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.

I Have it all Figured Out for the Year.

I hate going to the company Christmas parties. You’ve been there: you are assigned to a table, you make small talk, you eat too much of a buffet meal, and then the dreaded part…the lights start to flash, the disco ball comes down, and the music starts to blare.

My heart goes thump-thump-thump, but not to the beat. Do you know why? If you ask anyone who knows me they will tell you that I am tone deaf. I can’t hear the beat, feel the beat, or even know that there is a beat. In a nutshell I dislike dancing- thank you very much. I have a tiny secret that gets me a free pass out of dancing: I put on really high heels that I can not possibly walk in and by the time it is time to dance my feet hurt too much, “Oh well maybe next year.” (Insert big sigh).

David is a different species all together he is what I refer to as a homo-disco- sapien. Let me put it to you this way: He received a disco ball as a Christmas present from a co-worker. He will dance with anybody , to anything and he looks so happy doing it. I do catch him staring longingly at me as if to say, “I wish this was you.” To which I respond with exaggeratingly pointing my finger to my feet, and making a sad "Oh I wish this didn't hurt so much" face. To his credit he never dances the slow songs with any one other than me. If I am not willing to dance he will sit at the table and look at me with puppy dog eyes. (All right I give in.) We go to the dance floor and we start in the waltz pose, however I forget which side we hold our arms up. David whispers in my ear, “Love let me lead.” No problem with me. However that is easier said than done. We end up doing a push-pull-marathon on the dance floor, to which I am not keeping beat to. Finally David gives up and we end up dancing like junior high school kids: His arms at my waist with my arms around his neck and our feet just slightly moving side to side. David is a good sport, because he keeps taking me to these parties each and every year.

My third and final task of this year is:
To learn rhythm (to the best of my God given ability.) And then to take dancing lessons with David, mainly to learn what arm we are suppose to put up when we are slow dancing.

Also dancing lessons will enable me to let go and to let him lead. Oh yeah and most importantly dancing lessons will give me more dancing moves other than the ones I learned in middle school.

David sweetheart this last accomplishment is for us. I want you to twirl me around the dance floor. I want to be the only lady who gets your attention and dancing feet moving. I want to dance in the moonlight with you. I am going to end this blog because I have to break out the disco ball…now where did I hide that thing?

Number Two on my List!

I have some fantastic news! I have come up with accomplishment number two! I must give you some background before I explain why I have chosen this particular activity.

For the last couple of summers some old friends, and us would venture down south to a cabin with a trout lake. Supposedly everyone caught at least a couple of fish during their short visits. We believed we should have no problems whatsoever right? We bought our fishing licenses and rented a rowboat with motor. We all had the same thought: “We are totally going to clean this lake out.” We were so cocky that we pored over the rules and limits to how many fish we could take back. When we got to what we considered the “perfect” fishing spot, we dropped our lines. I threw my line in over my head, and everyone else took cover. We waited thirty seconds for a bite, and had no luck. (Apparently we lacked patience.) So we decided that it must be our bait, so we tried different bait: cheese ball bait, green bait, orange bait, and marshmallow bait. We also tried different lures. It didn’t help. During our time on the boat we noticed that there were Canadian geese making loud obnoxious laughing noises. Normally we wouldn’t have paid much attention to these geese, but because of our lack of superb fisher-skills we had the impression that they were laughing at us. Between the birds laughing and our laughing we did not manage to catch any fish. However I did catch some mighty fine seaweed, which the birds found hilarious!

The next year we decided to endure the same adventure. Thank goodness the birds were on a v-cay because there was no laugh track during our fishing adventure. My greatest moment was when I actually caught two fish! One was too small, so we had to set him free. (Good thing we had read the rules the year before.) But one was just right. IN YOUR FACE FISH; I AM A FISHER WOMAN! That night the fish was eaten and that was the best day of our trip*

