A Bad Day

I made a terrible mistake yesterday.

I went shopping.

For clothes.

I didn't mean to do it.  I swear.  The day started off innocently enough with a family trip out for breakfast and a visit to a camper expo a few towns away.

The trouble started when the camper exhibit turned out to be a bit of a flop.  The way they hyped it on the radio, we expected it to be huge with plenty of models to tour and compare so we'd have a clue what we want (read: could afford) when we are ready to buy.  In reality they only had about fifteen campers in a strip mall parking lot, most of which were locked, and no salesman in sight.  So, we had plenty of time to kill before Punky's dad had to go to work.

Based on the scale reading that morning, I lost a total of five pounds this month.  While it doesn't seem like much, it's right in line with the guidelines of healthy weight loss: one to two pounds per week.  The shape of my body has changed so much, thanks to Jillian Michaels' attempts to kill me a few nights a week, and my suit pants for work are literally on the verge of sliding right off my ass.  I thought I was ready to face the world of retail with a new attitude and confidence stemming from the pride in my accomplishments these last three months.

Nope.

It's no secret that I hate shopping.  For anything.  But clothes shopping was always at the very bottom of my list of fun things to do, even when I was a size six.  Unlike most women, I hate clothes.  I could care less about the fashion world and all its crazy trends.  I don't need seventeen different pairs of black shoes, or coordinated  jewelry for every outfit, or a new dress for every minor occasion that comes along.  To me, it's a big waste of money, time, and effort, but I can't exactly go to work naked.

My philosophy on clothes has always fallen along these lines: the bigger and baggier, the better.  Yes, even when I was tiny.  I've always been super self-conscious about my appearance and it's so much easier to hide behind mounds of material than risk fabric hugging my tummy.  A potato sack is truly my idea of perfect apparel.

As soon as my feet hit the carpet in the women's clothing section, the new confidence I thought I had disappeared in a flash.  I could feel my heart beating faster and faster as I meandered aimlessly through the racks.  The same old anxiety came rushing in and I quickly felt lost and overwhelmed.  It took all my strength not to run the other direction, and I actually managed to pick out a few outfits and walk to the dreaded dressing room.

I really wish I hadn't. 

I took a pair of dress pants off the hanger and faced the wall as I slowly pulled them on.  I had no idea what size would fit me and I worried that I guessed too low.  I couldn't believe it when I was able to zip and button them with little effort.  I actually cracked a smile and took a long, deep breath.  Then I turned around to face the mirror, and burst into tears.

In an instant, all was lost.  I stood there staring at my lower stomach just bulging under my waist line as the tears streaked down my cheeks.  How could I lose nearly twenty five pounds and still look so terrible?  I felt so hopeless, like all my hard work was truly in vain.  It made zero difference in the way I look, if anything it's even worse now.  My hips have narrowed, my legs have slimmed, my ass has shrunk, and my upper stomach, the famous muffin-top area, has melted.  But, the roll of hanging fat over my c-section incision hasn't budged a bit.  At least my body was even with that twenty five pounds.  Thick all around.  Now, staring in that dressing room mirror, I looked like a child's drawing of a person: two tiny stick legs with a big circle body on top.  That's exactly how I felt in those pants. 

I wiped my tears and grabbed a shirt from the hanger.  True to my old habits, the size was surely much larger than necessary but maybe it would hide the roll and calm my anxiety.  It didn't work; it just made me look six months pregnant.  The other outfits I brought in to try were mocking me from their hangers.  I sat on the bench for a few minutes and tried to collect myself.  Then I put on my old, baggy jeans and over-sized tee and returned all the clothes to the unwanted rack outside the dressing room. 

Punky's dad knew by the look on my face that it didn't go well.  He tried his best to cheer me up and make me feel like the past three months were worth my effort, but he failed miserably.  I may have won a few battles, but I'm still losing the war.

Then, to add insult to injury, I took Punky to a birthday party later yesterday afternoon for my friend's son who just turned one.  We haven't seen each other in a few months and she mentioned something about the Chinese restaurant we used to frequent when we worked together.  I commented about not eating lunches like that anymore, and she asked if something happened as if to imply that I had a bad experience at that restaurant.  I told her what I've been up to and that I've lost well over twenty pounds.  And she looked at me like I was speaking Chinese.  Apparently, she couldn't tell a bit.

Yesterday was not a good day.  And today isn't much better.  As of this morning I gained a pound, so I guess I need to count this month as a mere four pound loss.  With how I feel right now, it hardly seems worth it and I think I need a break.  And I need to stay the hell away from clothing stores.  Even though I need to hold my current wardrobe on with safety pins, it will be a cold day in hell till I even think about attempting that again.

