Some people get warm fuzzies everytime they go to their mother's house. They look forward to it. It's a place of comfort. It's "home."
In this instance, I am not "some people."
This house isn't home. It's not the house I grew up in. It's not in the same town and, frankly, it's light years away from where I grew up.
Not only is it a different man that lives in this house with my mom (and so different from my dad that it's not even funny!), but . . . well, a lot of things have changed.
In my mother's house back when *I* was growing up, kids couldn't do anything. Strict with a capital S. Hell, strict with a capital S, capital T, capital R . . . you get the picture. But now in my mother's house? Apparently, children get away with everything.
"Oh, Brandi, they're only young once."
"Quit getting onto him. He's just having fun."
"Jaybird, you come here to GiGi. It's okay."
*Pulls hair out*
Some things never change though. There's always the latest copy of Good Housekeeping at my mother's house (and, no, I would never buy it but holy clogged arteries, Batman! This one has Paula Deen with her favorite Christmas cookie recipes). There's always the latest copy of a book from a favorite shared author at my Mother's house. There's always Diet Coke and season-appropriate napkins on the dining room table and a plant that is about two days away from being DOA.
And always . . . it never, ever fails . . . her refrigerator is fucking disgusting.
There are milk cartons pushed to the way back that I'm terrified to look at the expiration dates. There are millions of cool whip containers that have been washed out and now store green beans with fur growing on them (hey, I wonder if Jaybird could turn that into a song . . . beans with the fur . . . ). She inherited it from my grandmother. I shit you not, I was at my MawMaw's house once and found a jug of milk that had expired *throws up a little in mouth* eight months previously. I swear to Jesus, I am not lying. EIGHT MONTH OLD MILK! IN HER REFRIGERATOR! That's, like, the seventh level of disgusting.
FYI: My own fridge isn't exactly immaculate, but it's cleaned out at least once a month. And milk is thrown out as soon as the expiration date is up.
Something else my mother inherited from her mother?
If they find a bargain in the food aisle, they buy it. It doesn't matter if it's navy beans (who the hell eats those?) or beets or watercress of what. If it's on sale, they'll pick it up and inspect it. Look at the price and say, "Wow, that's a good deal." Then they'll haul five or eight into their cart. I witnessed this very thing tonight. Mom and I were in Walmart when we passed the sweet potatoes. "Twenty-five cents a pound? Wow! That's a good deal. I should stock up." Who eats sweet potatoes, Mom? "Well, um, I'll take one for my lunch tomorrow. And, um, we can try to make a sweet potato pie for Thanksgiving. Yup, a pie. That's what I'll do." Do they really put 18 sweet potatoes in a pie? Doubt it.
Right now, if you were to open my mother's pantry, you'd seen canned vegetables stacked up practically to the ceiling. And, yup, there are the "necessities," but there are also the cans that you just know will be making their way into brown paper grocery bags for the next canned food drive for the needy. There's also at least six boxes of stuffing (a few of those will be making their way into my suitcase before we head back to the Big D), several boxes of cereal, more Ziploc bags that I can imagine her using in her lifetime, and two humongous multi-packs of Bounty paper towels (also will be finding their way into my suitcase).
There are certain advantages to this Mass Food Buying. For instance, I've been wanting to try the whole "use a diet soda with a boxed cake mix" for a while now. But I'd either not have the cake mix or not have the diet soda and I never wanted to make it bad enough to pack up both boys, a diaper bag, and drive the whole two miles to my local Tom Thumb. But, there's never a shortage of cake mixes at my mother's house (and, hot damn, you better believe there's never a shortage of diet soda). So that cake? Yeah, made it today.
My mother's kitchen is a dream for someone who enjoys cooking. There is always whatever ingredient you need right on hand.
Maybe I'll have to look a little more deeply into this whole "Hey! It's on sale!" style of buying. Hmm.
But, I promise you, as soon as I get home I'm cleaning out my fridge again.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
I'm Leaving On a Jet Plane
I'm having to fight the urge to run to the nearest store, buy a bag of those cute Christmas-y green and red M&M's, and then lay in bed all day eating them and re-reading UnDomestic Goddess by Sophia Kinsella. I definitely don't need the jumbo bag of Emmy Em's (has my Jaybir calls them) and since phase I of our trip begins tomorrow, I reeeeeally don't need to do any laying around.
As of right now, I have suitcases, clothes, bras, shoes, you-name-it strewn all over my bedroom. I'm trying to pack for a week in Arkansas. Followed by a week in California/ Vegas. Followed by a few more days in Arkansas. Not to mention I also have to pack for two little boys (and all of us will be in three different places for five days of this excursion). Oh, and I STILL need to go shopping less I end up parading in the raw through LAX. I don't think anyone would appreciate that. Victoria Beckham I am not.
