Weight Loss Wednesday

I fell off the exercise bandwagon a little this week. I still exercised, just not every day like I had been doing. My goal for the next week is to get at least 1/2 hour of some sort of exercise in every day. Ideally, I'm going to try to get in at least 30 minutes of yoga in 3 times as well- in addition to the other exercise.

I still have a couple of weeks (just over 2 to be exact) until I can become a 'caloric minimalist', but I will be picking up a notebook while out running errands today. This week I'm going to go ahead and begin writing everything that I eat, so I can have a better idea of where I need to improve in the nutrition department. I just won't be tracking calories at this point.

While at the grocery store this week, I made the mistake of picking up these little teeny tiny rice cake snack packs, with caramel drizzled over them, and a cinnamon streusel kind too. I won't be making that mistake again. They were too good, and didn't last long when they went face to face with this dieter. 90 calorie packs are great, if you can have just one. Unfortunately, they were so good, I could (and did-guiltily-but I still did) eat 3 packages in one sitting and that kind of gluttony no longer adds up to 90 calories. So, little scrumptious rice cakes, you have been banished from my home.

I still need to work on the water. The good news is that I haven't been drinking soda this entire time except for diet, and I've cut way back on the diet. It's been several days since I've even had one.

Even with my few shortcomings, the news is good this week. I'm completely happy.

-3 pounds exactly.

I'd love to pull Biggest Loser numbers, but know unless you are in that type of situation, its near impossible. Every little bit counts toward something larger (and healthier) and that is my ultimate goal.

I'm fortunate to have Bonehead supporting me. I think the sweetest words I've heard in a long time are the words I heard this past Monday when he called me to tell me just after Critter went down for his nap, "I'd rather see you go work out than have a clean house."

There's nothing sweeter.

The Mistake Of The Skinny Pants

On Thursday night, I found myself hiding out behind the door to my minivan, pretending to be casually looking around for anyone who might be able to see me, and stealthily (about as stealthily as a dog on ice) reaching up under the bottom of my sweatshirt and pulling a Late Thanksgiving Day maneuver. I unbuttoned my pants- much to my relief, and it felt like I'd won the lotto. But in order to understand WHY I would be so desperate to unbutton my pants in public, I should start at the beginning and not the end.

It was a brilliant idea, really. The best idea I'd had all week, not to be topped by any other. After showering and making myself presentable for the fundraising pork chop dinner for Smoochie's wrestling club, I had an epiphany. I'm on a diet. Pork chop dinners made by one of our local barbeque places are probably not the most flattering diet food. If I put on my 'skinny' jeans and wear them to the fundraiser, I would not be tempted to overeat. In fact, I'd probably be tempted not to eat at all and that was a great feat since I was already half starved. So I put on jeans I had to shake and shimmy (and hold my breath, suck in my cheeks, jump up and down, and wow this is a workout all on its own) just to get into, and camouflaged my muffin top with a giant baggy sweatshirt.

I should have known something was amiss when I had to ask Bonehead to tie my shoes for me. I should have taken the hint when he raised his eyebrows at me and stated the obvious, "You know you will have to sit on bleachers at the wrestling meet after dinner, right?" Which interprets to "Hey dumbass, why don't you go put on some pants you can BEND in." Apparently my Bonehead to English translater was broken because I didn't get it.

I was not prepared for the throng of people there, because seriously, who watches high school wrestling anyway? Apparently, when its the last dual meet of the season, and the moon is three quarters full, and the opposing team is our rival neighbor town, its like a scene from Friday Night Lights. And of course, having taken my minivan, the stroller would be in the back of John's car.

So to bring the situation up to speed, I have an 11 month old who is rapidly gaining weight, a large crowd of people who seem to think stopping directly in front of you is funny, a throng of high school kids behaving like overhormonal monkeys, and pants that are causing me to turn blue from their overzealous squeeze.

I found us a table while John and Smooch waited in an hour long line to get our dinner. The wait was seriously an hour, it is not an overdramatization or an embellishment of my story. An hour at a crappy fold up cafeteria table with a baby who thinks looking at the world upside down is so cool he will throw himself backward at the drop of a hat any time he gets the urge.

John and Smooch finally showed up with the food, and then fate decided to kick me while I was down. After the first bite or two I developed gas. And boy howdy, wasn't that nice? Being in a throng of people with enough breeding to try my hardest to be polite and not let any escape, I began to bloat. Because I had ALL THE ROOM IN THE WORLD to bloat. I made my hubby tie my shoes for crying out loud, could fate be any crueler?

Yes, apparently.

Because after dinner, it was time to go sit on the forwarned bleachers. With no back rest, a baby now ready for bed, a 7 year old boy who is incapable of sitting still, gas, too tight jeans, and trying to keep a smile on my face through it all. By that point in my evening I probably resembled the toothy Jack Nickleson looking through the door in The Shining.

