Weigh-in Wednesday Haikus

Another five pounds --
Gone from my body this week
And let's hope for good.

Attributing it
To long walks on humid days
That keep speeding up.

My meals have been fresh --
Salads so plentiful, a
Fluffy tail has formed.

Life is chaotic:
More updates will soon appear
When things settle down.

Not haiku format --
I can't squeeze it all into
These 3-line phrases.

Weigh-in Wednesday

Five pounds went to the wayside this week, which puts me at a total of 30 pounds lost since March 7th.

Wooooo hooooo!!!

I fear this excitement may be short lived, however, because of two things:
the Week O' Bloat will be upon me shortly, and right after that,
we're heading out of town for a weekend wedding (where Eloise is the flower girl -- I'm so excited to see her all dolled up!).

Although most days I feel like I have a handle on the vegan thing, I still haven't quite figured out how to make it work when I'm away from home. Pretty much every meal out has been non-vegan, in fact (but, there have only been a few in the past 3 months). Add to that the fact that I'm also trying to eat, consistently, in such a way that I continue to lose weight . . . and it all kind of makes my head spin.

I'm telling you all this so you're not disappointed when you don't see the scale go down next week. Or the week after. I know how emotional you get about my weigh-ins.

And I'm also telling you this so you send me your tips for eating healthfully while away from home.
Stick carrots in every pocket?
Arrange for a major dental procedure just before we leave that won't allow me to eat for a few days?

What else 'ya got?

Weigh-in Wednesday

As it turns out, even if I hadn't decided to back off blogging this week, I would have probably had to post less anyway. Life just got in the way. In the form of a sick baby girl. Poor little petal.

We spent much of Monday and Tuesday mornings in the doctor's office trying to figure out why Posey had a 104-degree fever and was inconsolably miserable. After much poking and prodding, our pediatrician came to the conclusion that she has the Virus of the Month. In other words, there was nothing we could really do except let her rest and try to keep her hydrated. And rest she did. That poor baby slept yesterday from 10:30 am to 5:30 pm, and then went back to bed at 7:30.

The good news is that when she finally woke up last night, she was ready to eat, and we actually saw a smile or two. That made us all happy.

Know what else is making me happy?
Losing SIX POUNDS this week!
Woooot!

Okay, technically, this was a four-pound loss because I was up +2 last week. But I'm more than thrilled with four.

I'm thinking exercise must have played a big part in my losses lately -- I've lost much more consistently since I also started moving on a consistent basis. So I'm working hard to find a little time in each day to walk or pop in a workout DVD. I know they say diet is 80% of weight loss, but maybe my body just needs that extra 20% push from exercise.

I'm getting healthy.
And Posey has been instructed that she must remain healthy.

Weigh-in Wednesday

Today is un hodgo podgo. That's a hodge podge for you English-only speakers. We'll be traveling to Miami today, so I'm getting you in the mood.

Let's get the numbers out of the way. If you were here yesterday, you won't be surprised to hear that I didn't miraculously drop 5 pounds overnight. In fact, the water weight just keeps creeping on . . . this morning I was up 2 full pounds from last week.

It has to be water weight, right? If I'm eating the same way and exercising the same way I did the previous week?

Let's move on. (It's funny how I don't care to discuss my weight on Weigh-in Wednesdays that don't show losses. Humph.)

I do, however, want to say that I'm not feeling entirely dismal today because I tried on some old pants, and they fit! Wooo-hooo! Here's the deal. A family member is getting married next month. And Eloise is the flower girl in that wedding, so I've been spending a fair amount of time figuring out what dress she'll wear, finding shoes, hair accessories, etc. Suddenly, it dawned on me that, um, I am going to need something to wear, too.

So I started perusing the usual haunts for inexpensive dresses, but I wasn't feeling it. I really don't want to spend even $50 on something like that now. First, if things go according to plan, I'll only be able to wear that dress for this particular summer, right? And, second, the reality is that the chances of me wearing it again in the same summer are probably about .001%. I live in yoga capris. There just aren't many occasions on my social calendar that call for dressy dresses.