I can't believe the trip is right here on us! We're leaving tomorrow night and the boys and I will spend a few days at my Mom's place. Then one week from now, hubs and I will board a plane and be on our way . . . to my first vacation in four years! It's much needed. I plane to doze off as soon as my ass hits the plane seat. It will be the first time in six months that I've been able to sleep without someone waking me up to feed them, change them, take them to the potty . . . or without a grown man trying to have sex with me (he can't do that on the plane, yo! And I have no desire to join the Mile High Club. No tank ya veddy much). I'll sleep all the way to Denver, wake up enough to change planes, and then sleep again all the way to LA. Holla! 'Cause once I get there . . . won't be much sleeping at all.
I am going to eat my first In-and-Out burger and I'm going to dine at Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles. And when we go out in Hollywood next Saturday night, I will probably drink my weight in appletinis. And guess what? I'm not even gonna think about the scale!
As of right now, I have suitcases, clothes, bras, shoes, you-name-it strewn all over my bedroom. I'm trying to pack for a week in Arkansas. Followed by a week in California/ Vegas. Followed by a few more days in Arkansas. Not to mention I also have to pack for two little boys (and all of us will be in three different places for five days of this excursion). Oh, and I STILL need to go shopping less I end up parading in the raw through LAX. I don't think anyone would appreciate that. Victoria Beckham I am not.
I can't believe the trip is right here on us! We're leaving tomorrow night and the boys and I will spend a few days at my Mom's place. Then one week from now, hubs and I will board a plane and be on our way . . . to my first vacation in four years! It's much needed. I plane to doze off as soon as my ass hits the plane seat. It will be the first time in six months that I've been able to sleep without someone waking me up to feed them, change them, take them to the potty . . . or without a grown man trying to have sex with me (he can't do that on the plane, yo! And I have no desire to join the Mile High Club. No tank ya veddy much). I'll sleep all the way to Denver, wake up enough to change planes, and then sleep again all the way to LA. Holla! 'Cause once I get there . . . won't be much sleeping at all.
I am going to eat my first In-and-Out burger and I'm going to dine at Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles. And when we go out in Hollywood next Saturday night, I will probably drink my weight in appletinis. And guess what? I'm not even gonna think about the scale!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
I Think We're All THE BIGGEST LOSER for Watching This Mess
I am so disillusioned with The Biggest Loser right now.
And I will probably top this blog with a "Dear NBC," copy and paste everything, and hope it makes it's way to the powers that be in the network.
That show is supposed to be inspiring. We're supposed to see it and think, "heck yeah! I can do that too!" People like Ali, last season's winner, ARE inspiring. People like Vicky, Brady, and Heba? Not so much.
This show should not even be a game. Seriously. Anyone who is very overweight and serious about getting healthy would participate in this show - and should participate in this show - for the sole reason of LOSING WEIGHT AND GETTING HEALTHY. The money shouldn't have anything to do with it.
I think that's what disgusts me so much about Vicky. She complains about the challanges . . . doesn't care anything at all about them. All she seems to care about is the dollar signs. And, ya know what? I get it. I have two small children, too. I understand just how much a half a million dollars could change lives. But more important when it comes to changing the lives of our children is making POSITIVE choices when it comes to weight loss and being healthy. Providing a home for our children where they can be healthy and don't have to worry about growing up to be overweight? You cannot put a price tag on that.
Listen up, NBC, this is what you need to do: You can keep the money prize, but toss out the whole "Survivor" aspect of the game. Whoever loses the least percentage is axed. End of story. That was the only "strategy" in this game involves people working their ass off. Orrrr, if you just must absolutely have a vote-off then why not let Bob and Jillian be the ones to pick who leaves the show? Weed out the ones who are only their for the money and keep the peeps who are serious about being healthy.
Part of me wonders if NBC has set up Vicky to be the villian. Is she really that evil? Or are there things Phil has said and done that didn't make it to tape? Are we only seeing one side of the story? Regardless, for the life of me, I cannot understand WHY they think they have to have all the dramatics in order to keep views of this show. Newsflash: it's NOT keeping viewers. It's turning them off.
The Biggest Loser is one of the only truly inspiring reality shows on TV. Yeah, Dancing with the Stars might inspire to some point pick up some dancing shoes and see if I can overcome my clumsyness. And The Amazing Race might inspire me to get my ass in shape to where I could compete in that. And maybe all the ". . . of Love" shows on VH1 inspire some folks to get tested for VD. But The Biggest Loser, in so many ways, is just all around inspiring.
Until now.
And, I promise you, if Vicky or Heba wins this show then it has completely lost it's premise and it will most definitely lose at least one viewer. ME.
And I will probably top this blog with a "Dear NBC," copy and paste everything, and hope it makes it's way to the powers that be in the network.
That show is supposed to be inspiring. We're supposed to see it and think, "heck yeah! I can do that too!" People like Ali, last season's winner, ARE inspiring. People like Vicky, Brady, and Heba? Not so much.
This show should not even be a game. Seriously. Anyone who is very overweight and serious about getting healthy would participate in this show - and should participate in this show - for the sole reason of LOSING WEIGHT AND GETTING HEALTHY. The money shouldn't have anything to do with it.
