Tag Archives: diet

The Overweight Housewife

9 days…. after setting a goal of writing every day.

I went to the grocery store today. I’m usually friendly, let the person with less groceries in his cart go ahead. The grocery store line is not so interesting. I haven’t felt good – my insides are turning themselves inside out and I ate about 1/2 of a bag of Cheetos so that grease was lubricating a pipe where my whole grains, strawberries and freshly pressed pineapple juice could block up and pass through. Disgusting, so what?

Anyway there is a point to this post. Waiting in line I decided to stand behind the groceries. The man behind me, dressed in a burgundy pressed dress shirt and shiny black shoes, was getting off work and getting something for his dinner. I thought to myself, He thinks he’s getting extra points in good citizenship land if he gives the overweight housewife instructions on how to check out in a grocery store she has been in a thousand times.

I felt pretty bad about myself. Then I remembered –

I’m not overweight anymore. So what if I was? I’d still deserve some help – even if I looked Valliumed-out. And what if I was “just” a housewife. It’s something an innumerably number of families work thier bottoms off to have – it’s called a “full-time mom” these days anyway. And I’m not “just” a housewife. I’m an artist who regularly sells her work and I’m a writer.

But if I were just a “full-time mom” that would be okay, too. I respect and love many “full-time moms”. I don’t know why I think it’s beneath me.


Moving On

I’m in the middle of card making, but need a little break and have been telling myself I would blog every day, so here I am.

I am really hungry. When I get that way, I eat chocolate for lunch. I don’t take the time to really prepare a meal; it never occurs to me. My husband often leaves out leftovers for me, or in today’s version a can of tomatoes and a bag of whole wheat penne pasta. I’m not in that mode right now. Hopefully I will kick my butt enough to throw some tuna together. I may not.

I thought if we moved somewhere, bought a house and stayed there that friendships would be easier. So far, not so. I have many devoted and even some super devoted friends here. Problem is that they don’t stay put the way I assumed everyone but me stayed put. Small had a great friend in pre-school and she moved an hour + away. She had a little crush on a boy that moved away, and her classmate that lives across the street (the smartest girl in the class I’m told) may be moving this summer. My favorite of her friends is moving to Texas. This will not do, but it does. People come and go.

Our next door neighbor has a huge, wonderful family and a son the same age as my daughter. Her high school aged son is lovestruck and is longing to marry his girlfriend, Her husband is big like a panda bear. They are from Central America and can speak English but most often speak Spanglish. (Strangely enough the Spanglish and the Spanish are equally as difficult). I love going over there and we’re welcome anytime. We will also be welcome in Texas six weeks from now, because that is where they are moving.

I will probably cry and give her lots of kisses and hugs when she leaves. She is so smart and so generous and laughs at my stories. (See, her generosity shines when she laughs at my stories). I have decided that I do not want them to forget about us, so we’re going to leave them with birthday cards for a year for all of them. I’m tossing in a wedding card, too, just to twist her tail.

If we had to move it would be to a smaller house and I’m pretty sure it would be somewhere here. I don’t regret our choice. I love the Bay Area and miss it very much sometimes, but I feel like I’m better suited here. My parents live in Fresno and were so disappointed that we didn’t move there, but I just couldn’t do it. I don’t mind the heat – it’s that I can’t relax there. I feel like I’m on edge, waiting for the world to blow up. I fear I’ll run in to an old flame or friend – I’m afraid of my mom’s sister and don’t know quite how to relate to my cousins, who are much younger than me. There are some people I’d love to see again, but there are more that I don’t want to see. When I was fat, I didn’t want people to see me that way. (Ridiculous, but the only place I felt huge and floppy that was in Fresno, or at one of my husband’s workout soirees.) There is too much Malakoa history and I can only take it in small doses. Of course, my daughter will have a ton of history here, but I think she will have to be aware that she needs to care better for people, to set stronger boundaries and I think she is better at living and resting that I was at her age.

I found the solution

It’s April. I started dieting December of 2010. I have lost about 33 pounds. If I lose four more I will qualify for Lifetime Membership, which means I met a goal weight and don’t have to pay $40 a month anymore. I’ve talked about this before, but I have quite a new new readers, so I’ll tell it again.