We left early, thank goodness, not to put me out of my misery, but because it was already bed time for Smoochie. I tried to sprint to the minivan in the parking lot, but the best I could pull off was a Gumby-esque move and pray to make it to the van without passing out from lack of oxygen.

Which led me to my executive decision behind my minivan door on Thursday night. Aah, sweet relief. I drove home with a renewed appreciation for air and wondering if my muffin top might have actually been swelling from the tourniquet around my waist.

I should really look into getting my Bonehead to English translater fixed.

This Is A Public Service Announcement- With Guitar.

Feminine American Rights:

1.  The Right To Have Fat Pants In Your Closet:  Come on, ladies, you know the pair.  The ones that make their appearance once a month when every other pair of pants feels like a choke hold on your mid section.  Without our treasured pair of fat pants, we might be forced to actually rip someone's head off.

2.  The Right To Hang Onto Skinny Pants Like Your Life Depends On It:  Who cares if you can't get them up past your thighs?  They're YOURS, and you'll wear them someday (as soon as you take off the three kids, dog, and husband weight you'll rock them like its 1999 again you swear) even if you have to make a quilt out of them to do it.

3.  The Right To Have Shoes That Match Every Outfit:  We all know there is no such thing as 10 pairs of black shoes.  There's black patent leather with peep toe shoes, black buckle Mary Jane shoes, black ballet flats with polka dot bow shoes, and so on.  If they were all the same, they'd LOOK the same by golly.

4.  The Right To Lock Yourself In The Bathroom:  Because lets face it:  You have 3 kids, a husband, and a dog.  The only way you will get any privacy this century is by locking the door.

5. The Right Not To Have To Explain Yourself Over And Over And OVER:  Because I said so is already way too much of an explanation.  Just do it before my too tight skinny pants force me to pop you like a pimple.

6.  The Right To Alone Time:  Even if you do have to obtain it while grocery shopping.  It's a complete hour when your thoughts can finish each other before being interrupted.

7.  The Right To Hate The Hair That Is On Your Head:  There has not been a woman in history that actually liked her own hair.  That's your right, you were born with it.  Go ahead and covet thy neighbor's hair.  Embrace it, because there's no changing the fact you physically want to shave your head AT LEAST two days out of every month.

8.  The Right To Cry For Absolutely No Good Reason On The Planet:  Even if members of the male species don't believe there's no good reason for it.  Go ahead, cry like there's no tomorrow.  Just be sure to pop a couple of Tylenol for the crying hangover that happens a little later.

9.  The Right To Have Adult Conversation:  Mary Had A Little Lamb only gets you so far.  No, stop that gets old after the thousandth time.  Adult conversation is a blessing from God, even if it is only answering the question, "Paper or Plastic?"

10.  The Right To Your Own Personal Happy Hour Daily:  A glass of wine.  Or two.  A cup of coffee, or tea.  Whatever your poison is, pour yourself a little relaxation and enjoy for 5 minutes.  Ah, what the heck.  We're women.  We've got nothing better to do.  Take 10.

Weight Loss Wednesday

I worked hard this week and miraculously enough was able to stay focused. I put lots of miles in on the bike and tried very hard to pay attention to portion sizes.

I do need to work on drinking more water, though. I was very good with my water earlier in the week, but for some reason the past couple of days I haven't been good at all. So this week my goal is to get at least my 8 glasses in, if not more. And of course, keep exercising and trying to eat smaller portions. I'd also like to get at least a couple of yoga work outs in this week.

I made some changes to my side bar, including what I lost for the week as well as the total.

I can't drag this out any more because frankly, I'm too excited. My weight loss for the week?

-4.4

Trust me, there's dancing going on in my little corner of the world today. Tune in next week for the next installment of my journey.

The Buzz

It has come to my attention that it has been a while since I shared an embarrassing moment on my blog. And since I'm all about sharing embarrassing moments, I thought I should whip up another installment.

I grew up in Southern Michigan, in an area riddled with lakes. There were easily 10 lakes within a 30 mile radius of my home. My grandparents lived on a lake, and I learned to water ski at an early age. It makes sense that I got my very first job between my Freshman and Sophomore years of high school (at the ripe old age of 14) at a marina.

My marina job was the best job of my life. Sure, I was a peon who had to clean the showroom boats, clean the rental cottage, mow the lawn, and pump the gas into each and every boat on the lake, but 98% of my time that summer was spent outside in sandals, shorts, and a bathing suit top. And my boss was cool- he gave his employees free reign to the pop machine outside. All you had to do was grab the key and open it up. The hardest part was choosing what kind you wanted. Now that I'm an adult, I realize that was his way of insuring we all stayed as hydrated as possible in the summer heat, but at the time I was all like, "Woooooah, man! Free pop!"

