If I am Not to Blame, Then Nobody is!

My favorite TV show character is Cookie Monster. The irony is I blame my cookie addiction on him. Day-after-day I would sit in front of the TV and watch him show no self control as he ate plate after plate of chocolate chip cookies. Even at a young age I noticed that he did not gain weight. The message: Cookies were not fatting.

I would salivate as I watched Sesame Street at nine in the morning on PBS. After the show was over I had to have my fix. I would tip toe into the kitchen making sure the coast was clear. I would get our old white chair that did not have even legs; making it very unstable. I would stack a pile of phonebooks on top of it because the chair by itself would prove not high enough to reach the cupboard that held the “good stuff

As I would drag the chair across the kitchen floor I would always curse my mother for putting all the good food up high. I promised myself when I became a mom I would make sure the good tasting food was where my kids could reach it. With my wobbly chair and the phonebooks in place I began my climb up the chair I made it to the chairs ledge. There was only an inch or so to grip my toes on. I’d better get on with this; up to the first phonebook, and up I went to the second. The books slid as I stepped from one to the other; I forgot that phonebooks were so slippery. As I climbed to the top phonebook the chair started to sway. I reached out to catch myself on the counter, but I was higher than the counter and lower than the cupboard. I balanced with all my strength; after all this Operation Cookie! As I found my balance on the leaning kitchen tower that I constructed I reached for the cupboard, but I could not quite reach. “If only we had another phone book.” I said out loud in my kid-spoiled-pouty-I-want-it-now voice. At this point I should have retreated, but I Really Wanted a Cookie! Determined I got up on my tippy toes, and with the tips of my fingers, holding my breathe I managed to will the cupboard open. Then I took a leap of faith, and I mean literally. I jumped off my gerry-rigged platform Indiana Jones style, and somehow managed to barely grasp the cupboard’s edge. (By the way I scraped and bruised my chin, and bit my tongue. How come we never see Mr. Jones do that?) Nonetheless my mission had to continue. I saw the cookies in the cupboard; I took my free hand and reached in and grabbed my reward. Bingo! I had them; I could feel the plastic crunch sound of the Oreo container. I had succeeded! Now how to get down with my treasure. The getting up part was easy, it would be the getting down that would prove to be a challenging part. With my feet dangling in the air I began to search out for the phonebook staircase. No luck, because I forgot to mention that when I jumped for the cupboard the chair and the phonebooks had toppled over. I thought quickly, if I could just swing my legs and find the counter; I could land on it and get down from there! The only problem was: as a young child I wasn’t coordinated enough to swing my feet to land on ANYTHING whatsoever! But I did not know any better, so I tried. I failed. The Oreos and I came crashing down to the kitchen floor. I can still remember the feeling of the wind being pushed out of me. But only that wasn’t the worse part. Right then my mom came into the kitchen and started in on me about the chair, the phonebooks, the cupboard door, and the big thud. It was this time in my childhood that I decided that if I had a kid that I would not come in the kitchen and scream at them if I saw phonebooks, a chair, and my child on the ground. I would be nicer. But this still wasn’t the worst part. The worst part-Yup you guessed it; she saw the cookies and put them back in the cupboard. All that work for nothing. Another mental note: When I became an adult I will not have a white wobbly old chair; instead I will buy a proper step stool. I blamed being put on restriction and the headache that followed on Cookie Monster.

I also blame my cookie addiction on the blue guy. He rotted my impressionable young mind with the images of him enjoying himself (Om nom nom nom nom.) while he ate plates full of cookies with wild abandonment. Those images alone lead me to crave chocolate chips and complex carbohydrates. Cookies are my worst addiction. (Nobody bring up Starbucks as I am trying to prove a point!) I truly believe in my heart that I would be a size 2 if it weren’t for Cookie Monster. He was my bad influence. Because of my newest theory I no longer have to take responsibility for my weight gain. All of my bad decisions and habits rest on the conscience of someone else, which makes me free to blame everything on someone else.

I have spoken to Cookie Monster’s legal representatives and unlike McDonalds he feels bad about my circumstance. (After all he is a preschool toy and he is supposed to teach kids to be honest.) He has agreed to pay me proceeds out of his yearly salary, which thrilled me beyond words. (Jackpot) As is it…It turns out that Cookie Monster is paid in strictly in cookies. It figures. Now who can I sue… (I mean blame) for my weight problem, because it feels much better to blame …( I mean sue) others!
PS…
Cookie Monster if you are reading this; please know that you are my hero and still my favorite!