*Disclaimer:
I used a closed line, which I feel is totally acceptable. My friend had to tie the line, put the red and white bobble thingy at the end of my line, and put a hook on too, because I had no clue how to make a knot. I put my bait at the end of the line, but most of the time it fell off, so the fish received a “free lunch” When my line got tangled everyone had to untangle it for me. Did I mention when I casted my line out everyone still ran for cover? I am not sure why. When the fish were caught I refused to touch them, so my friend had to unhook the fish and “take care of it” Soprano’s style. When it was time to scale the fish I watched with my eyes closed most of the time. I reluctantly held the fish for a picture, but of course that was for bragging rights. I almost forgot I named the fish Frank. To my credit I was the only one who actually caught seaweed or a fish. I did not eat the fish. I do not like the taste of fish especially when it was cooked in Frito-Lay chips and taco seasoning. (We were not as confident on our second trip that we would actually catch anything, so we did not bring anything remotely great tasting to bring out the proper flavor of Frank.)Yuck! Poor Frito-Lay-Frank, as we refer him now.

I got hooked on fishing. I would like to learn how to be a “some what” of a fishing expert, hell I would just be happy with the following: Knotting my line. Preparing of my pole so it is strong enough to reel in the “big one” (well at least a small to medium one.) I want to make sure the fish do not get a free lunch. I want friends to be comfortable enough to not have to run cover every time I cast out. I want to learn to gut a fish. I want to learn how to prepare a delicious fish dish that even I would eat. (Those of you that have stock in Frito-Lay I am so sorry.)

How am I going to accomplish such a feat?
The good news is that I live 20 minutes from one of the best fishing spots in British Columbia, so there are no excuses.
I can dress like a fisher-person, because I can buy cute fisher-clothes, and fisher-items, because I like to shop
I could read a book, or I could take expensive lessons. Or… I ask my wonderful brother Monte for his help.

Monte has worked at fishing resorts and he knows everything about fishing. He is my little brother and if I am not mistaken I think there is a clause that says a little brother must do what ever a big sister asks him to do. I asked Monte to read my blog and I don’t want to guilt him (too much), but he holds the key to my second accomplishment to this year.
Why this accomplish is important to me: Fishing gives me great joy and more importantly peace; I am ecstatic when I am out in the water with the hopes of catching a fish. At this point my skill set does not allow me to go fishing whenever I want. I could now but I have a feeling that I probably would end up in the emergency room with a fishing-something-or-other sticking out from an important body part which I need. I desperately need someone more experienced to teach me, so I can not go whenever the mood strikes. I don’t want have to depend on someone else. I want to be able to do what I want whenever I want. (I also want to spend extra time with my brother.)

I love you Monte!

Life in the Bike Lane

Just a short comment today… I got a bike yesterday, and to be honest I am not the same carefree cyclist I was at the age of seven. I thought once you learned to ride a bike you never forgot. In my case that is “practically” true, but I would not use the word graceful to describe my cycling abilities. In my current situation I have a difficult time keeping the bike and myself straight and upright; the bike I kind of wobble down the road. To top it off I am a chicken when it comes to biking near traffic on the busy highways. Is it gauche to ride on the sidewalks if you are 34? Hmm... I thought as much. My last complaint is the bruises on my butt. OUCH! Comfy saddle my ass. (I knew I should have spent my money on a flat screen TV instead; at least my ass would be much happier. Maybe a little bigger, but at least it wouldn’t hurt so much.)

I have wanted a bike for a long time. I was too afraid that my butt would be swallowed up by the saddle seat and all the public would see is my bum with a bike rod sticking up into it. Thanks to my surgery and my weight loss I feel more confident to take to the streets on two wheels. Isn't it funny how much I held myself back because of my weight? Besides the butt-bruise-discomfort-issue I feel so free and light spinning down the road. Yeah I am still on the back roads mind you, but I still feel good never the less.

First Attempt at a 10K...No Really!

I am so beat! I feel like a wet pair of jeans that have yet to have come out of the washer-machine; all stiff and unwearable. I swear to you that I stretched. I prepared. I brought water and almonds. I wore my best pair of sneakers. I did everything I knew how to do today to make myself as comfortable as possible. I even went as far as to hire two coaches slash trainers. It is true that my trainers are on the cheap, as they are my husband and my ten year old daughter Holly, but free is free. What can I say?

