three to four weeks. With this retired cookie monster out of the picture, it takes three to four weeks for all those cookies to disappear.
Case the second. At the beginning of April, friends came into town and I hostessed a friendly ice cream social at our house. For this occasion, my husband picked up three ½ gallons of ice cream. We had about eight adult guests that night, but there was still some ice cream left in each container. What was left of those containers lasted until our friends' next vist FIVE WEEKS LATER. I don't know if I should be making this public, but the mint-chocolate chip ice cream got freezer burn!
So excuse me while I do my good deed for the night. I'm gonna pop open a rootbeer, use my last two points of the day, and usher another 22 cheeseballs into paradise. Cheeseball emergency diverted!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Shrinking Globe Awards
Well, upon referencing a previous blog, I guess I'm supposed to be practicing positivity through laughter INSTEAD of positivity through gratitude this week. My bad. However, since I really feel like thanking a few people right now, and since I'm the boss of this blog, I'm going to switch Week 7 with Week 13 and move right on to the Shrinking Globe Awards. As you may have guessed, yours truly is the incredible Shrinking Globe! In fact, if I'm not careful, pretty soon I'm going look more like an Emmy than a Globe.
This morning at Weight Watchers, I experienced a double victory. Though I only lost 1.4 pounds for the week, this loss encompassed two goals. The first goal was my next five pound mile-marker, which pushed the lose-o-meter right on past 35 pounds. The second goal involved the first two digits on the scale. I've officially exited the 170's and have arrived in the 160's. That means I have to drop a point this week, but it's all good; I've been planning to give up coffee creamer for several weeks now, so this is the perfect opportunity.
Could I, or have I done this on my own?! Absolutely not. I have so many people to thank for love, support, and lettuce, I don't quite know where to begin.
I think first of all I have to thank husband, who has lived most closely with me throughout my more recent years of frustration and failure, before I finally found the pathway to a little success. I would like to thank him for loving me and affirming me no matter what size I have been, for never making size-related jests, and for not having me committed on quite a few occasions when I acted rather manic after stepping on the scale. I would like to thank him for having the courage to actually hide the scale from me early in our marriage. More recently, I would like to thank him for sitting with six children every Monday so that I can go to my Weight Watchers meeting. If that's not support, I don't know what is.
Next, I would like to thank my children, who's little smiles have provided me with great motivation, and who together, weighing almost fifty pounds, have provided me a great source of strength training. Without them, I surely would have suffered about a twenty pound setback.
To my mother, I owe an early debt of gratitude. I thank her for her unconditional love, and for taking on the difficult role of the being the one who had to be lovingly honest with me on more than one occasion. I thank her for being candid with me about nutrition and spaghetti portions, and I thank her for not letting me freak out and quit Weight Watchers five weeks into the program when I gained 0.2 pounds during my lady friend's visit. I thank her for her hugs, compliments, and her great yard-sale finds that have kept me out of burlap-sack-dom while I hold out until my birthday for a new wardrobe shopping spree!
There are not enough thank-yous in the world for my Grandma, who's hugs and visits have been a bottomless source of inspiration. I thank her for teaching me how to make good soup--low on points and high on filling flavor. I thank her for keeping the family cookie jar full for the last six months, and thus, excusing me from facing one of my personally most-feared temptations--fresh baked cookies--fresh out of my over, that is. In addition, I thank her for all the times she has come for lunch bearing lots of lettuce and either lean turkey or salmon fillets. These quiet gestures of support have been priceless!
To those who have supported me in the exercise department, I also extend a word of thanks. Thanks to Cindy, for not letting me give up back in January, and a volume of thanks to Bethany who has given of her time to watch my children during aerobics since February. Truthfully, Bethany's help has probably meant the survival of my sweaty endeavors! I thank Lorraine and Tammy too, for all their kind help with the children. The kids love ya'll, and so do I!
I'd be remiss not to thank Linda Haught for her great aerobics classes and for offering those classes to the Colonial Hills ladies for free. What a blessing back in January when I was a bit financially crunched. Thank you also, for the interest that you so obviously take in each one of your attendees!
Thank you, Miss Edith--faithful leader of the Monday morning Weight Watchers gathering--for you weekly prepared comments, for ten years of consistency so that we can know its possible for us too, for your enthusiasm at our successes, and your encouragements at our setbacks. Thank you for your honesty and candor always. You are a great inspiration!
My walking buddy Darcey is just another person I can't imagine not having in my life. Thank you Darcey for the consistent walks, the great conversations, the mutual rejoicing over good news at meetings, and for friendship--which feeds the soul while being POINT FREE!
And on and on I could go. So. If you've read my blog, thank you. If you've encouraged me with a word or a phone call, thank you. If you've noticed I've shrunk, thank you. If you absolutely didn't talk to me during a chance meeting because you didn't recognize me, thank you. I appreciate you, every one!
