All posts for the month October, 2014

Week One Success!

Published October 29, 2014 by sarcasmica

I did it! I managed to lose 2.6lbs 😄
I’m going to forego all the rationalization about being the first week and water retention, blah blah blah and just totally own it.
I lost it. Not my husband or my kid or my mom. Me. And I’m gonna do it again!
What worked this week:
TRACKING tracking TrAcKiNg!!!!
I was shocked at all the stuff I was able to eat and stay within the parameters of my daily/weekly points.
It was a fantastic feeling. No guessing. No wondering, and no cheating the system.
I bought Amy Poehler’s ‘Yes Please’ on audiobook and listen to it only when I’m on the treadmill.
The dangling carrot, if you will.
So here’s to a repeat this week if not even better!

I lost two and a half of these!😃


The F*ing Fours

Published October 28, 2014 by sarcasmica

When my daughter was born, she was blue. This would have been much more terrifying for us had the doctor not warned us this might happen. I appreciate him giving me more time to surprise my husband with the news the baby was fathered by a black man. She wasn’t, but I appreciate him lookin’ out.

When this child was in my belly, I was set on the name “Lily”.. or “Lilyanna”. I don’t know why, necessarily, I just loved it. It was feminine and classic and pretty. However, a blue toned gummy bald being does not call fields of beautiful blooming lilies to mind. And when my daughter opened her eyeballs and mouth for the first time and started hollering down the walls, all femininity flew right out the hospital window.

Now what?!

Maybe it was just a post birth personality. My son, for instance, was born in a dreamy pensive state. Seemingly observing the world hospital room around him and determining how it all worked. Turns out that was just the magnesium they gave me to ward off a seizure working it’s magic on him, because 48hrs later he was hollering like the rest of them. A precursor to the colic he would begin just a few weeks later.

So I crossed my fingers and hoped Lily would stick.

This child cried in the most angry way a newborn could cry, and she did it almost non-stop. I tried nursing (which doesn’t immediately happen. It takes a couple of days for your milk to come in and apparently biology failed to catch the babies up to this tidbit) I tried pacifiers I tried cuddling, I tried cursing. Once in a while she was happy, and then I napped. The next day I couldn’t stand to see “Baby Girl Sarcasm” written on her crib name sheet anymore, so I was determined to find a solution.

She wasn’t as purple anymore. She was starting to get cute. The nurse bathed her and she immediately let her feelings be known at that point. She didn’t want her head scrubbed, her toes tickled, she wanted food. She was definitely my kid.

I revisited a name I had come across a few months prior when looking for a G name to coincide with her brother. At first I didn’t like the name Gemma, but it grew on me. I loved the imagery of a jewel. A sparkling, shiny, beautiful piece of earth that is (usually) given with love. To satisfy my want for a feminine flower, we put Rose after it and it seemed to fit her perfectly.

Cut to four years later and I’m remembering all too well that screaming inconsolable being I brought into this world. My daughter was the annoying baby you didn’t want to admit to your sleep-deprived mommy friends actually slept 8 hours straight from the time she was 11 weeks old. She was a happy round rolly poly baby. All bright blue eyes and smiles. Her toddler hood wasn’t that difficult either. Compared to who stomped before her, she was a breeze! Three’s showed us some more independence and willfulness, but it was just charming and cute. My daughter has a way of being hysterical and charming even when she’s being a little snot….. that was before. Before Four.

Before Four she was a doll. After Four she’s been a hellion. A demanding, impatient, independent, illogical rascal. Today we went through so many highs and lows for the silliest reasons imaginable I was left wondering if I would survive her first round of PMS down the road.

I will just say it all ended in me still trying to keep it lighthearted and fun by tickling her out of her snarling scowls and all it got me was a heel to the mouth and SHE was the one who was crying. And not even because she was sad she hurt me! Noooooo, that would be compassionate. No, she was crying because she didn’t want me to get blood on her.

And this wasn’t a passing idea. She stuck with it. We went 15 more minutes of me saying, “Gosh, and to think you kicked me in the mouth and still haven’t apologized or hugged me or anything.”

“No! Mom, keep your mouth closed! I don’t want to see it!”

