Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Blowing her Mind

Ten Pound Blitz update: I'm 3.2 lbs. down for the week.  I feel thinner already.  I'm .3 lbs. ahead of my competition.  Game on!

I took Leila bra shopping the other day.  I realize that one day she may get furious with me for sharing this kind of information with the whole internet, but, whatever: I gave birth, I had to stick my pinky finger in her butt to help her poo when she was a baby, I put up with her messy room and her quirky eating habits, I think I've earned it.

Back to bras.  You would have thought that I was making her do a strip tease in front of the whole 5th grade.  We picked out some bras, went into the largest dressing room, and she points to one of the bras and says, "that looks good, let's get that one."  I told her she had to try it on, and try on the other ones too to  see which one was best for her, and she looked at me like I had told her to eat the bras instead of try them on.  "You mean I have to take my top off?  IN PUBLIC???"  I told her it was not "public" it was in the privacy of the dressing room.  Then she tried to kick me out, and I told her I had to make sure they fit properly.  So she made me turn around and face the wall, because God forbid I see her little boobies.  Remember the part where I had to stick my pinky finger up her butt?

Then came time for her to try on a regular-style bra vs. a training bra, and she was trying to do the clasp behind her back rather than doing it in the front and sliding the bra around, but I wasn't allowed to turn around and show her how to do it.  I turned around anyway, and pointed my eye balls at the ceiling while showing her how it was done.  That bra didn't turn out so well, so we stuck with the training kind.

Then I made her try on a bathing suit.  That was even more traumatic because she had to take her pants off IN PUBLIC.  I said she could leave her underwear on, but that was hardly any consolation.  She was completely mortified by the whole experience.  I told her to get used to it, because every woman in America eventually has to try on bras and bathing suits, and we all hate it, but its just one of those things. 

I went to the gynecologist today.  I can only imaging how Leila is going to feel about that.  I couldn't help telling her that I went to the gynecologist, and explaining that this was doctor that looked in your vagina.  Then I told her that my gyno is a man.  I think her head may have exploded. 

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Bless my Bed

2 fried eggs, an english muffin (no butter) and a coke.


The Blitz is going fine.  It helps to go back to bed after the kid leaves for school and pass out until 11 and combine breakfast and lunch. 

My sleep is so off, I just can't get a handle on it.  I thought that taking brisk walks would help me sleep normally, but not yet. 

Is this the beginnings of menopause?  Is this what I have to look forward to?  Sleeping at inappropriate times?  And just because I love my bed and I love staying in it for as long as I can stave off the guilt for not being upright, it doesn't mean I'm depressed, does it?  They say that depressed people don't want to get out of bed, and I've had that experience, but what if you want to stay in bed because you just love bed SO MUCH?  And staying in bed is so much better than getting up and stripping said bed and throwing the sheets in the washing machine, and then doing some dishes and going to the UPS store?  When I was crashed out in my bed this morning, with the radio blaring and a cat sitting on me, I can assure you that I was very, very happy.

But now I'm up.  I'm not dressed, or anything outrageous like that, but at least I'm up.  I really want to go to bed again, though.  I have good stuff recorded on the DVR, and its freezing outside, and all the animals are all sleepy and cuddly.  Its going to take all my will power to stay out of that bed!  Its calling to me!

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

The Ten Pound Blitz!

Okay, so you know how I'm a total lardass, right?  Its not false modesty, like I'm a size 4 and I'm like, "My butt is too big!  I hate my thighs!"  No, I'm a lardass, pure and simple.

I don't have any desire to be a size 4.  I don't think I'm meant to be thin.  I was thin a couple of times in my life, not dangerously thin or anything, but deliciously thin, and you know what?  Screw that noise.  Way too much work.  In fact, losing weight would mean buying new clothes, and I hate shopping, so I'm actually mildly conflicted.