I was the only female employee, outside of the owners fiancee, who was beautiful but also engaged to the owner. Dave, the owner, leaned toward hiring college boys for help because most of the work (outside of what I helped with) required strong young tanned and shirtless muscular men to help with. Looking back, that was probably just the opinion of a boy crazy 14 year old girl, but I'm glad I stayed hydrated because little 14 year old me? Yeah. I seriously spent the summer wiping drool off my chin.

The one problem with me having this job (full time for the most part) was the fact that the marina was located about 15 miles outside of the town I lived in, and it had funky hours that didn't allow my mom to take me in the one and only family car because she had a job that supported our family and all. My parents put their heads together and solved this problem by purchasing "My Thing".

"My Thing" was a purple Yamaha Jog, and I adored it. It was a joy that I had never known before, and I commuted each day on back country roads that were rarely traveled, filling my lungs with the freshest, freest air I have ever felt.

I had one of those hip half helmets with the face shield that snaps onto the front, and promised my parents to always wear it. Plus, it was the law. One bright and free summer day, I was on my way to work and decided since I had glasses on I would remove that face shield(but still wear the helmet- I was a good girl).

I was almost out of town, in a corporate area that bordered the edge. Beyond that was nothing but miles and miles of country and fresh air. Farms, corn fields, and free range dogs aplenty, but I wasn't concerned with them because I was able to go 45 mph. What I was concerned with was being able to watch college boys muscles ripple in the sun when I got to work.

Just as I passed the very last factory on the way out of town, it happened. I was happily doing my 45 mph, and WHACK! something hit me on the side of the face, in between the helmet and my cheek. And it stung quite a bit, too, like the hefty sting of a fly swatter on a bare leg. As my mind was processing what it was that could have hit me, I felt it start moving further down under the helmet.

As I felt this thing crawl on my face, I couldn't stop my thing and get my helmet off fast enough. And I couldn't, either, because as I was yelling, "No, No, No!" the damn thing, WHATEVER IT WAS, was crawling into my ear. By the time I was able to get the helmet off, it was fully inside my ear. And buzzing. Now I did not see this bug, and for all I knew it could have been a bee, or even worse, a wasp that can continue stinging and stinging and stinging when riled up.

Now the 14 year old girl in me wanted to lose it Mommy Dearest style, screaming like a banshee and flailing like a freshly caught bluegill. But some coherent part of me realized that I was on the edge of town, and there would be no one around to come to my assistance. As I tried to figure out what to do, I realized that I had just passed up the last factory on the edge of town. So slowly, I turned my thing around, my eyes as big as saucers, trying not to cry and loose my cool, and listening to the periodic buzz of the Boeing jet engine inside my ear.

I rode back to the factory, walked in through their front office door and up to the sliding glass partition that usually has someone sitting behind it. And thank the good Lord, at this time, on this day, it did. A really nice looking woman, who noticed my approach.

It was at this moment I had to do one of the most embarrassing things in my life. I watched her slide the glass open as I shook like a pager, and I looked her square in the eye and said, "Excuse me please, but I have a bug stuck in my ear."

To which she started to smirk and look around in the manner of "Who put you up to this, little girl?". I was sure she was thinking someone had to be pulling a prank on her. Either that, or I was mentally unstable and needed the assistance of the local authorities. And frankly, in my mind, the more authorities the better in case I wound up getting stung in the ear drum 19 gazillion times.

I tried to get her to see the seriousness of the situation. "I'm really not joking, there is a bug in my ear, and a big one, too."

"How big?" She asked me, probably thinking I was getting shaken up over a freeking gnat. Being an adult now, I'll give her that one, too. 14 year old girls do have a habit of being melodramatic.

"I don't know, I didn't exactly see it well, but please PLEASE help me."

She actually came through her door and walked into the little reception area to take a look. As she put her face closer to my ear, the bug let off a particularly nasty buzz.

She heard it. And she jumped back a full two feet from me as her eyes grew round and she realized I, in fact, was not a paid participant in a joke at her expense. "Ok, I'll call someone to help, hang on."

Before she could finish the sentence, the bug delivered me from my torture and crawled its self back out of my ear.

The glass window lady stood there, fully not believing what she was seeing. Some sort of bluish green beetle bug flew from my ear and around the little waiting room. I was so relieved I wanted to collapse. She let off giant exclamations of disbelief that that bug could have actually FIT in my ear canal.

I thanked her for her time, went back out to "My Thing", SNAPPED MY VISOR SHIELD BACK ONTO MY HELMET, and finished the drive to work.

I was almost 45 minutes late for work that day, and showed up with the excuse, "I'm sorry I'm late for work, but I got a bug stuck in my ear." And then of course I had to tell my story.

Those college boys I spent my summer drooling over? They filled my head with thoughts of that bug laying eggs in my ear (apparently Star Trek style) until I insisted somebody douse the whole side of my face and ear in both rubbing alcohol AND peroxide.

Oh yeah, and they spent the rest of the summer buzzing at me.

BZZZZT.