At 207 pounds I thought I was probably about fifteen/twenty pounds over weight. I took funny pictures of myself looking sad eyed at the camera. I was pretty fat, but not all that fat, I thought.

I lost fifteen pounds and I was excited! That calls for New Pictures! Imagine, to my astonishment, I was not only still fat, I was still very fat. The weight began to creep off and I did (most) everything right. I tracked my meals on eTools program, exercised some, and showed up to meetings. (As of press I have missed two meetings in almost 2 1/2 years.) I got down to 173. And it stayed there. Every week I was either up a pound, stayed the same, or down .2. This has gone on for months now and I’m tired of it. I know how I lose weight: Follow the Weight Watcher’s Program. I will do that, guzzle water, counting points of everything I eat and exercise.

But wait, there is more. It’s warm out and I really wanted a cold drink, like a freddo from Pete’s. I decided to save a dollar and go to McDonalds. Shamrock Shakes are here for just a little while, and I have good memories of a friend who has fallen by the wayside, and Shamrock Shakes. While I was there, I’d get a “Mini Meal” A hamburger, french friends and Diet Coke. (For the record, Diet Coke and mood disorders usually don’t mix. I popped an Ativan just to get through it.) They did not have Shamrock Shakes.

Bait your breath no longer: I managed to find another milk shake. It was good – I sucked it down. It had 2/3 of my Weight Watcher Points Plus for that day and I am pretty sure the hamburger and french fries knocked the rest of them out of the park.

Why would I do such a thing? I am so close to my goal and, when I am asked if I’d like fries with that, my answer is, low and breathy, “yes, oh yes.”

Here some of the reasons I might do such a thing:

I prefer being fat – As T so elegantly put it I want to hide under a huge mound of fat.

I don’t want to reach my goal. I’d rather have the life of gobbling whatever it is that I want, anywhere or time than I want than that of health and wellness.

I hate myself and am going to let my body know it through a steady diet of junk.

I’m afraid of being thin or attractive.

I don’t want to succeed at this or anything else. Keep me plain, chubby, unaccomplished. It’s easier this way. Except for it’s not easier. I could have popped in to Trader Joe’s and got any of their deli lunches. It would have taken about the same time as it did for me to go through two drive-thru menus. Being destructive is a chore with physics on its side. Being constructive needs creativity and planning. I am creative. Sometimes it is difficult to put this creativity in motion. It’s like words that catch my ear and sound beautiful. It’s like a just right jar of red paint – on clearance. Maybe if I saw my body as an act of art I would take better care of it.

I want a tattoo that says, “TOSKA” except for in Cyrillic. I won’t get one. He says they are too expensive and that it would be even more expensive when I decided I didn’t want it anymore. He won’t get one either.

“Toska – noun /ˈtō-skə/ – Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.

“No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
― Vladimir Nabokov

My hobby

I knew a woman who had TMJ, severe back pain and fibromyalgia. She also suffered from secondary infertility. I felt pity on her. She asked me once to accompany her on an appointment at University of San Francisco. It was about a thirty minute drive, a toll bridge and parking is a huge mess, but we went and waited. When we finally saw the doctor, she took off her shoes and pulled off her socks. She showed the doctor her ankles. One was slightly more swollen than the other. She was in no pain, not even that nameless feeling you get when things just aren’t right. Nothing.

The podiatrist did notice that she had a corn and that she had the choice of whether she wanted to remove it or to hang tight. Of course she signed up for the surgery – her hand almost quivering with excitement. She thought her intuition and God drew her to that place and that it was just wonderful that she had her convictions verified.

I could not believe she went to that effort to fix something that wasn’t broken. The amount of time and money we spent to get there was astounding.

Her hobby was going to the doctor.

I am afraid I have become like her.

Today is Friday. I started the day at the physical therapist, where Megan, Ph.D and I worked on my knee. The knee bothers me more than hurts me. There are a few other things she is working on – including my balance caused by those tumors in my foot and strength in the hips. Thank you, Dr. Megan.

Monday is the day I see my psychiatrist. She adjusts my psychiatric medication and helps with my regime – she loves yoga and likes meditation. If you have religious objections to them that you would like to see addressed, please comment and I can tell you why I think that is cool for me, or any other Christian, to practice them.