I think that's what disgusts me so much about Vicky. She complains about the challanges . . . doesn't care anything at all about them. All she seems to care about is the dollar signs. And, ya know what? I get it. I have two small children, too. I understand just how much a half a million dollars could change lives. But more important when it comes to changing the lives of our children is making POSITIVE choices when it comes to weight loss and being healthy. Providing a home for our children where they can be healthy and don't have to worry about growing up to be overweight? You cannot put a price tag on that.
Listen up, NBC, this is what you need to do: You can keep the money prize, but toss out the whole "Survivor" aspect of the game. Whoever loses the least percentage is axed. End of story. That was the only "strategy" in this game involves people working their ass off. Orrrr, if you just must absolutely have a vote-off then why not let Bob and Jillian be the ones to pick who leaves the show? Weed out the ones who are only their for the money and keep the peeps who are serious about being healthy.
Part of me wonders if NBC has set up Vicky to be the villian. Is she really that evil? Or are there things Phil has said and done that didn't make it to tape? Are we only seeing one side of the story? Regardless, for the life of me, I cannot understand WHY they think they have to have all the dramatics in order to keep views of this show. Newsflash: it's NOT keeping viewers. It's turning them off.
The Biggest Loser is one of the only truly inspiring reality shows on TV. Yeah, Dancing with the Stars might inspire to some point pick up some dancing shoes and see if I can overcome my clumsyness. And The Amazing Race might inspire me to get my ass in shape to where I could compete in that. And maybe all the ". . . of Love" shows on VH1 inspire some folks to get tested for VD. But The Biggest Loser, in so many ways, is just all around inspiring.
Until now.
And, I promise you, if Vicky or Heba wins this show then it has completely lost it's premise and it will most definitely lose at least one viewer. ME.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Bring It On.
If you pay any attention at all to my ticker over yonder ============================================> (and I seriously doubt you do), you'll notice that it's no longer resting on 67 pounds lost. Nope. In the two weeks I've been working on "maintaining," I've managed to lose another three pounds.
I need to write a book on this Halloween Candy Diet, yo, cause I could make big bucks off of it.
I dunno if it's my body still trying to adjust or what. I've upped my calories. According to The Daily Plate, a person who is 147 pounds and maintains a moderate activity level needs to eat 2,403 calories a day to maintain. Do you know how many that is? Honestly? When you're used to eating HALF that everyday? I was using Sparkpeople to track my calories for a week or so (grew tired of that and, honestly, I was doing a decent job of it in my head) and not once did I go over 1900 calories. I suppose if nothing else, I'm building up a 'cushion' for my vacation. So even if I do gain three or four pounds, I'll still be back at where I was two weeks ago. Sounds good, right? Right.
I just don't want to end up being a Star Jones and people saying to themselves, "Damn, Brandi looked better before she lost all that weight. Skeletor." No thanks. (I realize I am weeeee-ayyyy far from being Skeletor, but. Ya know).
So, yeah, vacation? Bring those calories on! Mama is ready for her first In-and-Out burger and her first ever trip to a place with 'chicken' and 'waffles' both in the title. Brrrrring.It.On! ;)
Oh and just 'cause yesterday he was six months old, it's me and the KyKy Man:
And here we are six short months ago. Time really does fly!
I need to write a book on this Halloween Candy Diet, yo, cause I could make big bucks off of it.
I dunno if it's my body still trying to adjust or what. I've upped my calories. According to The Daily Plate, a person who is 147 pounds and maintains a moderate activity level needs to eat 2,403 calories a day to maintain. Do you know how many that is? Honestly? When you're used to eating HALF that everyday? I was using Sparkpeople to track my calories for a week or so (grew tired of that and, honestly, I was doing a decent job of it in my head) and not once did I go over 1900 calories. I suppose if nothing else, I'm building up a 'cushion' for my vacation. So even if I do gain three or four pounds, I'll still be back at where I was two weeks ago. Sounds good, right? Right.
I just don't want to end up being a Star Jones and people saying to themselves, "Damn, Brandi looked better before she lost all that weight. Skeletor." No thanks. (I realize I am weeeee-ayyyy far from being Skeletor, but. Ya know).
So, yeah, vacation? Bring those calories on! Mama is ready for her first In-and-Out burger and her first ever trip to a place with 'chicken' and 'waffles' both in the title. Brrrrring.It.On! ;)
Oh and just 'cause yesterday he was six months old, it's me and the KyKy Man:
And here we are six short months ago. Time really does fly!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Dashing Through the Mashed Potatoes and the Candied Yams
I saw my first 'holiday' commercial (one for Glade candles, funnily enough) a few days before Halloween. Now the jack-o-lanterns are just starting to rot and the costumes have barely settled into storage bins and we're bombarded with all things HOLIDAY. Every commercial on TV has chestnuts roasting on an open fire or someone decking the halls with boughs of holly. (To be perfectly honest, I don't really consider it Christmas time until I see the Folgers ad with Peter coming home that's been running since leg warmers were fashionable and Cabbage Patch dolls were a new thing). Radio stations are pulling out their Bing Crosby records. Stores are filled to the brim with pre-lit evergreens. And I got my Walmart toy catalog in the mail the other day.