When Forever Ends

My sister and her boyfriend separated about six weeks ago, just a few days short of twelve years into their relationship.  He moved out.  They went to court to settle the child support.  He's already dating someone new.

And yes, I fully realize it's none of my business whatsoever.  They are adults.  They certainly had their fair share of problems in the relationship.  And they also have two beautiful children.

My sister is having a rough time, and I must admit I'm a bit surprised.  They were miserable together.  She definitely wasn't happy.  She was relieved when he moved out and ended the tension that defined their home life.  But, aside from their good intentions in the beginning, it has gotten ugly.  Really ugly.

When my ex and I separated years ago, we had the most amicable breakup in history and it certainly helped that there were no children involved.  We are still close, we still love each other (not in a romantic way, of course), and we are still working to pay off debt we made together.  We never fought over money, or who gets what, or how we've chosen to conduct our lives as individuals since the split.  When it came time to choose a godfather for Punky, he was the perfect choice and he loves her with his whole heart and soul.  And she absolutely adores him.  I know our situation is far from the norm and we are both very lucky.  Most relationships don't end the way ours did.

In my sister's case, the first week went well but then things quickly went in the shitter.  It started getting ugly when her best friend (I use that term very loosely) butted in and caused a boat load of trouble by telling the ex that my sister was ready to date other people and that he should go and do the same.  My sister didn't really feel that way, but within a week her ex was dating someone.  

Obviously she had a huge falling out with the best friend who was clearly in the wrong for getting involved.  The friend lashed out at my sister, called her every name in the book, and abruptly ended the friendship on a very nasty note.  While I'll hold my tongue on my opinion on the split with her ex, this one is fair game.  I don't for a second understand why my sister even considered this girl a true friend anyway.  She was unreliable, fake, and an alcoholic in denial to boot.  She watched my niece a few days a week and just the thought made me nervous.  She paid no attention to her, fed her junk all day long, and being responsible for someone else's child wasn't enough to keep her from drinking while on duty.  She even took my niece in the car with her sometimes.  Lucky nothing bad ever happened because, if it had, they would've had to pull me off this girl.  While I see her as a total waste of time and effort, my sister regards her as some kind of hero.  My sister needs a slap, and she'll get one from me if she even thinks about rekindling that friendship at some point.  I have several close friends and I can guarantee that none of them would ever put my daughter's life in jeopardy, butt in to my relationship, or call me the c-word. 

Okay, rant over, back to the subject at hand.  At the child support hearing, my sister allowed her heart to get in the way and she requested the amount she was awarded to be reduced by about twenty percent.  In her mind, she thought there was a chance they would work it out down the road and this was only a temporary thing.  She was trying to be nice, even though it was a bad financial decision.  I spent three hours doing a budget for her the very next day, and saying things are tight is a gross understatement.  

Then, a day later, she found out he was already seeing someone, and his demeanor towards her literally changed overnight.  He was suddenly cold, mean, and uncooperative.  He made it clear that he has no intention whatsoever of working it out, and as far as he's concerned their relationship is over for good.  She had the classic breakup meltdown and was completely devastated.  She spent the next two weeks crying while he took every opportunity to rub in just how awesome this new girl is, and how happy he is, and how little regard he obviously has for the twelve years they were together.  

I think she finally made it over the hurdle.  Everyone kept telling her she needed to get mad, and it appears she reached that stage.  Of course, he definitely helped her get there.  He started slacking more and more in the father department now that the girl with the golden hoo-hoo (my sister's name for her) has been occupying every moment of his time.  Outside of the court-ordered child support, he agreed to give her cash towards things like karate lessons, the kid's outstanding medical bills, and such.  Needless to say, he hasn't kept his word.  It's no surprise since the absolute biggest problem in their relationship was money.  He wanted to spend his on whatever he pleased, while she struggled to pay most of the bills on her own.  At any rate, she filed the petition to go back to court.  She wants the other twenty percent that she's entitled to and, as I said before, she desperately needs it just to stay afloat.

So, now they are in full bicker mode.  He's pissed about the whole court thing, she's mad that he wants to introduce his girlfriend to the kids so soon, he's accusing her of sleeping around, she's calling him out on his child care responsibilities.  Yeah, it's pretty ugly at the moment.  But, in time, this too shall pass.  Hopefully.

No one knows what the future holds.  A year from now, they may end up back together.  Or they both may be happy in new relationships.  For the time being, my sister is playing it smart.  There is a guy in her life, a close friend from years ago, but she is cautiously taking it slow.  For now they remain friends for the most part, but it may lead to more down the road.  She brought him up here for a visit last weekend, and while I think it's important for her to not jump into anything, if it develops into more at some point she could definitely do worse.  He's a nice guy, hard working, disciplined, good with money, and the kids have known him a long time already and they adore him.