Why do I hurt so much? In my brilliant moment (not so much) of wisdom I decided to walk 10K to “see” how it felt. You know to try it on for size. I went on to Google maps and carefully mapped out my route to make sure it was a 10K walk.

We started out around 10:30 in the morning. It was starting to get a little hot, but really how long would this walk take us? No more than an hour…an hour and fifteen minutes tops. Hey we can handle an hour or so. David was so excited about the prospect of what I was taking on, and I was grateful for his support and willingness to share my first 10K walk. I also managed to sucker him into a 10K walk every week for that matter; for the sake of “training”. I have to admit the first 7 ½ K were easy to accomplish, but after that we were starting to feel the power of the sun’s rays.. Apparently when the sun comes out it gets very HOT; who knew? We started to drag our butts and I started to question whose idea this was to come out here in the blazing heat and walk 10 bloody kilometres! But only I couldn’t complain because we both knew it was all my idea. Damn! At this point the only time we talked was to make comments about the how long roads seemed to be, and other times was when I asked David what time it was.

The best news is we made it home at 12:36 thank goodness; it was touch and go for awhile there. (For those keeping track the walk took us two hours and six minutes.) The bad news is that as it turns out our home has stairs! Who bough…oh yeah it was me again. As the night goes on my body gets stiffer…where is that A535?

*I did forget to put on sunscreen, as a result my face and shoulders look like a red delicious apple. Next week I must make sure I add sunscreen to my list of things to do.

BTW…On our route David noticed a bicycle shop and decided that we should buy new bikes. His reasoning: we need to be more active. What? We are going out in the next few days to buy ourselves some new wheels. Personally I think it is because David does not want to “walk/run” beside me as I train, instead he has a unrealistic dream of “coaching” me while he rides while I run. Well I got new for him…

Number One on my List.

I wanted to show you what the love of my life David actually looks like. We have a phenomenal life together! I couldn’t ask for a better partner to navigate through this life with. This picture was taken on my 34th birthday.

As for my 35th year as promised I am making a list of things I want to do this year that will make this year a year to remember. I had to really think about what it was that I wanted to accomplish this year. It doesn’t have to be spectacular, but it does have to hold a special meaning to me.

For the first item on my list:

I am going to run the Vancouver Sun Run. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this run: it is the largest 10K run in Canada and the second largest in North America. Over 51,000 people run the Sun Run every year. Now I am not expecting to win by ANY means, but I WILL beat the average.

I went for my first walk/jog exercise today. I did pretty well; I ran for 8 minutes and walked for 40. I only came home because I ran out of water. I have ten months to get into "running" shape and I am determined to stay focused! My eye is on the prize, which will be bragging rights and a framed picture of course.

Why is this particular exercise important to me? It is simple- I hate running. I haven't got it quite right. I have not mastered running, and it is just out of my grasp. I also fear running because I am overweight. I hate the thought of my 'jell-O' body running down the road. That being said I want to do something that is hard, but will become easier the more I do it. Truthfully- I want to kick 40,000 other people’s ass.

#1: Run my butt off for ten months, and then join thousands of other people for a run, and finish before they do. See you at the finish line in April 2009

David loves to shop!

If you have been keeping up with my blog from the beginning you read about my theory about buying clothes for shrinking women (and men.) If you haven’t I’ll wait…
Okay, I’ll assume you are all caught up on my ramblings.

I was such a clothes horse. I used clothes to feel better about being overweight. Well it was worse than I thought, because when I started clearing out my closet of all bigger sizes I filled up boxes and boxes, bags and bags. I was embarrassed about how much clothes I had accumulated over the years. (Who knew you needed twelve pairs of capri pants, and thirty tank tops? Who am I Oprah?) I donated, I gave, I cried, and then I donated some more. You should see my bare closet! Now your voice can echoe off the walls, because there is nothing there to impact the sound.