I actually wasn't thinking about any of this (the wedding, needing something dressy) when I decided to take a gamble on some stuff in my closet. I was, however, thinking about how I need some warm weather clothes that fit. And about how I do not want to spend the money on an entirely new wardrobe this summer. My weight has yo-yo'd so much in the past few years that I've had to buy new things in almost every season. That gets expensive. And depressing.

So when I dropped into the next decade last week (no longer there, thankyouverymuch, Aunt Flo!), I started going through my stacks of capris from summers past. Lo and behold, I found things that fit! Smaller things! And then the wheels started turning, and I realized that I had a bunch of clothes hanging there that I'd purchased for a trip to South Florida in 2007.

We had Eloise baptized in Miami, near Paul's family, right before Christmas that year. I was bigger than I'd been in years thanks to eating my way through the first, stressful months of new parenthood. I weighed more when Eloise turned four months than I did when I gave birth to her. So I'd bought a week's worth of new, warm weather clothes for the trip. I felt so huge then, which is weird because I now feel good about being lighter than I was a few months ago, and I must be about the same size that I was 2.5 years ago. (Did you follow that?) I remember being so ashamed of my appearance. I wouldn't share the pictures with anyone. And now, here I am, all excited to show you the pants that I can fit back into. Life has some strange turns.

Here I am at the baptism. Do you think that outfit looks dressy enough for a June, afternoon wedding? Because . . . it fits again! (The cream-colored pants and silky top. I'm not anywhere near thin enough to wear my sister's purple dress.)


Now, granted, I need to use the next four weeks wisely. I could stand to have a little more room in the waist. And I'll be armed with a solid pair of Spanx, for sure. But, when I tried those pants on and saw that they weren't too far off the mark, I felt, well, elated.

And looking back at those pictures, I don't think I look awful. Not my best, but not nearly the hideous creature I imagined myself to be back then. I wonder why I don't feel a little less hideous now? Maybe I need to spend more time looking at those pics. (Or maybe I need to go back to blonde!)

One last piece of podge in the hodge today.
And it's the most important one . . .

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TITA!!!
We love you!

From the afternoon of Eloise's baptism.

We hope you're smiling all day today!

Weigh-in Wednesday

Oh, for crying out loud.
I'm still Roseanne.

One thing I've tried not to do too much of, on this blog at least, is complain. Sure, I know I whined about having to exercise, but other than that, I try to keep things upbeat. Surround myself with positive energy here, if you will.

But today, I'm just not feelin' it. Although I try not to let the scale rule my emotions, sometimes, it just does. And after the week I had, where my eating was strictly healthy and I really kicked it up more than a notch with workouts, I was disappointed to see only a one-pound loss this morning.

It especially doesn't make sense because of my saintliness last night. How I wasn't driven straight to the freezer to start immediately shoveling heaping spoonfuls of soy ice cream into my mouth, I'll never know. What had me contemplating an evening filled with chocolate and doughnuts was The Incident. The one we shall forever more refer to as The Incident We Do Not Discuss. Honestly, I deserve, at the very least, for one additional pound to melt off and possibly to receive some sort of badge of courage.

I won't go into too many details, but I'll tell you -- it involves poop. At this point, I'm strongly considering shutting down this blog entirely and starting up a new one dedicated solely to bodily excrement. It seems my life somewhat revolves around it these days.

As I've mentioned more times than you've probably cared to hear, we've been working on potty training with Eloise. To her credit, she's been doing really well. There is just one teeny, tiny problem -- she has stopped daily poos. I think she is suffering from a really long bout of stage fright. It's like she's freaked out about pooping on the potty, so she only goes once every three or four days. When she absolutely has to. And, don't forget -- she's eating bran muffins and fruit with me every morning.

Yeah, so I'm sure you've probably started to form a mental picture . . . let me fill in a few extras for you.