All I know is that life's too short to be miserable.  If you're not happy in your relationship, and you've made every effort to make it work to no avail, going your separate ways may be the best thing.  No one should be expected to stay in any bad situation, and certainly not for the sake of the kids.  Thus far, the kids are coping far better than their parents.  It's a big adjustment, change is never easy, but everyone will get through it and life will go on. 

To my sister, I say this:

Keep your chin up.  Stay focused on the kids and your quest to find happiness.  Live your life like there's no tomorrow and try to keep the bitterness, anger, and hostility out of the kids' view.  There's only two possible endings: either you will reconcile or stay apart forever.  Whichever the result, you will be happier, healthier, and stronger from the journey.  Figure out who you want to be, and set goals to get there.  Don't look at this like an ending; make it a beginning.  This is a whole new chapter in your life, and only you have the power to write the story. 

Space Case

Punky is obsessed with the planets these days.

It's my fault, I suppose.  A few weeks ago they had a book sale at daycare and I ordered a colorful book about the solar system.  It's very basic and designed for small children, and Punky memorized it in no time flat. 

She can tell you the planets in order from the sun.  She can tell you which is the smallest, which is the largest, and which are made of gas.  She can tell you which one looks red, which ones appear blue, and which one has a yellow glow.  She can tell you that Mars has two moons, and that Saturn's rings are made of icy rocks, and that Neptune is very, very cold.  She can even explain how they once called Pluto a planet, but now it's considered too small to be one.

It's her new favorite book.  We've read it almost every night at bedtime for the last three weeks.  And, as of now, there's no end in sight.

Maybe she'll be an astronaut.  Or a rocket scientist.  Or the architect that builds the first condo complex on the moon.

Or, like she told me when I asked last week, maybe she'll just be a regular person like Mommy when she grows up.

Easter Stuff

The usual Easter traditions began on Thursday evening when we tackled the annual egg dying with Punky.  As you would expect, it was a messy venture.  In addition to the eggs, she managed to dye her hands, t-shirt, and a small section of the dining room rug, but all were easily fixed with a bath, a load of laundry, and a few squirts of carpet cleaner.  It was worth the effort; she had a blast.

On Friday, Punky and I headed down state once again to spend the holiday with family.  She spent the afternoon getting into trouble with her cousins and, when my sister got home from work, we took them to the mall for a photo op with the bunny.  I knew Punky would be fine, but I was nervous about my niece.  I envisioned a reaction similar to the one she had when we met Goofy at Disney World and, believe me, it wasn't pretty.  To our surprise, she ran right to him, jumped up on his lap, and smiled ear to ear for the picture.  And when their turn was over, she kept running back to him every chance she had.  

Two weeks ago, when my mom demanded arranged a photo shoot of her grandkids, it was like pulling teeth to get the three of them to sit still and smile at the same time, and in the end we failed miserably.  My sister and I anticipated a similar experience with the bunny, but the exact opposite was true.  Fifteen seconds and one camera click was all it took.  Go figure.  They all sat, smiled, and looked at the damn camera.  Even the photographer was impressed; one shot is rare when there are three kids involved.

Saturday was a nice, relaxing day.  After lunch at my parents' house, we tagged along for the ride to Cabela's.  I had never been there before and it's definitely an interesting store to see.  Of course, it took us longer to get there than we were actually in the store because my dad never takes the direct route anywhere and the country roads he chose this trip were plagued by closures for bridge repairs, but it was a nice day for a ride in my mom's new car.  Punky managed to con her godfather into buying her a fishing pole and an expensive night light.  I swear, all she needs to do is look at him and he caves.  He spoils her rotten.

We spent the evening at my sister's house and my mom joined us for some kickboxing.  Yes, I'm dragging them down with me.  I had to sneak in a workout at some point over the weekend, so why suffer alone?  Aside from my sister's utter lack of balance, they kept up well.  Given that my mom is in her sixties, she did great.  She took breaks here and there, but honestly we all did.  I was impressed, and it was nice to have company in my misery.  And then, about an hour afterward, my sister and I each ate two pieces of pizza and some antipasto so the workout was entirely in vain.  Oh well.

We started Sunday morning at Punky's godfather's house and he continued to spoil her with a big bag full of Easter treats and surprises.  Then we headed to my parents' for dinner and an Easter egg hunt.  Punky had two more baskets waiting there for her, not to mention all the goodies from inside the eggs.  When we arrived home in the evening, Punky quickly discovered that the sneaky Easter Bunny also scattered eggs around our house.  Plus, he hid her basket so she needed to hunt for that as well.  