Tuesday is Weight Watchers. No doctors there. But I quit eating milk and my face has cleared up. Wonder if all along a milk allergy caused the mess that was my skin. I saw a dermatologist and he gave me two tubes of goo for my face.

Wednesday we visited the marriage counselor, LCSW (Licensed Clinical Social Worker) with a Ph.D in Psychology. She is very small and I recognized her because her office is in the same building as my beloved Dr. G (He moved to San Diego.)

Thursday I went to my talk-therapy therapist. The psychologist is arrestingly smart. She earned her Ph.D from University of North Dakota. I talked about my foot problems and how the doctor (A podiatry degree is separate from a MD – but still a doctor.) told me there was nothing he could do. I reluctantly agreed to get a second opinion. But are there enough days in a week to accommodate another doctor?

It’s not a hobby. It’s just what my life is right now, I keep telling myself. It’s not forever, but maybe it’s not. When I was young the family doctor didn’t know my brother had a sister. He managed to get every single childhood illness that is not vaccinated against and some that were. I didn’t. I never broke a bone or needed anti-biotics. Now, I am quite sure he hasn’t been to the doctor for years, while I haven’t been to the doctor in hours. It’s not a contest and being free of bodily disease is not a moral issue. I do my best not to be sick: I wash my hands and brush my teeth and try not to be overweight. Even if I do those things I will always be sick – I will always a close, personal relationship with my pharmacist and the pharmacist techs. (Ah! The pharmacist is a doctor, too!)

Edited to add: I didn’t mention the teeth doctors: Dentist, endodontist and orthodontist.

Did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world?

There are so many ways to self-sabotage. Here are ones I’ve tried today alone, regarding weight loss. I am also going to go ahead and tell my coconut cream story, too. It’s one of those stories that is only funny because you know something about Weight Watchers, so I’ll try and fill the more fortunate of you in on the game.

For breakfast, I ate an English muffin with butter and about 1/2 inch of coffee. I fixed it up with half and half and the only sugary Torani syrup we have. I was late to Weight Watchers, and that shows I lack commitment, but since I have been late exactly once since I started thirteen months ago I will give myself a break.

So I blew in, wet hair and all, and listened to excuses about why people choose not to exercise. I kept my mouth shut, but I am of the, “just don’t want to” set. I worked out twice last week and that was enough for me, although my husband does not agree.

The leader, Lottie, let me tell my funny weight loss story. First I will tell you this: Diet comes down to points. You get 27 points a day and 49 points plus a week to use as you wish. Some people have an extra serving of spaghetti or splurge on a big ol’ bowl of frozen yogurt. I use them almost every week. I either eat 31 points a day (four over) or spend a day out eating moderately at a wedding reception and having a slice of cake. (I was going to say, having a bite or two of cake, but really, who am I fooling?). My beloved father came to visit me last week and brought me this coconut cream. Two small cans. I opened one and ate the two tablespoons allotted. They were pretty good – nice and firm. Although it was room temperature the texture was like a banana. I went ahead and had another two tablespoons. Delicious. So I decided to eat the whole can. This made everyone laugh – but no, I said to my fellow fat warriors – that’s not the punch line! After polishing off the can, I went a plugged everything on the eTools Weight Watchers page. Keep in mind that 49 points are to last you a week. You get 27 a day. The calculations on the delectable can of coconut cream?

Fifty-one points.

I am not kidding. Regardless of that I lost ONE pound last week. For me, struggling with the last (now four!) pounds, that kind of loss is exceptional. I gained through out December and January. Not a ton, but enough. These last ten pounds keep teasing me and playing with me. I am not enjoying the game, but I sure enjoy having an ass that can fit down a slide and not feeling ashamed to be introduced to my husband’s personal training consorts.

One more thing you can do for yourself is buy a Cadbury egg for both your daughter and yourself. Also, buy a Cadbury Chocolate Egg and a caramel one so you can find out how they taste. I don’t even want to thing about the point’s count.

The title of this entry is dedicated my my friend – Peridot. She is tough as nails and soft as Alpaca. She is a brave mama and a smart cookie. The whole weight loss adventure has nothing to do with her journey; I just wanted to give her a shout out and maybe get some of y’all to pray for her.