There was a nap.
There was a pull-up filled with poop, lots of it, by the end of that nap.
There was a pair of leggings that got caught on the top of the pull-up as I tried to get them off.
There was a forceful tug.
There was a moment, when the leggings came free, but when they did, they snapped the pull-up down or off or wildly into some other freakish direction.
There was a feeling of dread, when I suddenly realized the wall, the door, the changing table, the floor, my child, and me had just been splattered with poop. FOUR DAYS WORTH OF POOP. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

So. If I seem a little downtrodden . . . well, maybe you'll pity me.

And indulge me. Tell me your body didn't respond to work outs right away. Or that you lost 6 pounds the second week you worked out. Something.

And should I reconsider what/how I'm eating? Could I be consuming way more calories than I think I am? Have any of you lost weight without counting and measuring?

One thing's for sure. Bran muffins are off the menu.

WIW and Mourning the Fat Life

It's Weigh-in Wednesday.

Pretty good news this week. I'm down three pounds.

I may not sound excited about that number, but that's because I'm fairly certain that the -3 is really more like -1. I've determined that last week's cookie weight was probably not actually a result of consuming heaps of sugary dough, but more likely a result of a monthly situation with my lady parts. Aaaaaaaaand now I've completely lost all my male readers. (Although, "all my male readers" = code for my husband.)

Nonetheless, that -1 gives me a net total of -13 pounds, and considering my kicking and screaming over having to face the exercise music lately, I'm feeling grateful for that.

I've actually been stewing quite a bit about this activity conundrum. And something suddenly occurred to me last night . . . this is like the stages of grief.

I don't want to belittle grief here. Not at all. But, I've always said that any change, even change for the better, can be stressful. So, in my own silly way, I've been thinking about how this experiment in healthy living has brought me to a place where I'm mourning my old, not-so-healthy life.

Are you familiar with the five stages of grief, which Elizabeth Kubler-Ross identified in her book, On Death and Dying?

The stages Kubler-Ross names are:

* Denial (this isn't happening to me!)
* Anger (why is this happening to me?)
* Bargaining (I promise I'll be a better person if...)
* Depression (I don't care anymore)
* Acceptance (I'm ready for whatever comes)

Maybe I've just been on one too many diets in my lifetime, but I think these stages sound like the kind of thinking that goes on in my head when I get really ticked off about having to watch what I eat every day for the rest of my days or when I know I need to schlep myself around in the form of some type of activity.

I've lived in anger and denial for too long.
I've bargained. But it appears I'm not a very good negotiator.
I've been depressed. Oh, that's a phase I'm familiar with. Frequently referred to as the "Eff It" stage, where entire Boston cream pies become dinner. With cookies for dessert.

Have I moved on to acceptance?
Well, I don't know that I can say I'm ready for whatever comes, but I do finally admit that a belly like this


only looks cute until you're 2. Okay, maybe 3. But, by the time you're 40, your not-so-cute tummy is just getting you lectures from your doctor about how particularly dangerous body fat around the middle is and could you please consider trying to eliminate at least one of your spare tires?

Still . . . making these kinds of changes means evolving into an entirely different person. It's a bit like breaking up with someone you suspected from the start was bad news. You know you'd be better off without the guy (it's one thing to leave toenails in the sink, but do that AND spend our grocery money in a strip club?!), but what about the times you'd sit around watching Biggest Loser while eating pizza together? How could you ever replace that?

In other words, do I love brownies, a sore hip, and my personalized sofa cushion (i.e., the permanent indentation of my ass in the couch) enough to stick with them? Or do I instead accept that I'll be better off when I make the effort to move my body on a regular basis?

I know the answer. And you know that I know the answer.
If I keep blathering about it here, will the universe eventually propel me off the couch?

How did you finally stop being a sofa cushion?

Weigh-in Wednesday

These cookies . . .

. . . were not good to me this week.

At least according to my still-possibly-horribly-inaccurate scale. (I swear I've been scale shopping. Just haven't found one that comes with a lying function.) So I can pray that the scale was not in its sweet spot, but I have a feeling these cookies brought back the 2 pounds I said good-bye to last week.

Bummer.

But, listen. Do I wish I hadn't gained 2 pounds? Of course. But were those cookies some of the best to ever cross my lips? Oh, my, yes. (I've never understood that saying, "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels." I'm like, "She must not be eating what I'm eating.")