David, God bless his heart thinks that every woman needs twelve pairs of capris, and thirty tank tops, so when he saw my bare closet this caused him great concern. He asked me when I was planning on going shopping to replace my clothes. I told him that I would do it soon. But as the days ticked by and the magic clothing fairies failed to fill my walk-in-closet with new attire he got antsier. “Do you want to go shopping?” he would ask me in a tone that was similar to the tone we use to ask the dog if he wants to go for a walk.

I finally agreed to go shopping and when we got to the mall I went to the plus size stores as usual. (Go with what you know.) Here is my method for finding the “perfect” fit:

Pants- to find the perfect fitting pair of pants you must be able to pull them off of your hips without unbuttoning them. (Nope there is no elastic involved!)
Panties-to find the perfect fitting pair of undies they must have a bubble of fabric and air in the bum for added windy comfort.
Bra-(My personal favorite) to find the perfect fitting bra you must be able to fit grapefruit plus your own merchandise in the cup, and when you bounce you must still be able to give yourself a black eye from your merchandise whacking you in your face. Grandma would be so proud!
Shirt-To find the perfect shirt buy one that is too big so you can pretend that it is your boyfriend’s and/or husband’s shirt. *tip: try and find a shirt that makes your ass look big too.

Yesterday, my family took me into a regular sized woman’s store. I agreed (reluctantly) to go because the sign on the window said: up to size 18. My daughter and my husband start to pull dresses of off the rack and I notice that they are not pulling the biggest size. “Whoa wait a minute. I am a XXL if I am even that lucky.” They didn’t listen and they kept pulling their favorite dresses. I decided to leave the dress department, because I was afraid if someone saw me in the store they might ask me to leave. My heart was pounding so I started to look at capris. (You know I only have two pairs I am down by ten.) I grabbed the biggest size and ran away from the display like I was committing a crime. I went to change room I grabbed the only XXL dress, which I picked and put it on. I came out of the change room and it was too big, well according to them, according to me it fit all of the requirements listed above. I went back in to the evil change room and tried on dress after dress in smaller sizes; I even went down to a large. It fit but I wasn’t mentally ready for the responsibility that comes with a large. I also tried on a size twelve skirt and it fit comfortably with no problem except when I sat down it did show my lovely “roll”, so that was a definite NO! As for the capris it turned out that I didn’t pick out the largest size, but on a positive note it did pass my pull it off with having to waste time with out having to fuss with buttons and zippers;.

After all that I did not buy anything, but it was a great accomplishment towards feeling better in my own skin. When I get down to my goal weight of 160 pounds I believe that I will strangely get the Oprah clothes buying bug again…hum! Only 23 more pounds to go.

Only 2 more days...

I am turning 34 on Saturday. I have mixed feelings about being 34. I am not one of those people who fear aging or pretend to be younger than I actually am. I am just me. I hangout and don’t count the years passing by, but I do wonder what the next years will hold. That is where my problem lies.

I have dreams but I let my dreams fall through my fingers; promising myself I will make new dreams a reality next year. But day-after-day I do the same thing and live the same life. I am still waiting for life to happen to me. What happens between the hope of a new year and just becoming content to wait for next year to make new promises?

Now don’t misunderstand me; I am not talking about going to the gym and working out 5 times a week, or eating vegetables with every meal. No I am talking about feeling alive, happy, and accomplished. I don’t want to tread water instead I want to sail on a yacht. I want to look back on my 34th year and say: "That was a fantastic year! I had so many wonderful adventures with so many wonderful people!" Does this make sense to anyone? Before Saturday I am going to make a list of things I will do this year that will bring me great joy.

Stay tuned…

Life is a Highway

I am starting to have more good days than bad now, which is fantastic!

I live close to a busy road. I hate this road with a passion. When I bought my house I did not notice the road, or either it did not bother me at the time. It is the traffic that I can’t stand; especially the young gentlemen who find it necessary to trick out their 1990 Mustangs by removing the muffler. On my walks I will avoid this road by walking the back roads even if it takes twice the amount of time. Since I am not feeling too great I am forced to walk the shortest distance to get to where I want to go, which means taking the "no mufflers necessary highway”.