Yup, it's here: the most wonderful time of the year.
I absolutely love Christmas. Actually, I love Halloween through New Years. I love the dressing up and the trick or treating that's followed so quickly by the Macy's parade and the Cowboys game while gnawing on a fried turkey leg and eating (another) slice of pumpkin pie. I love standing in line at Target at 4:30 on the day after Thanksgiving and elbowing my way through the toy section. I enjoy decorating a Christmas tree while I watch my beloved Hogs take on LSU. I adore buying presents for my boys. I get misty eyed when I see a Christmas tree light up a darkened room or when I hear "Silent Night" or the Christmas story. I love looking at lights and oohing, ahhing, and commenting on the tacky houses. I enjoy all the old traditions and look forward to starting new ones with my little family. I love presents and stockings and chocolate covered cherries and the Alabama Christmas album and the fact that I live in the part of the country where we really can only dream of a white Christmas.
But most of all . . . I love the food.
Turkey AND ham. Dressing. Cranberry sauce. Potato casserole and homemade hot rolls and the bean dip that totally doesn't fit the gathering but that my Aunt Sue brings every year anyway. And the desserts. OMG, the desserts! I think I could fill an entire blog entry with just the names of the very best Christmas desserts. I adore baking and making candy and the way my kitchen smells after I've pulled a batch of peanutbutter cookies that look like reindeer out of the oven.
If there's anything that can take the holly jolly out of the holly-days, it's the thought of . . . dun dun dun . . . THE SCALE. I admit it, I'm a scale junkie. I weigh myself every morning (and sometimes midmorning . . . and in the afternoon . . . and early evening . . . and, uh, right before bed) to keep ME in check. You know the commercial with the chick who has the scale tethered to her ankle? Yup, tha's your girl, Miss B!
I've been getting into the boards over on Sparkpeople more and more in recent weeks. A thread about surviving the holidays has been active over there for a few weeks now. Can I just say I'm kind of shocked at the number of people who don't plan to enjoy the holidays? I mean, it's one thing to control yourself from going buck wild but it's quite another to just not enjoy all the things that you love. This time of year only comes around . . . duh . . . once a year. You HAVE to enjoy. Maybe it's even okay to overindulge a bit, ya know? The more you deny yourself, the more likely you are to find yourself with your arm up a turkey's ass in the middle of March because you have a craving that can only be stopped by a 15-lb bird with all the trimmings.
All that said, it's time to set some goals for ME for this holiday season. I'll probably spend Turkey Day at an aiport bar in Denver drowning my sorrow over the fact that I'm not celebrating the holiday with kiddos with Vodka-and-Cranberry (that's a substitute for cranberry sauce, right?). And I'm lucky enough to be the one cooking Christmas dinner this year (but sad at the same time as it'll be only the second time in my entire life that I haven't been in Arkansas for the big day). So some things shouldn't be too hard, but . . . hell, who am I kidding?
My goals this holiday season:
1) Keep weight between 145 - 149
2) Do the aerobic workout on my bike at least 3 times a week
3) Pilates tape at least twice a week
4) I can eat ONE of every baked item I make. Send anything the fam doesn't eat to one of the shelters around here (will shelters take home baked items?) Or, possibly, send them to a soldier overseas.
5) ONE chocolate covered cherry a day. ONE. Brandi! I said ONE! No more!
6) Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps will only be consumed once a week. And only if the temperature drops below 45.
7) Relax and enjoy myself. Any over-eating can be remedied by a marathon work out session and lots of water.
8) No matter how hard he begs, I will NOT buy Jaybird a sweater with Brobie or the Giant Dildo from Yo Gabba Gabba on it.
9) Reeses, Snickers, and Milky Ways shaped like Christmas trees are, in fact, still Reeses, Snickers, and Milky Ways. I will abstain.
Last Christmas . . .
** In case you're interested: the title of this entry comes from a church Christmas play that I was in a good, um, 20 years ago (sweet baby Jesus!). I played a mouse and all I remember about it is a song that went, "Dashing through the mashed potatoes and the candied yams . . . don't forget the rolls and gravy . . . there's enough to feed the navy! Christmas time is no time, no time to diet . . . it's no time for watching your weight . . . " I am such a fucking nerd for remembering that.
Yup, it's here: the most wonderful time of the year.
I absolutely love Christmas. Actually, I love Halloween through New Years. I love the dressing up and the trick or treating that's followed so quickly by the Macy's parade and the Cowboys game while gnawing on a fried turkey leg and eating (another) slice of pumpkin pie. I love standing in line at Target at 4:30 on the day after Thanksgiving and elbowing my way through the toy section. I enjoy decorating a Christmas tree while I watch my beloved Hogs take on LSU. I adore buying presents for my boys. I get misty eyed when I see a Christmas tree light up a darkened room or when I hear "Silent Night" or the Christmas story. I love looking at lights and oohing, ahhing, and commenting on the tacky houses. I enjoy all the old traditions and look forward to starting new ones with my little family. I love presents and stockings and chocolate covered cherries and the Alabama Christmas album and the fact that I live in the part of the country where we really can only dream of a white Christmas.