Between all of us, she made out like a bandit as usual.  She got new clothes, new books, bubbles, movies, coloring books, and other random trinkets.  Then there's the candy.  One whole shelf in the pantry is lined with sugary treats.  Most of it will eventually end up in trash, I'm sure.  A few weeks ago, in anticipation of Easter coming, I cleaned out the candy bin and threw stuff away from Valentine's Day, Christmas, Halloween, and even last Easter.  We only allow her to have one candy treat a day, and only if she eats all of her dinner.  It will take years to consume that much candy at that rate.  And I certainly don't need mounds of chocolate sitting around. 

Speaking of which, I did have the nerve to thoroughly enjoy Easter dinner on top of my pizza splurge the previous night.  I loved every bite of potato salad, paska bread, horseradish, and ham.  And I even indulged in a 410 calorie piece of cheesecake for desert.  I held my breath when I stepped on the scale this morning.

I lost over a pound.   

Losing Ground

This has not been a good week thus far, and I'm starting to detect a pattern.
The scale hit an all-time low on Saturday, just as I began my last post.  Since then, it has consistently gone up.  Every. Single. Day.  As of this morning, it stands at exactly one pound higher.  I haven't cheated on my calories, and I exercised my ass off on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.  No lie, my cheeks are even sore today.

But, my period started on Sunday, four days early this cycle. 

While I've read that it's perfectly normal for women to gain even as much as five pounds during that magical time of the month and that it's mainly water weight, it is of no consolation whatsoever as I stare at the number on the scale.  You can put whatever spin on it you want, but the bottom line is in the red and I don't like it one bit.

Now that I finally made the connection between my worst scale week each month and the presence of my period, you would think I'd be smart enough to stay off the damn thing for a few days and save myself the aggravation.  But, no.  I'm a glutton for punishment.

And Easter weekend is on the horizon.  Creamy potato salad.  Ham.  Paska bread smothered in butter and horseradish.  Chocolate galore.  I can't skip Easter.  Can I?

This one pound gain has me mad.  I can't wait to see what happens Monday morning when it's more like five or six.  Even though I'm prepared for the worst, the scale may still end up in pieces.

The Journey Continues

Well, I've completed month number two of this what the hell was I thinking when I started this shit weight loss journey.  Some days were good, some days were bad, and some days were downright ugly.

The best example of ugly came just after my post last month when I entered week five.  I was riding a natural high, you see.  The first month was stellar, the results were spectacular, and I was smug enough to think it was easy.  Even though I wrote about anticipating a slow-down in month two, I can assure you I never fully internalized that thought.  But, all of a sudden, the scale stopped moving.  For three long, painful weeks it barely budged.  My 3.5 pound per week loss from month one had shrunk to less than a half pound per week. 

My reaction, as you can imagine, was not pleasant.  Every morning began with a showdown between me and the scale and ended with lots of yelling, cursing, and threats to the scale's well-being.  The more it held it's ground, the angrier I became.  Two weeks in, when Punky's dad tired of hearing my daily scale bashing, he took it upon himself to find a solution: he bought me a new scale.  'Cause that must've been the problem, right? 

It's true that the scale I had been using was probably manufactured around my ninth birthday, but as far as I know it's accurate.  My mom even confirmed it when she was up for a few days.  She weighs herself every morning as well, and my scale was exactly where it should be when compared with the scale she uses at home.  His intentions were good, but it only caused more anger on my part.  First off, it's a high-tech, digital model that tells you everything from your weight, to your BMI, to your hydration level, to the color eyes of your first-born child.  It's insane.  I was already aggravated by the time I got it out of the packaging and played twenty questions just to set the damn thing up.  Then, I made the mistake of actually stepping on it.

Four freakin' pounds difference, and not in my favor.  It took all my strength not to smash it on the spot.  Once I cooled down and had time to rationalize a bit, I realized that the scale I started with had definitely dropped fifteen pounds since the first of February, and this new scale was not denying me my success.  It simply meant that this scale would have started four pounds higher to begin with if I had used it from the start.  So, the weight I lost was still real.  But I hated staring at it's new math.  I felt like I had to lose those same four pounds all over again, and that pissed me off enough to take another approach.

The next day at the store, I browsed the clearance aisle and found a two-pack of exercise videos.  Jillian Michaels.  I can't say I ever saw more half an episode of The Biggest Loser, but I read a lot about her while researching all this weight-loss bullshit, and she seems to know her stuff.  She's smart, she's tough, and personally I find her funny.  I tossed them in the cart.