One day I had to pick my daughter up from school; I noticed a elderly woman sitting in a wheelchair on the side of the road. She was under a small tree that barely covered her and it was a rather warm day. I kept walking assuming she was waiting for a ride, but I was irritated at the same time that someone would make her wait on the side of the road I despised so much. When I came back with my daughter in tow she was still there! I was even more distraught on her behalf.

A few days later I ventured out with again to pick up Holly from school. The weather was colder and I was wearing a coat. I looked for the woman in the wheelchair and she was there, she had a blanket on her lap and she is watching the traffic speed by. She didn’t look unhappy but she didn’t look pleased either. She was not there when I passed by on my way home.

I very rarely drive because David is home more, and I like to be chauffeured (some things never change.) I notice the wheelchair lady day after day. It kind of is a game in my head, will she be there or will she not. More often than not she is there. I can’t wrap my brain around why she would sit out there so close to this road and just watch the traffic go by.

I start to wonder is there something that I am misunderstanding about this road or town. Now I want to talk to her and bring her cookies and tea and learn all of her wise secrets. I start to imagine myself bringing my own chair over and seeing the world through her eyes.

I don’t know if she is crazy, but that wouldn’t bother me anyway. I wouldn’t care if she was sick, because so am I. In fact I would admire that, because during my worse months this year I locked myself in my house, and refused to come outside. If I found out that her family just wheels her out there just to get her out of their hair, and she has no say in the matter. I would sit with her and share conversations.

In the end I have come to some conclusions:
Maybe she is waiting for somebody.
Maybe she just wants to be left alone for some peace and quiet.
Maybe she is too sick to even notice that I was there if I approached her.
Maybe I should learn to tolerate a busy road.

That all being said I am going to start to walk on her side of the road to say “hello” because you never know what can happen!

I am Alive- I am Just Interrupted.

I am dropping in to say that I am still alive. I know that I not been around lately, but I have a good reason for it. I suffer from mental illness. I have been struggling with bipolar before Britney made it look cool and hip. This has been a very tough time for me, and I until recently I have not been able to string two sentences together coherently. Even now I find it difficult to put words to paper, but I owe it myself to try to keep a balance. I am working very closely with my doctors and I am in the difficult process of changing my medication. My family has been a true support and I know without a doubt that they will work with me to get better. When I feel better I will be back to entertain you with my daily life; I promise.

Procrastination

It all started when there wasn’t much progress happening in the weight loss department. I am not one to sit around and ponder too long, so I came up with ways to troubleshoot my weight loss stand still. Outsmarting my scale became my obsession, and to be honest it still is. I don’t recommend my plan because it does have some serious draw backs which I am about to explain.

I haven’t been able to blog- much less do anything else due to the fact that I am spending all my time in a gym sweating along with my MP3 player. I am a big fan of the elliptical machine, because it gives me the most bangs for my buck. Last week I got in trouble for staying on it longer than the 30 minute time limit, but because of my obsession I stayed on to complete my 60 minutes even though Barbie stood behind me yelling at me to get off the of the machine. I am not normally a rude person and I can assure you that I am a big fan of the rules, but when it comes to getting in 60 minutes on the elliptical Barbie can wait her turn. Then I discovered the treadmill and running; what a thrill that was! As a result of finding all these exciting exercising machines at the gym I am now drawn to their siren call. Watch out Barbie; don’t get between me and my treadmill!

When I am not at the gym I still go to Curves to do my strength training on the resistance machines. I would use the weight machines at the gym but Ken and his buddies believe their sweat make them official owners of said equipment. (I might be able to push around Barbie, but it will be a few more months before I can take on Ken and GI-Joe.) On my Curve days I also do yoga for the stretch benefit.

On top of all of that my butt is also out there burning up the pavement walking daily.

Now the working out takes up roughly two hours a day, but the procrastination takes up six, and recovery takes two hours. I don’t know why I make exercising such a big drama, because it is my choice, and it is what I want to do. However, I still treat working out like I am going to get my fingernails pulled. I have some valid “reasons” for delaying my workouts like: I am not a morning person, so I have to wait until the afternoon to get my mojo on. (Okay that is my only reason, but it is working for me, so far.)