That said, I sure do want to wear some of the pretty clothes in my closet again, so I've been trying to reflect on the bad weeks, not beat myself up too badly, and figure out what happened that I can learn from. This week, we know what happened. Chocolate chip cookies happened. However, trying to see the positives here, I have to give myself props for a) making these vegan cookies from scratch, and b) screwing them up.

I do hope that one of these days, I'll be able to eat fewer than 9 cookies at a sitting, so I'm sharing my "mistake" here with you. It's no secret that I'm not exactly a whiz in the kitchen, and because of that, I'm afraid to ever stray from a recipe. I just don't have enough creative slant or faith in my ability.

So when Paul saw me getting out all the ingredients for the cookies, and said, "Oh, you're using sea salt?" I hesitated for a moment because I know his culinary skills put mine to shame. But then I thought, doesn't the salt, even big chunky sea salt, just get dissolved in the batter anyway? And tossed it in.

Well, it didn't. Even as I was forming dough balls on the cookie sheet, I could see little salt pellets here and there. But the dough tasted okay to me, so I kept going.

The end result? Have you ever had those sea salt caramels? Yeah. Like that.
You get a hit of sweet and salty at the same time, and it's really heavenly.
After about cookie #11, I said to Paul, "I think it's the salt." And he agreed. He told me they're among the best chocolate chip cookies he's ever had. (They're vegan!!) And this man is a connoisseur of chocolate chip cookies. I take his compliment seriously.

Yeah, odd that I'm singing the praises of chocolate chip cookies in the same post that I am lamenting my weight gain. But I'm a giver. I want you to experience cookie bliss at some point, too. Maybe you'll want to wait until you're in a better place. I get that. I'll be waiting awhile before I try to co-habitate with them again, I'll tell you.

But one of these days, sea-salt-chocolate-chip cookies, I'll let you back into my life. Right now, I think I need to see other foods. Whenever you're around, I take you for granted. Neither of us wants that kind of relationship, right? It's not you. It's me.

Weigh-in Wednesday

The scale gods have rained their goodness down upon me!

Minus FIVE!
That's
-5,
cinco,
cinq,
half of TEN!

Wooooooooooot!

Okay, I know what you're thinking. Why should we believe a word this woman reports about her scale after last week's insanity? Sure. I get that. So I'm prepared to defend my five.

1. I put on jeans yesterday (instead of the usual yoga pants), and they were a smidge loose. This may not be the most convincing argument because it was the second wear for them, and you know how they're always looser after they've been worn once. But, around here, pants almost always get a second wear. Unless they've got spit-up on them, they're pretty much considered clean.

2. I was very careful in my scale placement. Over the weekend, I almost had Paul talked into putting a couple of pieces of duct tape on the floor to mark where the scale needs to go each week, but he just mumbled something about obsessive compulsive disorder and continued brushing his teeth. I'm pretty confident in my eyeballing skills, though, so let's not allow that to hamper our happiness, k? (Plus, you know I stepped on and off 22 times to be sure.)

3. Faith. This is a biggie for me. Deep breath.
When you're not having Biggest Loser losses, or any losses at all some weeks, you start to question what you're doing and how you're doing it. I want, no, make that need to believe that because I'm feeding my body so well, it is responding favorably. I realized something this week -- I feel like I could keep eating this way for a long time. I feel like I could live this way. I honestly don't know that I've ever said that about any other diet/eating regime/food plan before. I don't consider what I'm doing to be "dieting," first of all, so maybe that's part of it. But I also strongly believe in what we're doing as a family. Treating our bodies with dignity and respect by giving them what they need.

It's just really hard to have faith sometimes, you know? We decided yesterday to continue with some additional testing for Posey. To determine if she has something called "kidney reflux." It's my understanding that the procedure she'll have to undergo (in two weeks) will be very stressful, and possibly painful for her. As a parent, I am so conflicted about this decision. On the one hand, I understand it will be beneficial for her because, after this procedure, we'll know if she has something that requires future treatment. On the other hand, who is going to explain this benefit to her as she's being catheterized and crying? It's so overwhelming for me to think about, I haven't even allowed myself to Google anything related to this, which is probably the only time that has happened since I first laid eyes on the word "Google."

