I started running last week. It took me a long time to work up to that, believe me. I’ve never been an athlete, not in the least. In high school, I was naturally skinny, weighing 68 pounds in grade 7 and less than 100 my graduation.
At 5′7″ and 118 pounds, I got pregnant with Dylan when I was 23, at which point I received my License To Eat. I ate fish and chips, ice cream, and Lipton Sidekicks with wild abandon. Nothing was safe from the gorge of my pregnant yap. Looking back, I remember loving the fact I could eat whatever I wanted, but I felt like total crap all the time. Pregnancy and gluttony did not agree with my tiny frame.
So here I am, 9 years and 2 kids later, looking down the barrel of the overweight shotgun, knowing it will kill me one day. My genes on my father’s side are ones that I will fight forever now that I have crossed the line into a BMI that is higher than my age.
Nearly 3 months ago, I had gotten myself down from 220 pounds to 195 by eating better (further by starving myself prior to that, but gained it back). Still, it isn’t enough. My goal is 130. I put these numbers out there with much trepidation, but hopefully those numbers will help me be proud of my accomplishments and accountable for any slips.
When I started with Master Homie G the fitness trainer, it was at that 195 pounds that I stood before her and nearly broke down crying. I felt ashamed. Sheer sadness came over me as she measured my arms, legs, calves, waist and chest.
The fact is, I had no one else to look to but myself. I’m the only one who can change this. I’m the only one who will haul this ass to the gym and get to work. I’m the only one who will ultimately make secret or public decisions as to what to put into my mouth. I’m the one who has to look after this body. For myself, my husband, my kids, for a life that is not about tugging shirts over a muffintop, a life that doesn’t include dressing in dark colours forever, for a life of action and freedom from excess weight.
This last paragraph is my mantra — I repeat this and similar things to myself when I’m feeling weak for M&M’s. I repeat this to myself when I want to call up Homie G and cancel.
Last Saturday Homie G called me into her tiny office and we weighed and measured me after the first 12 sessions were up. I’ve lost 7 pounds in those 12 sessions, which, honestly I thought would be more. I know muscle weighs more than fat and the weight lifting I had been doing had actually made me replace fat with muscle and the weight I had shed was fat - all fat.
Yesterday morning, an old friend and I went out for breakfast while she was here in town. We were excited to see each other and to spend some time without the kids to catch up and be silly.
We headed to Cora’s, which is this awesome breakfast place that has really made a name for itself here in town. They serve a ton of fresh fruit and the chain was started by a single mom. Totally cool and definitely a success.
With success, comes popularity and Cora’s is no exception. We stood in line for a good ten minutes but I know from experience that the lineup easily quadruples that once church lets out.
We stood behind a woman who was at least 17 months pregnant. She joked to her husband that if her water broke, they had forgotten the cell phone. I piped up in jest and said, “You could borrow mine, you know. It’s not like NO ONE would help you.” We laughed and joked about nobody helping her and my friend offered to throw apple juice at her feet so people wouldn’t point and laugh that she had wet herself.
I have kind of a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach about writing this, but I’m forging ahead anyway.
When you first start mommyblogging, it’s like dating - you’re on your best behaviour, writing what you think is entertaining in one way or another, whether it be about the delicate balance of being a mother, or mommy guilt, or funny things your toddler said. People relate to what you’re putting out there, and they comment. You feel the same way and comment back on their blog. At least, that’s how it was for me when I started in 2005. (My archives will be put up here when I get some time to do it.)
It’s a wonderful community and I would be lost without it some days.
Then you get a little more comfortable, maybe meet some other mommybloggers, think you you know them, but the truth is, they are just putting their best side out there too. That’s okay though, it’s natural for us to do this, I think. We want readers and comments, after all. We want people to like us and care about us the same way we care about them. Most people are good, after all, and these women are trustworthy and just as scared and doubtful about their decisions as you are.
I think this series on YouTube is hysterically funny. And I happen to know a fewpeoplewhoaresick in the head like me who will appreciate it.
Yes it’s by the same guy who does the “You Suck At Photoshop Series,” which also makes me laugh.
Anyway - enjoy the first 5 episodes (I’m sure if you subscribe, there will be more coming). There’s low blows, awesome insults and of course, a bit of swearing so go duct tape your kids ears shut.
I was just talking to Karl on emails. (I’m working on a new blog design for him) and he said I do “plenty.”
I thought about that for a minute.
This morning, I got up, fed the kids, checked email, posted one celeb story, got dressed, dressed kids, took them to the Children’s Museum, got groceries, came home, had 4 more kids over for a playdate while I cooked dinner, took dinner off the stove to run the oldest to hockey practice, came home, finished dinner, made a healthy tuna pasta salad for myself for the week, cleaned up, bathed the youngest, walked the dogs, read to the youngest, tucked him in, made the older one shower, gave him a kiss with some cough medicine, worked some more on celebrity stories by claiming some to post in the morning, and now it’s 1 a.m.
I’m starting a 2nd writing gig in the next couple of weeks.
I have 8 ideas ready for blogging here and a bunch of entries from the old blog to bring over here.
Guess which thing won’t get done?
That’s right, my sewing. Sorry Nancy.
Looks like Nancy’s been sniffing the sewing machine oil. You know, if there is such a thing. (I have NO IDEA.)
You’d think that if Girlfriend wrote a book on sewing, she wouldn’t be wearing her Uncle Archie’s super snazzy suit jacket. Is that duct tape she’s holding? If so, she’s got my number. That’s about ALL I have time for. As I told the kids this morning before loading them in the car and taping their mouths shut:
You’re killing me. I mean really - it’s MARCH. March means in like a lion, out like a lamb. I know it’s only the 8th but your deadline for “in like a lion” ended at least 5 days ago.
Also, we have a baby niece literally on the way as I type this and we need the highway clear enough that we can go see her!
The typewriter
A husband and wife decided they needed to use “code” to indicate that they wanted to have sex without letting their children in on it. They decided on the word Typewriter. One day the husband told his five year old daughter, “Go tell your mommy that daddy needs to type a letter”. The child told her mother what her dad said, and her mom responded, “Tell your daddy that he can’t type a letter right now cause there is a red ribbon in the typewriter.” The child went back to tell her father what mommy said. A few days later the mom told the daughter, “Tell daddy that he can type that letter now.” The child told her father, returned to her mother and announced, “Daddy said never mind with the typewriter, he already wrote the letter by hand.”
Text messaging tonight between me and SugarHubs…
I’ve told him, under no circumstances should he listen to me when I request my favorite candy, Peanut M&M’s. No matter the excuse, no matter what, he is not supposed to give in.
me: hope you come home soon with m&m’s.
him: I’m not supposed to cave and bring those to you.
me: no, you’re not. so don’t.
me (again): but we worked really hard today.
him: You will kill me in the morning if i cave.
me: nah. but i’ll hate myself. but i wannnnnt them.
him: You want me baby.
me: i told you the circumstances. the ribbon is red. the letter cannot be typed.
him: …radio silence…
We’ll see if he brings them…do you make your significant other promise to keep you from doing or eating things? Does he/she listen?
Update: He did NOT bring them. I am mopey now but will be happy in the morning about this.
Today I went out and bought stuff to “dress the house” and tackled the main floor. I know we need new furniture but we aren’t buying anything until the new house is built, for obvious reasons.
The sofa slipcovers are only for when we’re showing the house - they are chocolate brown and Mylie sheds like a cat and chews the couches, so I’m not putting them on.