Lastly, I need to acknowledge and thank God for His Help on this journey. I could not have been successful without His blessing, His Presence, and His Power. Thank you Lord for always giving me Your Strength in my weakness, for never sending me a temptation without a way to escape, and for never leaving me alone.
Well, this concludes this years Shrinking Globe Awards. I'll see you all next year at the Emmy's, because if I have my way, the Globe will be entirely obliterated by Christmas!
This morning at Weight Watchers, I experienced a double victory. Though I only lost 1.4 pounds for the week, this loss encompassed two goals. The first goal was my next five pound mile-marker, which pushed the lose-o-meter right on past 35 pounds. The second goal involved the first two digits on the scale. I've officially exited the 170's and have arrived in the 160's. That means I have to drop a point this week, but it's all good; I've been planning to give up coffee creamer for several weeks now, so this is the perfect opportunity.
Could I, or have I done this on my own?! Absolutely not. I have so many people to thank for love, support, and lettuce, I don't quite know where to begin.
I think first of all I have to thank husband, who has lived most closely with me throughout my more recent years of frustration and failure, before I finally found the pathway to a little success. I would like to thank him for loving me and affirming me no matter what size I have been, for never making size-related jests, and for not having me committed on quite a few occasions when I acted rather manic after stepping on the scale. I would like to thank him for having the courage to actually hide the scale from me early in our marriage. More recently, I would like to thank him for sitting with six children every Monday so that I can go to my Weight Watchers meeting. If that's not support, I don't know what is.
Next, I would like to thank my children, who's little smiles have provided me with great motivation, and who together, weighing almost fifty pounds, have provided me a great source of strength training. Without them, I surely would have suffered about a twenty pound setback.
To my mother, I owe an early debt of gratitude. I thank her for her unconditional love, and for taking on the difficult role of the being the one who had to be lovingly honest with me on more than one occasion. I thank her for being candid with me about nutrition and spaghetti portions, and I thank her for not letting me freak out and quit Weight Watchers five weeks into the program when I gained 0.2 pounds during my lady friend's visit. I thank her for her hugs, compliments, and her great yard-sale finds that have kept me out of burlap-sack-dom while I hold out until my birthday for a new wardrobe shopping spree!
There are not enough thank-yous in the world for my Grandma, who's hugs and visits have been a bottomless source of inspiration. I thank her for teaching me how to make good soup--low on points and high on filling flavor. I thank her for keeping the family cookie jar full for the last six months, and thus, excusing me from facing one of my personally most-feared temptations--fresh baked cookies--fresh out of my over, that is. In addition, I thank her for all the times she has come for lunch bearing lots of lettuce and either lean turkey or salmon fillets. These quiet gestures of support have been priceless!
To those who have supported me in the exercise department, I also extend a word of thanks. Thanks to Cindy, for not letting me give up back in January, and a volume of thanks to Bethany who has given of her time to watch my children during aerobics since February. Truthfully, Bethany's help has probably meant the survival of my sweaty endeavors! I thank Lorraine and Tammy too, for all their kind help with the children. The kids love ya'll, and so do I!
I'd be remiss not to thank Linda Haught for her great aerobics classes and for offering those classes to the Colonial Hills ladies for free. What a blessing back in January when I was a bit financially crunched. Thank you also, for the interest that you so obviously take in each one of your attendees!
Thank you, Miss Edith--faithful leader of the Monday morning Weight Watchers gathering--for you weekly prepared comments, for ten years of consistency so that we can know its possible for us too, for your enthusiasm at our successes, and your encouragements at our setbacks. Thank you for your honesty and candor always. You are a great inspiration!
My walking buddy Darcey is just another person I can't imagine not having in my life. Thank you Darcey for the consistent walks, the great conversations, the mutual rejoicing over good news at meetings, and for friendship--which feeds the soul while being POINT FREE!
And on and on I could go. So. If you've read my blog, thank you. If you've encouraged me with a word or a phone call, thank you. If you've noticed I've shrunk, thank you. If you absolutely didn't talk to me during a chance meeting because you didn't recognize me, thank you. I appreciate you, every one!
Lastly, I need to acknowledge and thank God for His Help on this journey. I could not have been successful without His blessing, His Presence, and His Power. Thank you Lord for always giving me Your Strength in my weakness, for never sending me a temptation without a way to escape, and for never leaving me alone.
Well, this concludes this years Shrinking Globe Awards. I'll see you all next year at the Emmy's, because if I have my way, the Globe will be entirely obliterated by Christmas!
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut
I'm not sure exactly why I was drawn to the coconut. Perhaps my subconscious pulled me toward the tropical and exotic; perhaps it reminded me of the wonderful cruise vacation I had with my husband last October; perhaps it was simply the embodiment of the deserted island I often long to wake up and find myself on. Who knows. But there it was, my coconut.