But most of all . . . I love the food.
Turkey AND ham. Dressing. Cranberry sauce. Potato casserole and homemade hot rolls and the bean dip that totally doesn't fit the gathering but that my Aunt Sue brings every year anyway. And the desserts. OMG, the desserts! I think I could fill an entire blog entry with just the names of the very best Christmas desserts. I adore baking and making candy and the way my kitchen smells after I've pulled a batch of peanutbutter cookies that look like reindeer out of the oven.
If there's anything that can take the holly jolly out of the holly-days, it's the thought of . . . dun dun dun . . . THE SCALE. I admit it, I'm a scale junkie. I weigh myself every morning (and sometimes midmorning . . . and in the afternoon . . . and early evening . . . and, uh, right before bed) to keep ME in check. You know the commercial with the chick who has the scale tethered to her ankle? Yup, tha's your girl, Miss B!
I've been getting into the boards over on Sparkpeople more and more in recent weeks. A thread about surviving the holidays has been active over there for a few weeks now. Can I just say I'm kind of shocked at the number of people who don't plan to enjoy the holidays? I mean, it's one thing to control yourself from going buck wild but it's quite another to just not enjoy all the things that you love. This time of year only comes around . . . duh . . . once a year. You HAVE to enjoy. Maybe it's even okay to overindulge a bit, ya know? The more you deny yourself, the more likely you are to find yourself with your arm up a turkey's ass in the middle of March because you have a craving that can only be stopped by a 15-lb bird with all the trimmings.
All that said, it's time to set some goals for ME for this holiday season. I'll probably spend Turkey Day at an aiport bar in Denver drowning my sorrow over the fact that I'm not celebrating the holiday with kiddos with Vodka-and-Cranberry (that's a substitute for cranberry sauce, right?). And I'm lucky enough to be the one cooking Christmas dinner this year (but sad at the same time as it'll be only the second time in my entire life that I haven't been in Arkansas for the big day). So some things shouldn't be too hard, but . . . hell, who am I kidding?
My goals this holiday season:
1) Keep weight between 145 - 149
2) Do the aerobic workout on my bike at least 3 times a week
3) Pilates tape at least twice a week
4) I can eat ONE of every baked item I make. Send anything the fam doesn't eat to one of the shelters around here (will shelters take home baked items?) Or, possibly, send them to a soldier overseas.
5) ONE chocolate covered cherry a day. ONE. Brandi! I said ONE! No more!
6) Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps will only be consumed once a week. And only if the temperature drops below 45.
7) Relax and enjoy myself. Any over-eating can be remedied by a marathon work out session and lots of water.
8) No matter how hard he begs, I will NOT buy Jaybird a sweater with Brobie or the Giant Dildo from Yo Gabba Gabba on it.
9) Reeses, Snickers, and Milky Ways shaped like Christmas trees are, in fact, still Reeses, Snickers, and Milky Ways. I will abstain.
Last Christmas . . .
** In case you're interested: the title of this entry comes from a church Christmas play that I was in a good, um, 20 years ago (sweet baby Jesus!). I played a mouse and all I remember about it is a song that went, "Dashing through the mashed potatoes and the candied yams . . . don't forget the rolls and gravy . . . there's enough to feed the navy! Christmas time is no time, no time to diet . . . it's no time for watching your weight . . . " I am such a fucking nerd for remembering that.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Yes, We Did!
I am ecstatic, overjoyed, and over the freaking moon about the election results. I am proud of our country. Proud for so many reasons and definitely proud as being the mother of two biracial little boys.
We did it! Yes, we can and yes, we did!
Know what else I'm proud of?
Me! Because even though "celebratory eating" has been my 'thang' in the past, I didn't do it. Though I really wanted to raise an Almond Joy high in the air in a toast to Barack and the Democratic party, I resisted. Even when my brother called and told me they were feasting on celebratory pina coladas, I managed to keep myself from running to the kitchen and pulling out the coconut rum.
Instead of letting my SHEER JOY out in food, I rocked my precious baby to sleep secure the knowlege that he can do anything and be anything he wants to be.
That feeling, my friends, is better than the 5-minute high than any chocolate bar will ever give me.
We did it! Yes, we can and yes, we did!
Know what else I'm proud of?
Me! Because even though "celebratory eating" has been my 'thang' in the past, I didn't do it. Though I really wanted to raise an Almond Joy high in the air in a toast to Barack and the Democratic party, I resisted. Even when my brother called and told me they were feasting on celebratory pina coladas, I managed to keep myself from running to the kitchen and pulling out the coconut rum.
Instead of letting my SHEER JOY out in food, I rocked my precious baby to sleep secure the knowlege that he can do anything and be anything he wants to be.
That feeling, my friends, is better than the 5-minute high than any chocolate bar will ever give me.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Just Do It
I have never been so thankful that there is not a Krispy Kreme in my little neck of the 'burbs. If there's anything I can't resist, it's the ooey gooey goodness of a DONUT! And Krispy Kreme is offering freebies today!