Sitting Down is Not What it Used to be

This is a short blog entry today…
It is more of an observation really. Here it is: I keep sitting on this uncomfortable object. No matter where I sit it seems to follow. When I am on the couch I check to see if I am sitting on the rim of a pillow, or I check to see if the pillow cushion is adjusted correctly. Sometimes it feels like I am sitting on an electrical cord. Day-after-day, chair-after-chair I sit uncomfortably. Then it dawned on me…the problem is my butt bone. I am not used to having such a thing anymore. I am used to my comfy fatty butt cushion, and now that it is gone I have to sit on is my bony butt. I love my bony butt!

Focus, Smile, Click!

Why are there no pictures of me? I have been pounding that question lately. As you may have guessed by now the camera is my siren call. Even when I was bigger I couldn’t stay away from the magic of the flashbulb. The camera allows me to let to be the center of attention for a lifetime and beyond. I love the thought of that!

I married a man with very few flaws, but one of his shortcomings is taking pictures of me. It is not that he doesn’t like taking pictures. He will take pictures of sunsets, bodies of water, and buildings. I am also sure he has even taken pictures of blades of grass. (Well maybe I am exaggerating a little.) At heart he may fancy himself to be some sort of nouveau photographer. I have no idea. But come on…where are the pictures of me? We don’t have pictures of my weight loss hotness. We don’t have pictures of me sitting here writing this blog. True we do have pictures of buildings and grass. He has an excuse for his lack of Amy picture taking. (He calls it a reason, but I call it an excuse.) In his formative “photographer” years he was one of those people that would take someone’s picture: snap…and then immediately move the camera. You know what I am talking about. As a result of him moving the camera he would cut off the heads of his subjects and made them fuzzy to boot. This was especially bad because it was before digital came out, and you were forced to pay for crappy pictures. If you were lucky enough to have your picture taken by mine truly this would have been your experience: You would go to the drive-thru Kodak photo both and excitedly open your photo envelope hoping to see a wonderful picture of you posed with Rod Steward. (Hey I am going back in time to tell this story, so I had to use Rod.) Only to find out that David, because of his lack of picture taking talent has cut off both of your heads. Now who will believe you when you tell people you met Rod at Baskin Robins? I think David got chewed out a lot by people after they visited the Kodak drive-thru. Given this I can understand why he is a little camera shy. BUT we have been together for almost eighteen years, and in those eighteen years I have given him numerous photography lessons. The one about holding the camera up for a second or two after you hit the button was lesson one, which he mastered; thank you very much. All this being said he still prefers buildings over people.

UPDATE

Since writing this blog and letting David proof read it. (I did that because I did not want him to sue me for talking bad about his photography skills in my blog.) The first thing he did was get the camera. The second thing he did was start to take pictures of me. The issue I had with that was: I was in the bathroom. (Washing my hands, but still.)

Oh yeah BTW…he is going to set up his own blog called, “All My Wife Wants is a Cookie.” And his first entry is going to be: “My Wife is a Meanie!” I am waiting on bated breathe for that blog to hit the internet. How about you?

You Can't Aways Get What You Want...When You Want it.

I am coming up to ten months on my weight loss journey! I have to say that this has been a wonderful experience.

It is true that at times it has been frustrating; especially when I was in the land of 185 for two months. I swear that I did everything I could to leave that neighbourhood, but the scale just wouldn’t move! Week after week 185…damn…damn…damn! Then shit…shit…shit! Then I would scream at the scale, “You Mother F*%#KING piece of shit.” I swear the digital numbers of 1-8-5 were laughing at me.

Thank goodness I am stubborn; I did not give up. I just kept plugging away. I upped my exercised and cut my calories. I was so determined to kill the number combination of 1-8-5 forever. (Insert Mission Impossible Theme Song here.) Then two weeks ago I blasted the 5 right out of the water.

As of today I weigh 180, which means I have lost a total of 68 pounds. I never dreamed of losing 68 pounds in 10 months. If you could see me now I am dancing around my house and doing karate chops in the air, which is making typing this blog entry a little harder than normal.