Punky's dad was still sleeping when I got home with the groceries (third shift week), and I was busy unpacking things when he emerged from the bedroom.  He glanced at the kitchen counter and the videos caught his attention.

"Oh my god," he said.  "She's gonna kick your ass."

I thanked him for the vote of confidence then cursed him under my breath.  I knew he was probably right, but I wasn't going to admit defeat prior to even trying.

It took a few days for me to build up the courage to pop one in the DVD player.  Even though the digital scale was now allowing me to see a tiny bit of improvement some days, I was still pissed and I decided to pour that energy into exercise.

The warm up was a breeze.  The first circuit, not so much.  Okay, so it totally kicked my ass.  Those seven minutes lasted an eternity.  It was all kickboxing.  I hadn't moved my body like that in years.  I quickly realized just how out of shape I really am, so then I had something else to be pissed about.  How did this happen?  I was a gymnast, dammit.  I had broad shoulders, muscle tone, and energy that would last hours on end.  Suddenly I was filled with years of regret.  Why didn't I stay active?  Why didn't I make exercise a priority?  I thought of the uphill battle I was facing and my eyes filled with tears.

The first couple tries, I stuck with the warm up, one circuit, and the cool down only.  Then I was able to make it through two circuits.  Now I'm up to three, with a mere four more to go.  Today, for the first time, I played the entire 45 minute workout straight through.  I did the three circuits I am used to in full, one I skipped entirely, and I did about half of each of the other three.  I wouldn't say it's getting easier, I think I'm just getting more and more determined each time I press the play button.

What's driving that determination?  The scale, of course.  It's moving again.  It's gone down a full five pounds since the first day I first got it, and that brings my grand total to twenty pounds in just two months.  I never imagined that could happen so quickly, and I feel better than I have in years.  I love being active again.  I already have so much more energy than I did two short months ago.  I'm sleeping well.  I'm eating well.  I can finally see the difference in the mirror, and all of my work pants are starting to slide down my hips.

And I finally stopped threatening the scale's life every morning.  Twenty down, at least twenty more to go.  On to month three...

Favorite Things Friday: Cracker Chips

As you know, last month I jumped on the calorie-counter bandwagon in an attempt to shed some layers and return to a much healthier me.  I'll dish the scoop on month number two later, but now I want to share my happiest discovery thus far on this journey: Kellog's Special K Cracker Chips.

Sweets were never my cup of tea, but my love of carbs runs deep.  I crave them.  I need them.  I have to have them so no one gets hurt.  Bread, pasta, and crispy, crunchy, salty snacks were always my go-to comfort foods.  As I said last month, I haven't totally eliminated any specific foods from my diet, but simply eat them less frequently and in smaller portions than before.  It has worked well in regard to meals, I have adjusted and I'm content with my occasional carb indulgence, but there was a definite void in the snack department.  I love carrots, and applesauce, and fiber bars, but once in a while I need that delightful crunch you get only from eating a chip-like munchie food.  

As a result of this process, I have morphed into a die-hard label reader.  I don't eat anything without checking the stats and determining what consumption would mean to my overall bottom line for the day.  I have to say, the labels on traditional snack foods are enough to make my stomach turn and I just can't justify wasting that many of my precious daily calorie allotment on such junk.  Then I discovered these cracker-chips, and my world was suddenly right again.

The taste is hard to describe.  To me, it's sort of a mix between potato chip, cracker, rice cake, and the Mum-Mums Punky ate as a baby.  They are light and crispy, salty and crunchy, yet they seem to dissolve in your mouth with very little chewing.  They currently offer four flavors that mimic potato chip varieties, and I really like them all.  As an added bonus, Punky's dad hates them so my snacks are safe in the pantry.

I keep a box in my office at work for my mid-morning snack.  I only eat yogurt for breakfast, and by about ten o'clock my stomach starts to turn.  I was always like that.  If I don't eat something solid in the morning, I get very nauseous within hours.  These cracker-chips are perfect to curb that feeling while giving me a guilt-free fun snack just when I need it.  And at night, when I need that little something crunchy, they do the trick as well.  The sea salt variety is especially good with some mild salsa.

Now for the numbers: 110 calories per serving, and a serving is 27-30 chips depending on the variety.  Considering the cracker-chips are about the size of a half dollar, that's a mighty good snack in my book.  Most of the time, I only eat half a serving and it's more than enough to satisfy my munchie carb craving.  And 55 calories is easy to justify with the confines of my daily goal. 

So, go buy some of these chips and get snacking!  I can't let this product line fail or I'll be back to square one.