Other freebies? Ben and Jerry's (don't have one of those here either) and Starbucks (don't care for coffee)
Something free to do that might even burn a few calories? VOTE!
I'll link the good old family blog so my kiddo can tell you who *he* voted for when we made it to the polls today: http://jaidanandkyan1.blogspot.com/2008/11/o-mama-for-president.html
Other freebies? Ben and Jerry's (don't have one of those here either) and Starbucks (don't care for coffee)
Something free to do that might even burn a few calories? VOTE!
I'll link the good old family blog so my kiddo can tell you who *he* voted for when we made it to the polls today: http://jaidanandkyan1.blogspot.com/2008/11/o-mama-for-president.html
Monday, November 3, 2008
To Be Fat Like Me
I can only remember one time as a kid that I picked on someone about their weight. We were in the fifth grade and the boy's name was Danny. He was very, very overweight for a child and had also been unfortunately cursed with having to wear glasses (throw in red hair and you have the top three kids will pick on others unmercifully for). We called him "the Marshmallow Man." I was never one to really pick on other kids -- I'm just not a naturally mean person. But, for some reason, Danny seemed like free game. And, besides, everyone else was.
That was almost twenty years ago and I still remember it. I wish I could go back and change things. I hope Danny is leading a good life, regardless of what size he happens to be now, nearing 30 (he moved away from our school after that year).
Yesterday afternoon, I happened to be flipping through channels and found the Lifetime movie, "To Be Fat Like Me." Now, there was a time when I could loaf around on the couch for an entire afternoon absorbing Lifetime movies. These days? Eh. There are better things to do and, besides, most of the movies are extremely corny. But this one caught my attention. I watched the first thirty minutes of it and then set the DVR to record the rest. I watched it last night.
I'm glad I did. It really made me think about things.
For starters, the relationship Ally (the main character) has with her mother reminded me a lot of *my* relationship with *my* mother. Now, my mom and I got along much better than she and hers did. But. My mother was very large for all of my formative years. All of them. In 2002, when I was 22 and she and my dad were going through a divorce, she dropped over 100 pounds. But up until that point, she was . . . not just overweight but obese. Morbidly obese.
And -- I've never admitted this before, not even to myself -- it embarrassed me. I would always wonder if boys I was interested in would look at my mom and think, "That'll be Brandi in 15 years. I'll pass." I can remember making sweatshirts for our moms in grade school. My mom's sweatshirt got mixed up with the sweatshirt of another girl's mom and I had to take my mom home a size 'large' sweatshirt. She never did get to wear it. I would have friends who could at least swap tops with their mothers. I never could do that. I was embarrassed by my mother's weight. Embarrassed for me and, yes, embarrassed for her. And it still makes me cringe to admit this. Now, I realize that my mother was so much more than a number on a scale. But when you're a kid, things are different and every little thing in your life can seem major.
The movie also brings up the point of why are we still prejudice toward big people? Why do we treat them differently? Why is it seen as okay? Because of fear. You won't suddenly change races over night. And your sexual orientation isn't going to just up and be different. You might change religions but that's something that YOU can control and a choice that YOU make. Weight isn't always like that. It can start out as 5 pounds here and 5 pounds there and before you know it, you're looking at yourself 50 pounds overweight and saying, "what the hell?" It's scary. Scary because of the way society looks at and treats overweight people. And scary because, well, all those things the skinny minnie doctors warn us about. Diabetes and heart disease and strokes and high blood pressure.
I know there are people who are severly overweight that can look at my largest (non-pregnancy) weight and think, "Dude, I would die to be there." But, I have to face it. No one starts a weight loss program with the hopes of ending up at 190 pounds and a size 14. Unless maybe they're 6'5. I've heard the 'fat' comments too. When I was a senior in high school, my cousin (who has major, MAJOR issues with women's bodies -- seriously, dude had his wife in the gym two weeks after she gave birth to a nearly 10 pounds baby!) told me that I wouldn't be overweight if I was 6'0 tall. Thanks, dude. When I was 25, I dated a guy whose best friend referred to me as "Tuck's fat girl." Gee, how nice.
It's never fun for someone to make snap judgements about you based on anything physical but when it's about your weight . . . that almost seems just a little bit harsher. Because . . . maybe it's not because I always stuff my face with french fries. And maybe it's not because I'm lazy. And maybe it's not because I don't care. We have all these generalizations that we slap onto "fat" people and they're so unfair.
As I mentioned earlier, I'm not a mean person and I don't make fun of people. It's just not me. But I have to wonder if I find myself inwardly flinching sometimes or thinking, "is she seriously going to eat another piece of pizza?" Do I do that? I don't know, but it's time to watch myself. If we want to make a difference in the way overweight people are treated, it really starts with each and every one of us.
That was almost twenty years ago and I still remember it. I wish I could go back and change things. I hope Danny is leading a good life, regardless of what size he happens to be now, nearing 30 (he moved away from our school after that year).