You know what is the hardest part about having the band? Well yes, for some of us it is eating rice, but for me it is the urge to compare myself to other bander’s weight loss. Don’t misunderstand me I am happy that other people are having great success, but I get down on myself when I don’t achieve the same results. I have to ask myself why I am so competitive. For me it all comes down to self esteem. I have come to a conclusion that even if it takes me two months to lose five pounds then that is what am going to I do. It dawned on me; I have to have faith in myself, and not look at this as a race. If I was able to go to war with my scale and not give up by going to a buffet; then I can stay the course. This is about me, my faith, my determination, and my POS scale! I believe that this weight will be long gone, and guess what? It will be sooner that later. Just call me Rocky.

My goal is to lose 12 pounds by October 3rd. Bring it on!

Do You Know Where Your Child is?

David and I are on a honeymoon again. Thanks to generous grandparents Holly has had the opportunity of a lifetime to go to France for five weeks. I know I couldn’t believe it either! It was David’s parents who took her. Oh you should have heard David complain over and over again, “When I was her age they never took me to France! All I got was camping trips where we drove around BC down unmarked dirt roads!” He got over it when he realized that we would be alone for five weeks. Now please don’t misunderstand me we did miss her, but we were thrilled to have time to ourselves.
We spent our time bike riding, running (not my favorite part), hiking, going to outdoor markets, dining on David’s gourmet cooking, and sleeping in. We also went to a drive-in movie. It was awesome; it was also David’s first time. To my delight they rolled the dancing hot dogs and ice creams during the intermission. We had a fabulous time. We are very lucky that we still enjoy spending time together.
She was home for five days and then my parents decided they needed a turn and they took her camping for two weeks. (Insert sigh.) This time it is me that really wants to go on a real vacation. I would settle for anything…I just want to get away. I step outside and just to the southwest of me I hear Hawaii calling my name. It is my turn to complain…”Why doesn’t anyone take me to France?”

Down the Wishing Well

I seem to have the “Alice in Wonderland” syndrome. I don’t mean to keep disappearing but it has been a hectic summer for me.

Not to complain but my BP has acting up, so my doc increased my meds, which has made me a little “slow”. It has taken me a while to get back to old myself. Apparently my newest latest greatest thing is night-time-amnesia. I am totally not kidding! I can not remember anything that happens an hour before I go to sleep. I seem perfectly normal; I talk, I clean, I watch TV, ect. Last night for instance: David and I were packing things for our daughter to take camping. The first time I packed her I packed too much stuff, because I believe that you must have all the comforts of home when camping. Even if that means you have no where to sit, because your luggage takes up too much room- that’s too damn bad! My dad who is in charge of the motor home did not share my views, so as a result I was forced (against my will) to re-pack. David and I sat down to re-pack her; only it was late at night, so I took my bedtime meds right before we started.

This is what happened according to David…

We repacked for Holly’s trip. Apparently I removed two pairs of bottoms, which is important because now she only had four pairs of pants for twelve days. I left in all of the twenty different tops, which according to my math would have been smarter to remove a few of those babies instead of the pants. I took out the one pair of black socks, stating that the socks didn’t match anything she was taking with her. I also removed quiet a few of her books, which is bad because I removed the first book in a two part serious, but I left the second one. Now she won’t be able to read that book. What was I thinking? I also decided in the process of packing that I needed a big glass of milk…I have no idea, so don’t ask. After that I passed out on the couch. According to David.

This has been happening for a few weeks now. The last thing I remember is taking my meds and then waking up in the morning. It is kind of a pain, because I miss big chunks of my night. David and I have conversations that I have no memory of. I don't recall television programs. Nada. Zip. Nothing. The good news is I am writing this blog entry at 16:05 so I am fully awake and aware. Or am I?

It seems that every corner I go around there are more diagnoses, and illnesses to tack on. I guess that one illness to battle is not enough for me. Instead of pulling the covers over my head I do more cognitive therapy and they add on more medicine that I take. There are so many days that I don’t feel well that I can’t even go on the internet. I don’t know if I will ever feel as good as I once did before my break (Doctors use the word “break” instead of “mental-break-down”. I think they think it lessens the blow. But it really doesn’t.) I have spent too many days trying to recover. I have spent too many moments feeling guilty about sapping precious energy and time from my little family. I just want to get well, and maybe eat a few delicious cookies along the way. (Don’t get me started on the weight gain the meds cause!)


I really don’t want to turn this blog into a place where I complain about having a mental illness. I live with it every day. I fight it everyday. Because of that I want you to see the little things in my mind that are just me. . I don’t want anyone to read this and feel sorry for me. I have a great life with a great family who battles this battle with me everyday. I am one of the lucky ones. My journey is the road less travelled.

I have so much I want to say to you…a lot has happened in the last two months.