The major draw back to my “flawless” plan is that my exercising takes up my entire day. I can’t focus on anything else because I am too busy procrastinating, and that takes a lot of effort to do it properly. Ah another chance to troubleshoot! Well since I am not a morning person, and you will never see my sunny face working out before noon; I have come up with a solution that will hopefully give me some balance (and allow me to blog.)

I am going to take every Tuesday and Thursday off from heavy working out. Instead David and I will go for a long walk in the evening. Truthfully I can’t live every waking moment avoiding the gym, this way I only have to avoid it on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays! What a relief!

Bad Habits

Since losing weight I have developed some bad habits. Ladies and gentlemen I have bones. You see when I was heavy my bones were buried under the fat, and I thought I was made of Jell-O and boneless.

One day I woke up and I noticed something poking up from my midsection. “Oh my God I have ribs!” I’d better check the other side to see if I grew some there too. Yup there they were. Hmmm…I’d better count them; four on each side. Soon I could count five; I grew another one. Then I could actually see some of them, wow! Bad habit number one: Counting my ribs every morning.

When I was overweight I would look at magazines and scoff at the models who had collarbones. “How disgusting, look at her!” Alright sometimes those poor girls can go too far, and it really does look bad, but for the most part I was just jealous. I wanted sleek collar bones too. I was getting really tired of my bras falling off my shoulders because I had nothing to hold them up. Guess what! I have collar bones! Yes it is true. I can’t wait until summer so I can wear a strappy little dress and show off these babies. Bad habit number two: I keep poking at them. I love to turn my neck slightly, and run my fingers over the bone. Bad habit number three: I actually show people my collar bone accomplishment! “Hey look at this…I have a bone here.” This is starting to get a little sad.

I haven’t developed bad habit number four yet, but I just discovered that I have hip bones. I think I need an intervention!

Tide, Cheer, Chores

David and I have cohabitated for what seems like eons now, and we have finally gotten into the groove. When we first moved in together I was a cleaning machine; I cleaned almost every day. Then I would get mad at him for never cleaning, but the truth of the matter was I never gave him a chance to clean, because I thought he couldn’t “do it right.” Now when it comes to doing chores we have determined our weaknesses and strengths and divided the chores up accordingly.

For instances (according to David) I shrink, turn our clothes shades of pink and purple, and somehow lose socks in the process of washing our garments. He claims I do not know how to separate laundry. In my defence I put the clothes in two piles: colors, and whites. Where we have a difference of opinions is in the “color” category. David scrutinizes to see if it has red or blue in it. If the piece of clothing is really dark he does a small load of “really dark” clothes; if the piece of clothing has even a little bit of red in it he washes it with the reds. The man even washes the towels separately! My method is- hey if it has color in it- it must go in the color bin. (Most of the time it works out.) One day I was in the laundry room doing laundry and David came in and told me that I was FIRED! I was escorted out of the room; he actually fired me! He has Laundry-Room-Radar, because if I even walk too close to the laundry room door he yells from up from downstairs, “Amy, what are you doing? Don’t even think about touching the laundry.” One night (while he was away) I took it upon myself to teach Holly how to do the laundry. Holly and I were very pleased with our accomplishments (yes, her white panties did have a slight pinkish tinge to them, but I figure it’s like getting a new pair!) I should stop here and mention my biggest laundry faux pas- I will start a load of laundry and then get distracted and leave the load of wet clothes in the washer for a bit of time; sometimes it has to be re-washed. Well on my laundry mentoring night Holly and I did get distracted and forgot the laundry and when David returned home later that evening he saw our method of “sorting”. To make a long story short: Holly is fired too; until David can teach her to sort properly.

To be fair in place of laundry I took on cleaning the three bathrooms in the house. I don’t mind cleaning bathrooms, because I hired an assistant who loves to clean the bathrooms! Ten year olds are absolutely CRAZY, but I love the free labor. Holly is really good at it too; the only thing that is really tough for her to clean is the bathroom mirror. So if you have been following along carefully I traded in laundry duties for cleaning mirrors, and bathroom inspections; what a deal! Now I am not stupid I know Holly will not always want to clean the bathroom, but by then I am hoping we can afford a cleaning crew.