Yesterday afternoon, I happened to be flipping through channels and found the Lifetime movie, "To Be Fat Like Me." Now, there was a time when I could loaf around on the couch for an entire afternoon absorbing Lifetime movies. These days? Eh. There are better things to do and, besides, most of the movies are extremely corny. But this one caught my attention. I watched the first thirty minutes of it and then set the DVR to record the rest. I watched it last night.
I'm glad I did. It really made me think about things.
For starters, the relationship Ally (the main character) has with her mother reminded me a lot of *my* relationship with *my* mother. Now, my mom and I got along much better than she and hers did. But. My mother was very large for all of my formative years. All of them. In 2002, when I was 22 and she and my dad were going through a divorce, she dropped over 100 pounds. But up until that point, she was . . . not just overweight but obese. Morbidly obese.
And -- I've never admitted this before, not even to myself -- it embarrassed me. I would always wonder if boys I was interested in would look at my mom and think, "That'll be Brandi in 15 years. I'll pass." I can remember making sweatshirts for our moms in grade school. My mom's sweatshirt got mixed up with the sweatshirt of another girl's mom and I had to take my mom home a size 'large' sweatshirt. She never did get to wear it. I would have friends who could at least swap tops with their mothers. I never could do that. I was embarrassed by my mother's weight. Embarrassed for me and, yes, embarrassed for her. And it still makes me cringe to admit this. Now, I realize that my mother was so much more than a number on a scale. But when you're a kid, things are different and every little thing in your life can seem major.
The movie also brings up the point of why are we still prejudice toward big people? Why do we treat them differently? Why is it seen as okay? Because of fear. You won't suddenly change races over night. And your sexual orientation isn't going to just up and be different. You might change religions but that's something that YOU can control and a choice that YOU make. Weight isn't always like that. It can start out as 5 pounds here and 5 pounds there and before you know it, you're looking at yourself 50 pounds overweight and saying, "what the hell?" It's scary. Scary because of the way society looks at and treats overweight people. And scary because, well, all those things the skinny minnie doctors warn us about. Diabetes and heart disease and strokes and high blood pressure.
I know there are people who are severly overweight that can look at my largest (non-pregnancy) weight and think, "Dude, I would die to be there." But, I have to face it. No one starts a weight loss program with the hopes of ending up at 190 pounds and a size 14. Unless maybe they're 6'5. I've heard the 'fat' comments too. When I was a senior in high school, my cousin (who has major, MAJOR issues with women's bodies -- seriously, dude had his wife in the gym two weeks after she gave birth to a nearly 10 pounds baby!) told me that I wouldn't be overweight if I was 6'0 tall. Thanks, dude. When I was 25, I dated a guy whose best friend referred to me as "Tuck's fat girl." Gee, how nice.
It's never fun for someone to make snap judgements about you based on anything physical but when it's about your weight . . . that almost seems just a little bit harsher. Because . . . maybe it's not because I always stuff my face with french fries. And maybe it's not because I'm lazy. And maybe it's not because I don't care. We have all these generalizations that we slap onto "fat" people and they're so unfair.
As I mentioned earlier, I'm not a mean person and I don't make fun of people. It's just not me. But I have to wonder if I find myself inwardly flinching sometimes or thinking, "is she seriously going to eat another piece of pizza?" Do I do that? I don't know, but it's time to watch myself. If we want to make a difference in the way overweight people are treated, it really starts with each and every one of us.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Label Whore
Whenever you begin a weight loss journey and you start reading all the little helpful articles and such, you always, always, always run across these words: "Pay attention to labels."
And it's true. You have to pay attention. You have to count those calories and fat grams and look at dietery fiber and all that other good (or not so good) stuff. Oh, and serving sizes! Can't forget the good old serving sizes. You have to, have to, have to pay attention to what you're getting.
As a general rule, I'm pretty good at it. I know the calorie counts on my regular products so I don't hesitate to just toss them in the cart when I'm in the grocery store. If I am going to buy something I don't regularly purchase, I make sure to flip it over and read through all the nutritional info.
Like I said . . . as a general rule.
For whatever reason, I just totally spaced on my last grocery shopping trip.
I bought a package of stuffing to make for this recipe (and, by the way, it was phenominal. Hubs ate two helpings and Jaybird finished off the little bit of leftovers for lunch the next day). Lo and behold, I got home and it was low sodium stuffing. Um, ew. I know, I know, I know that I need to be watching the sodium counts but seriously. I had to add half a shaker of salt (how's that for healthy?) for the stuff to taste right.
I also picked up my standard Parkay calorie-free butter. Or so I thought. I usually buy the spray butter. Zero calories -- dudn't get no better. Right? Well, this time I noticed a bottle of squeeze butter right beside the spray butter. Same packaging, same everything, aaaand . . . same price for four ounces more. So, I bought it. Didn't check the label. Got home and, yup, 70 calories per tablespoon. Get it together, B!