But here's the deal: I have bad feet, bad knees, and, shockingly, I'm not getting any younger.  I know, right?  I thought aging was for everyone but me, like jobs, and clean bathrooms.  So, my friend and I are in a friendly competition to see who can lose ten pounds first.  The runner up has to fly to visit the winner.  We are in constant contact, using an online tracking system, texting, using a pedometer that has an online component, and, eventually, complaining and crying on the phone about how much we miss those extra 700 calories per day that we used to eat. 

We've been at this for 33 hours.  So far, I messed up my tracking by forgetting to log a salad.  But I have taken two vigorous walks with my dog, had two smoothies, two salads, and leftover birthday cake.  I logged the calories for the cake, and it was totally worth the wine I didn't drink later. 

WP asked me why I didn't just throw the cake away, and this is exactly the difference between the two of us: She plays 11 sets of tennis a week and walks her dog for hours every day and throws out leftover cake; I take naps and lick the frosting molecules off the cake plate.

Yesterday I was on fire, totally motivated, energized, hungry and productive.  Today I'm tired and cranky.  I walked in the freezing cold this morning, and it was not fun or invigorating, but I did it.  I drank my smoothie, and I went back to bed for a while.  There is nothing like sleeping to keep you from eating.  

So there you are: The cliché new year's resolution!  I wont bore you with this daily or anything, but this is where my head is at.  And my ass.  My lard, lard ass.

Monday, January 7, 2013

Put a Bird on It

Happy New Year! 

New Year's Day seems like one hundred years ago already.  Christmas even longer ago.  It was all fine.  Everyone was happy, we lounged around for two weeks, ate ridiculous amounts, took walks, watched lots of TV, slept in, and now we are back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Highlights?  Not sure.  I never caved and sent out Christmas cards, but it didn't feel good.  The lack of stress felt good, but I had guilt about it, too, so it was kind of a zero-sum game.  I think I'll send cards next year.  I made all that bacon jam, and now its sitting in my fridge.  I bought and filled little jars with the stuff, but never actually gave them to anybody.  The Christmas tree was slightly crooked and the lights kept going out in chunks.  Not my best work, but it did the job.  The tree had 11 birds on it, and I held myself back from adding any more.  I received your typical mom gifts: a sweater, some earrings, a book, and a cookbook stand.  With a bird on it.

Leila's 11th birthday came and went.  11.  Did you hear me? 11!  I'm having more trouble with 11 than I did with 10.  Maybe because I know sullenness is just around the corner now.  We're also past the halfway mark to her high school graduation and she'll be gone in the blink of an eye.  Then I'll really have to figure out what to do with my life. 

She had a family party where she requested Hawaiian bar b q from a place we'd never tried before.  This was an odd choice, but we did it anyway, and, mercifully, she loved the kalua pork.  I roasted beets for the first time ever, and I made a killer beet and arugula salad.  That's what I'm having for lunch, too.  I can't wait for lunch.

She had a friend party the following night, and the girls played Just Dance 4 on the Wii with the lights down and disco balls going.  They ate pizza and cake at the dining room table while they gossiped about people at school.  Rob and I stood unnoticed in the kitchen an eaves dropped and drank mai tais. 

Let's see...  Another high light was that Rob and started watching Sons of Anarchy on Netflix and we love it!  Its so nice to have a series to look forward to again, and so sad that this is my life.  My biggest high of the day is getting the kid to bed so I can watch a show about an outlaw biker gang.  Dowton Abby started up last night, and I tried to stay up and watch the whole thing but I had to bail.  I was getting a little bored, and I had to go to sleep.

Except that's another thing.  I'm having so much trouble sleeping!  I doze fitfully and never feel like I'm asleep, and I toss and turn until around 2 a.m. when I either finally fall asleep, or I take an ativan to quiet my brain.  The other thing that seems to help is Nate Silver.  I'm plugging away at The Signal and the Noise, and, interesting though it is, it puts me to sleep.  So that's my strategy: Nate Silver myself to sleep.  I hope that book never ends.

Tomorrow I'll write about The Blitz, which is a name I like much better than The Diet.  Adios.