I need to have faith in a lot of things, and a lot of people, right now.
The scale's accuracy . . . eh. This week, it seems much less consequential.
Belief in myself, my decisions, the strength of my family -- that is the power I want to harness in stressful times. The scale has had its day, and it surely will again, but faith wins this round.

Weigh-in Wednesday

Image: Witte Museum

Do you ever set your life to music?

Like this morning, for example. If my weigh-in had been a scene in a made-for-TV movie, there would have been circus music playing in the background. Under the big top, indeed.

Allow me to share the bullet-point version (feel free to hum along):

Woke up.

Made sure to be as efficient as possible in the loo, if you know what I mean. (And I think you do.)

(From here on, speed up the music because being efficient in the loo doesn't always equate to being quick. So I was racing against the clock. Also known as "trying to get ready before Eloise and Posey start raking their sippy cups across the bars of their cribs.")

Moved 72 bulky bath items blocking the scale.

Positioned scale for best potential reading.

Stepped on scale.

Reacted in shock when number was 7 pounds lower than previous Wednesday.

Stepped off scale in disbelief.

Noticed scale flashed this odd symbol -- > [

Assumed that meant "low battery" and realized 7-pound loss might not be accurate.

Flipped over scale to see what batteries were needed only to discover weird 3V disc battery.

Major disappointment. Until . . .

Suddenly remembered seeing weird 3V disc battery in broken indoor/outdoor weather station thingy last week.

Raced to get new-old weather-station battery.

Fumbled with removing scale battery until sweat beads formed on forehead.

Finally gave up and gave in to the notion of running downstairs for a knife to pry out the battery.

Headed to kitchen, scale in hand, and easily pried out the battery.

Left old scale battery and knife on kitchen island -- briefly considered bringing knife upstairs, but didn't.

Ran (okay, trudged really fast) back upstairs.

Popped new-old weather-station battery into scale.

Repositioned scale for optimum readout.

Stepped on scale and saw, "Lo."

WTF?!?

Stepped on and off 18 more times.

Eventually became convinced that old battery must not have been low, and with no idea what [ meant, still needed to determine actual weight.

Made peace with knowledge that a shower would not be in the cards.

Back downstairs with scale to get knife to wedge new-old weather-station battery out and get old scale battery.

Switched out batteries again, and at the same time, read back of scale for instructions.

Saw the words, "Uneven surfaces may cause inaccurate readings."

Knowing the floor in the upstairs bathroom was far from even (thanks to a toilet overflow situation last year), decided to place scale on kitchen floor.

Saw reading of -22 pounds.

Picked jaw up off floor, then proceeded to test weights in every square inch of kitchen/laundry room/powder room.

Got -22 to -20 readings everywhere on first floor.

Danced DANCE OF JOY!!!

Struggled with thinking of explanation for 20-pound difference in scale readings between second floor and first floor.

Altitude?

Baby monitor causing scrambled signal when scale is upstairs?

What was my true weight??

Fantasized writing blog post outlining newfound revelations for World's Fastest Weight Loss.

Suddenly remembered weighing on doctor's scale recently.

(Cue circus music slowing dramatically here.)

Reminded self of 113-year old floors throughout current home.

Plodded lethargically upstairs with scale.

Visually lined up scale in spot to be meticulously recalculated for every future weigh-in.

Stepped on and off twice more.

Settled on 2-pound weight loss as that's where fluctuating numbers seemed to average out.

Heaped on deodorant, got dressed, and scooped up kids just in time to start the next act.


And, so. That's the very long, very detailed way of announcing that I *think* I lost two pounds. Hey! I'll take it! And I'll celebrate it, even though I'm already nervous that next Wednesday may find me on the sidewalk in front of the house, in my nightie, at 6:00 a.m. trying to get an accurate reading. Good thing it's warming up around here.

Does this mean I need a new scale or a new bathroom floor?