Last example: yesterday the kiddos and I found a yardsale on our morning walk to the park. I approached with some apprehension because, in my snobby ass neighborhood, a yardsale means someone has five shirts and an old sofa they're trying to get rid of. This one, though, actually had clothes -- cute clothes -- and in MY NEW SIZE! Score! Dude, I have two kids and spend youdontevenwannaknowhowmuch a month on formula and diapers. I'm all about finding me some "gently worn" clothes at a yard sale. Hook me up!
I scooped up five or six shirts, a dress, a pair of shoes, pair of shorts, and two pair of jeans and only paid $12. Holla!
I got home and tried everything on. For the most part, everything fit. One pair of jeans was a teensy bit big (and they were a size 7/8! OMG!) but not so big they were unwearable. The other pair . . . um . . . it was interesting. I got them on. But if I wanted to, you know, do little things like - oh - breathe and sit down we'd have some issues. On closer inspection, I noticed the tag read "super low rise, skinny fit." In other words, "if you've had two c-sections there ain't no way in hell your ass is fitting in these."
Eh, oh well. I only "wasted" $2 on them. I can live with that . . .
And it's true. You have to pay attention. You have to count those calories and fat grams and look at dietery fiber and all that other good (or not so good) stuff. Oh, and serving sizes! Can't forget the good old serving sizes. You have to, have to, have to pay attention to what you're getting.
As a general rule, I'm pretty good at it. I know the calorie counts on my regular products so I don't hesitate to just toss them in the cart when I'm in the grocery store. If I am going to buy something I don't regularly purchase, I make sure to flip it over and read through all the nutritional info.
Like I said . . . as a general rule.
For whatever reason, I just totally spaced on my last grocery shopping trip.
I bought a package of stuffing to make for this recipe (and, by the way, it was phenominal. Hubs ate two helpings and Jaybird finished off the little bit of leftovers for lunch the next day). Lo and behold, I got home and it was low sodium stuffing. Um, ew. I know, I know, I know that I need to be watching the sodium counts but seriously. I had to add half a shaker of salt (how's that for healthy?) for the stuff to taste right.
I also picked up my standard Parkay calorie-free butter. Or so I thought. I usually buy the spray butter. Zero calories -- dudn't get no better. Right? Well, this time I noticed a bottle of squeeze butter right beside the spray butter. Same packaging, same everything, aaaand . . . same price for four ounces more. So, I bought it. Didn't check the label. Got home and, yup, 70 calories per tablespoon. Get it together, B!
Last example: yesterday the kiddos and I found a yardsale on our morning walk to the park. I approached with some apprehension because, in my snobby ass neighborhood, a yardsale means someone has five shirts and an old sofa they're trying to get rid of. This one, though, actually had clothes -- cute clothes -- and in MY NEW SIZE! Score! Dude, I have two kids and spend youdontevenwannaknowhowmuch a month on formula and diapers. I'm all about finding me some "gently worn" clothes at a yard sale. Hook me up!
I scooped up five or six shirts, a dress, a pair of shoes, pair of shorts, and two pair of jeans and only paid $12. Holla!
I got home and tried everything on. For the most part, everything fit. One pair of jeans was a teensy bit big (and they were a size 7/8! OMG!) but not so big they were unwearable. The other pair . . . um . . . it was interesting. I got them on. But if I wanted to, you know, do little things like - oh - breathe and sit down we'd have some issues. On closer inspection, I noticed the tag read "super low rise, skinny fit." In other words, "if you've had two c-sections there ain't no way in hell your ass is fitting in these."
Eh, oh well. I only "wasted" $2 on them. I can live with that . . .
Saturday, November 1, 2008
No Tricks. Just Treats.
Going old school with the Halloween pic-cha's:
Then in 2005 as a Cat. Rawr!
2006 as - what else?
A Mommy!
(Jaybird was only 3 weeks old here!):
Last year - double oh seven -
I was a skunk handler! ;)
Was also about two and half months pregnant:
And last night, with the whole fam:
I'm not exactly sure as to why I decided to post these in my weight loss blog other than to be able to see for myself that I'm smaller than I was before I had kids. I don't have near the booty I had in that picture of me as a cat, but man . . . seeing those pictures compared to this year's pictures just made me feel . . . GOOD! ;)
Now if only I can keep away from the 5 million pounds of Halloween candy I've hidden in the cabinet above the refridgerator . . .
And proof that the sweet tooth is hereditary. Poor kiddo!:
Happy Halloweenie
2004 -- Naughty School Girl:
2004 -- Naughty School Girl:
2006 as - what else?A Mommy!
(Jaybird was only 3 weeks old here!):
Last year - double oh seven -I was a skunk handler! ;)
Was also about two and half months pregnant:
And last night, with the whole fam:
I'm not exactly sure as to why I decided to post these in my weight loss blog other than to be able to see for myself that I'm smaller than I was before I had kids. I don't have near the booty I had in that picture of me as a cat, but man . . . seeing those pictures compared to this year's pictures just made me feel . . . GOOD! ;)Now if only I can keep away from the 5 million pounds of Halloween candy I've hidden in the cabinet above the refridgerator . . .
And proof that the sweet tooth is hereditary. Poor kiddo!:
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