You mean the cut you put on my lip!? YOU don’t want to see it?! How about I give you a boot to the face and we’ll see how nicely you contain your body fluid.

The nerve!

I should have named her Helga and let the chips fall where they may.

angry baby gemma






Trying to Loose It

Published October 25, 2014 by sarcasmica

So I’m in week 1 of weight watchers. Now that i’ve got my health under reasonable control, I can take a moment for reflection. Understand, this is my first week back so nothing epic has occurred …. yet  🙂

This week began a bit rough with migraines, elevated blood pressure, new medication, possible diabetes and a lot of panic on my part. It was the first time I felt like my health was a danger. A real danger. I felt pressure to make a choice that would give me immediate results. Weight loss surgery, or Weight Watchers? I’ve done Weight Watchers one successful time and one follow up not-so-successful time before. I know I can do it. I know I can manage and take control of my life… even with two little monsters who snack all day, one traveling work-around-the-clock snacking husband and a no-vegetables-ever-thankyouverymuch grandma in the house.

It’s my life, and waiting for something to be different before I change is not an option.

I (pardon the pun) weighed all my options pretty carefully and did a quick initial conversation with a doctor I have never seen before about the surgery. I was in, on board, all about it until I watched a video explaining the procedure for the Lap Band. I had no idea your stomach is actually attached to the band, and I had no idea there is a port attached the muscle of your stomach just under the skin. (for band filling and releasing purposes) This wigged me out a little bit. I’ve never had surgery, either, so the whole process is a little daunting to begin with. Also, I must say after reading a lot of the boards and reviews and experiences, the Band has an overwhelmingly positive result consensus. The thing I hadn’t planned out in my head is the possible excess skin removal surgery that would most likely need to happen down the road. This is not a guarantee of course, and could very well possibly be a reality after Weight Watchers .. i don’t know. It’s certainly not a ‘must’ for WW. All of this combined with the liquid diet after implantation and the long list of can’ts and don’ts and throwing up and pain, etc etc etc changed my mind.

I want to be in control. I want to live within the parameters of what I enjoy. I will always enjoy food and eating, but I need a more healthy relationship with it and why I do it. I was successful at it once before, but I let stress and life stop me from maintaining and continuing. I want to continue eating Mexican Food. I love it. I want to continue eating Pasta and Italian food. I want to still go out and have dinner with my husband when I’m fortunate enough to have someone stay home with the kids so my husband and I can have adult conversation coupled with tall alcoholic beverages.

The beauty of Weight Watchers, when you use the tools, is that it’s easy. The beginning is easy. Following your points allows your body to recover enough to drop pounds without even doing much. All I have to do is stop snacking. Stop picking. Stop nibbling tasting trying testing snacking biting. It’s all calories going into your body! It’s unnecessary fuel you do not burn off. This is the first habit tracking helps you curb.

I realized today that my body does not appreciate being overloaded with food. And here I thought it did! My body just wants to function. My heart wants to beat, my blood wants to flow, my liver wants to do whatever the liver does, my kidneys want to filter something and make me pee. My body doesn’t want a burrito. My body doesn’t want a handful of Pringles. My body wants water. That’s about it. Fuel, vitamins, and water. My BRAIN wants the burrito and the Pringles. My tongue wants the chocolate and salsa… not together, of course.

If I can just change the way I think about my brain and body, I’m on my way. One step at a time i’m trying to change my programming. 38 years of programming needs some adjustment and tweaks and freedom to make mistakes and redirection.

I’m already feeling good. I’m already getting satisfaction not from giving in to an offered snack or a left-out counter goodie. I’m getting satisfaction from saying “No thank you” and NOT shoving something into my pie hole. I’m also getting satisfaction from knowing what I am choosing to eat is within my healthy daily points. It’s satisfying knowing what you are putting in is absolutely a good choice and ok. And that’s all pretty cool.

One other things is being ok with feeling successful. I am going to be ok feeling proud of any of these achievements. Big or small. None of it is osmosis.


Too Late?

Published October 23, 2014 by sarcasmica

I survived my first Weight Watchers meeting yesterday. Beyond that, I don’t know how great I did. I did manage to track all day, but towards the end of the day – after gymnastics and homework – on the drive home I came down with the worst migraine i’ve had in a long long time.