As it turns out, my coconut was full of surprises. Being the good Weight Watcher that I am, the first thing I did, was haul my little coconut off to the computer, pull up the WW website, and check out the points values associated with a coconut. I think I must have bruised my chin when my jaw dropped and hit the hairy sphere sitting in my lap. For a cup of raw coconut—7 points; for a cup of coconut milk—15 POINTS! What on earth!
My burgeoning understanding of my MIS-understanding of coconuts was only just begun. You see, I had overlooked the fact that I was dealing with a cocoNUT. Here I'd been thinking along the lines of apple, banana, orange, kiwi, coconut; when I should have been thinking almond, pecan, walnut, hazelnut, coconut. Had my thought processes followed these strains of logic, I would have had no problem with conclusions that resolved themselves thus. “I have purchased a coconut; hence, the high content of calories, fat, and protein; hence, the high point value; hence, the impenetrability of the armored shell.
Yes, getting into my coconut was the next surprise. I placed the coconut onto my cutting board, and still being caught up in my incorrect thinking, selected a knife that would have been equal, perhaps, to a canteloupe. The knife bounced off my coconut in a situation comparable to a bullet and Kevlar. Not willing to be bested by a fruit, and not yet understanding that I was not the only NUT present, I upgraded to a butcher knife.
After a couple of minutes, I feared the noise from the battle would wake my sleeping children, so the coconut and I took it outside. I can only imagine what my vigilant neighbors thought when I came out the door holding a fuzzy head-sized object in one hand and a LARGE knife in the other. After another couple of futile minutes wielding the butcher knife, I revised my approach. Feeling a bit like Robinson Crusoe, I raised the coconut over my head and began to knock it with all my might against the corner of my cement steps. This approach proved effective, although it is important to note, that the step broke before the coconut did.
So how did it all end? Well, I didn't have to worry about the coconut milk; there was none in this particular coconut. As for eating an entire cup of the sweet meat, my jaw gave out after about a quarter cup, so at approximately 2 points, I didn't really break the bank. Perhaps most distressing of all however, was the realization that came just before sleep that night. After all that work, coconut wasn't even a new food for me! I'd had it out of a bag many times. Duh!
Well I can tell you, I'll be eating coconut out of the bag from now on, and maybe, if I can get up my courage to face the produce department again, I'll give the new-food challenge another try.
As it turns out, my coconut was full of surprises. Being the good Weight Watcher that I am, the first thing I did, was haul my little coconut off to the computer, pull up the WW website, and check out the points values associated with a coconut. I think I must have bruised my chin when my jaw dropped and hit the hairy sphere sitting in my lap. For a cup of raw coconut—7 points; for a cup of coconut milk—15 POINTS! What on earth!
My burgeoning understanding of my MIS-understanding of coconuts was only just begun. You see, I had overlooked the fact that I was dealing with a cocoNUT. Here I'd been thinking along the lines of apple, banana, orange, kiwi, coconut; when I should have been thinking almond, pecan, walnut, hazelnut, coconut. Had my thought processes followed these strains of logic, I would have had no problem with conclusions that resolved themselves thus. “I have purchased a coconut; hence, the high content of calories, fat, and protein; hence, the high point value; hence, the impenetrability of the armored shell.
Yes, getting into my coconut was the next surprise. I placed the coconut onto my cutting board, and still being caught up in my incorrect thinking, selected a knife that would have been equal, perhaps, to a canteloupe. The knife bounced off my coconut in a situation comparable to a bullet and Kevlar. Not willing to be bested by a fruit, and not yet understanding that I was not the only NUT present, I upgraded to a butcher knife.
After a couple of minutes, I feared the noise from the battle would wake my sleeping children, so the coconut and I took it outside. I can only imagine what my vigilant neighbors thought when I came out the door holding a fuzzy head-sized object in one hand and a LARGE knife in the other. After another couple of futile minutes wielding the butcher knife, I revised my approach. Feeling a bit like Robinson Crusoe, I raised the coconut over my head and began to knock it with all my might against the corner of my cement steps. This approach proved effective, although it is important to note, that the step broke before the coconut did.
So how did it all end? Well, I didn't have to worry about the coconut milk; there was none in this particular coconut. As for eating an entire cup of the sweet meat, my jaw gave out after about a quarter cup, so at approximately 2 points, I didn't really break the bank. Perhaps most distressing of all however, was the realization that came just before sleep that night. After all that work, coconut wasn't even a new food for me! I'd had it out of a bag many times. Duh!
Well I can tell you, I'll be eating coconut out of the bag from now on, and maybe, if I can get up my courage to face the produce department again, I'll give the new-food challenge another try.
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