As if life itself is not a series of disappointments

I want to be one of those “yes, yes” and “no, no” kind of people. Look at the Sermon on the Mount, “All you need to say is simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.” I want to say “yes” and everyone to know I mean it. I want my “no” to be of the same ilk. Yes. No. No, “I swear” not even, “I promise”. “Yes”, “No.” That’s it.

I am disagreeing with someone important here. He thinks that disappointment is part of life, and that a kiddo should get used to it. I think there is truth to that, but I also think it is a person’s responsibility to keep, not only to their promises, but their word. You don’t talk up a trip to Disney World, or a puppy or anything to a ten year old without following through. It’s wrong, it’s a lie. And it’s ugly. The kid learns disappointment, as if life itself is not a series of disappointments, and the child learns not to trust anyone. Trust is given freely by children, as babies they trust their mommies will come when they are called for. As toddlers they learn the floor doesn’t move. As they get older, they realize some people will not tell them the truth, and that, despite other’s best efforts, that plans fall through. Disappointment comes organically, why should that net be thrown by your parents?

I think that has to be all for today. I’m headed to Weight Watchers, and I have watched my weight faithfully this week. I didn’t track my food, I ate viciously (I think, like I said, I didn’t track it.) and exercised twice. I am getting tired of this whole dieting regime, even though I know it’s worth it. Did you know, after thirty two pounds I am still at size 14? I can still shop at Fat Lady stores while I am five pounds away from “goal”. I guess it doesn’t matter. I look fine in them, and I’m not wearing a sash that says, “#1 Non-Fat Woman of Lane Bryant”. My mother says that I may have worn at fourteen before, but it was way too tight. Whatever, mother.

Granola and Vegans

Darn it if I didn’t click the wrong button and deleted my post again. I need to figure out how I did that, and how to prevent it, so this doesn’t keep happening. But back to the food.

I sent my husband to the store to shop for this weekend. My sister-in-law’s flight has been delayed – she is arriving here today instead of yesterday. She is vegan. We have all sorts of fresh food and whole grains. My husband eats like a vegan with meat. He will have all the vegetables in the world and most of the fruits. He adds a large chunk of fish, beef, lamb, chicken and any other animal. He dreams of foie gras. We went to a restaurant on the way up to a family reunion, he had an ostrich burger. It would have been good, he’s enjoyed it before, but it was in the freezer too long. He likes meats. He has a wheat allergy, so he stays away from flour tortillas and the vegan cupcakes I made yesterday. Without out offending my vegan friends, I say with good authority that Earth Balance is the most disgusting thing I have ever eaten. The frosting was repulsive, so I made some good, honest butter cream frosting for the rest of us to eat. The rest of us meaning me. I never should have made that frosting. I think I ate four cupcakes, and I had a few spoonfuls of the frosting. Just to get the taste of Earth Balance out of my mouth. I easily stomach the fruits and veggies, and even tofu, but cannot hang with things like “tofurkey” or cheese substitutes.

I weigh Wednesdays at Weight Watchers and I am hoping I eat moderately for the rest of the week. I would be okay if I stayed the same. I would like to lose a pound, and maybe I can if I do the vegan thing for the next few days I can pull that off. But I need protein to help keep my bipolar steady. I know there are many options for vegan protein. Mix beans and rice, eat tofu, isn’t tempeh vegan, too?

Working out double today. I am going to lift weights – squats, push press and rows, and yoga. Everyone that is important has commented how stressed I am, so I’m going for the “stress” tape. When I haven’t exercised for a while, I get really angry and punch the air. This is not a “maybe” thing. It’s like all my adrenals and stress hormones get released. I hope it results in a more relaxed, even keeled Malakoa. My sister-in-law is coming to see us from a long plane ride away, and after a long phone call with her earlier this week I burst in to tears. She doesn’t mean to be mean and would probably be sad if she knew I was crying because of our conversation. Hubo got home at exactly the right time, so I was comforted.

I talked about the “home team” on the Gentle Christian Mothers’ board, “a speaker once told me and dh that “you are the home team. When you have children, they are on the home team. Other than that, no one else is going to ever be on your home team.” Every situation, every conflict should be based on the idea that it is your family first. No one is welcome to infiltrate your team. When the girls up and marry, they will be on their own home teams.

This means that my home team is me, Small and my husband. Not you. No friends. Not our siblings or our parents. I am going to remember this and be loyal to my home team and try to be kind to everyone.