David vacuums, and I dust. I sweep, but David sweeps up the dirt into the dustpan. (For some reason “dust-panning” was not a skill I got the hang of. I can chase that dirt around for hours.) David and I both share the dishes, but I will admit he does them more than I do, but I clean the counters more than he does. I am a better organizer than he is, so I keep our house clutter free.

Our whole family shares the cleaning duties in our house, and I am so much happier for it. Our house for the most part is kept spotless, but liveable. Our clothes stay in their original color, and size thanks to David’s efforts. Most importantly we come together as a family and make our house our home.

I Have Some News

I have to share this with you-no really I must. We are all in this together and you deserve to hear this from me.

I woke up to a winter-wonderland, and you know how I feel about that. Today something was different I watched the snow fall from the warm soft comfort of my bed, and thought about going to yoga class. Today is Tuesday, which means in a few hours I would be stretching and kissing my yoga pad. I got out of bed and headed for the shower. “Oh my God today is Tuesday, oh I have to weigh myself.” I stood frozen in my bathroom wondering if I should actually weigh myself, or ignore it and do it next week. “I don’t think I can handle another gain.” I told the face in my bathroom mirror. She nodded in agreement, but told me to get the scale anyway. I cursed her as I went and got the scale from its secret hiding place. David came in and asked me what I was doing, and then he saw it - THE SCALE. I asked him to follow me into the bathroom to referee the weigh-in, and after seeing that there was nowhere to hide he agreed.

Amy: I am not actually going to look at the scale. You do it for me. Plus if I stand straight and tall on the scale I think I will weigh less.
David: Alright, but it shouldn’t matter how you stand on the scale…
Amy: It totally matters!

I stepped on the scale, arms at my side, back straight, my eyes faced forward,

Amy: So?
David: What?
Amy: How much?
David: Do you really want to know?

(I knew I should have gone pee before I stepped on the scale, because then the number would be a little better at least. And then I remember I have been working out, and muscle weighs more than fat, right?)

Amy: Yes tell me.
David: 198
Amy: SHUT UP!

Then I proceed to get on and off the scale ten times or so to make sure. I even go as far as to add my workout weights to my body and weigh myself, and then take them off just to test the scale. Sure enough: 198!

After I nearly wore out the batteries on the scale I handed the scale to David, and told him to hide the scale for two weeks. My reasoning was this: I don’t want to see my weight go up and down even just a little bit. If I wait two weeks I should clear 200 long enough to be far enough away that I will never see it again.

I am totally proud of myself! I am absolutely continuing my daily routines, which are a must for me to stay under the dreaded 200’s. My next goal: 185- It just sounds so sexy.

Protein Drinks Suck

Life can be unfair…well not really, but sometimes enough for me to take notice and complain. I am hiding out in our “den”; trying to ignore the delicious smells coming from our kitchen. At this very moment David is enjoying a wonderful dish of chicken and rice, and I know first hand that his taste buds are in heaven. Most of you are probably wondering why my husband is consuming dinner without me. Well the truth of the matter is I can not eat solid food, because I am back to dining on liquid-fare.

To be honest no matter how fancy you dress up a protein shake up it never smells good. “Oh my God smell this!”
“What is it?”
“It’s the new smell-good protein shake.”
“Wow that is nice; if it taste half as good as it smells I am totally in!”

And while we are on the subject of smelling things I need to ask you all a question. Does this happen to you or is it just me? Here it is: I have this friend and whenever anything smells bad she ALWAYS says, “Yuck, smell this,” and then proceeds to shove the disgusting item to my nasal region for a second opinion. The stupid part is I actually smell the item, as if her word wasn’t good enough. I should learn to put more faith in her sniffing abilities.

Let’s be honest with each here: protein drinks do not taste great. They may taste okay, or good, but not great. Who am I kidding that taste like crap. We can make them any flavor we want, but you can always taste that ever-so-lovely protein aftertaste. Don’t mind me I am just grumpy because for the next 24 hours I am sucking down protein drinks, yummy. I had better go I here the blender…