Thankfully my mom was willing to manage my childrenz after she got home from a long day of work herself. I took two Motrin PM and went to bed at 7:30

At 10 my dog was howling from downstairs, so i put her in our room crate. She was fine. I still had a shadow of my headache, so I went back to sleep.

At midnight my daughter came in to use my bathroom. .. because, I don’t know, the toilet is so much more comfortable in ours? The one a mere 4 ft from her room is loaded with monsters and face-eating tarantulas after 9pm.

I helped her with probably a few too many sighs. Then went back to bed.

At 1:30am my son comes in … because at this point, why not just have a party?! “Most terrible dream ever, mom.”

“Umm … like mom went to lay down and actually jumped out of a window and never returned?!” – thought only to myself around the headache pain.

“Fine. Lay down. You kick or punch me even one time and you are back in your room. Got it?”   “Got it.”

Back to sleep.

Normally going to bed at 7:30 and being woken up three times and still sleeping until 7 is a whole lot of sleep… however, I was on a PM pain killer after three nights of not sleeping so well, and then it was interrupted over and over and over again.

Not sure what’s happening with the health stuff. I’m on an added blood pressure drug now (but wasn’t at the time of the migraine) and now, this afternoon, things are starting to get fuzzy again. The headache is creeping up the back of my head again.


I wasn’t going to go through a litany of my woes when I began this post. Honest. I was going to pat myself on the back for tracking yesterday and today despite feeling like SHITake mushrooms.

Husband comes home tonight from his two week trip. Tomorrow I have my follow up with doc. Guess who gets to escort me to doctor ?!

Ugh. I hate getting old… and fat… and most likely diabetic.

It’s Time

Published October 21, 2014 by sarcasmica

I was on a roller coaster today. An emotional roller coaster.

So I’ve been having some health issues as of late. I’m obese. I hate that word, by the way. It’s ugly. It’s straight to the heart about it’s meaning. There’s no way around it. I prefer “fat” to “obese”. Clinical phrases aren’t all that catchy.

I broke down a little in front of a stranger today. He happened to be a doctor, and my daughter was with me, so it was all around embarrassing. And by “break down” I simply mean that a few tears trickled down my cheek while I tried to bite my lip into submission to stop my chin from quivering while I spoke to a lab-coated stranger about my dad dying and how I am on the EXACT same path.

Like, exactly.

When someone hands you a map and it shows a highlighted route that has pot holes, road construction, missing connectors and all of it ending in a fiery car crash and explosion, it’s common sense that would direct you to another route, right?

Not this old bird, nosiree. Nope, I am going to fly over those potholes and build the roads myself and completely defy all logic and biology to cross the finish line.

… and monkeys might fly out of my butt.

I’m on the same path as my father, give or take a Big Mac or 3, and so far I’ve only minimally tried to change it. Today I spoke to a doctor about possible weight loss surgery. I’ve dabbled into researching the options. None of them were appealing, but I was also under the impression at the time that I wouldn’t ever get ‘there’.

I’m here.

I’m here at higher blood pressure, pre (but probably actually actual) diabetes crossing. The expressway to bypass highway. The thoroughfare to cemetery circle.

It’s time.

I’m desperate not to actually have diabetes. I’m desperate not to have high blood pressure. I’m desperate to save myself for myself. I deserve to watch my kids finish elementary school. They deserve to have me continuing to scream and yell and control them.

You deserve to read all about my success and ability to maintain.

I was speaking to this new doctor today about how my father had insulin-dependent, two shots per day diabetes before 35. He went right ahead and had a mild heart attack in his late 40’s resulting in a QUADRUPLE bypass surgery at 49. 49 years old and he was cut wide open and swapped some leg arteries for heart arteries. I was at the hospital when he woke up. He told his wife, my stepmom, to make sure he was of an acceptable color before letting me in to see him because he remembered how his mother looked when she had her bypass surgery twenty years prior. She was green. My father was a lighter shade of blue. This is not a legacy to brag about. Stepmom deemed him acceptable for me to view. I was a teenager.

I remember walking down the hospital hallway and seeing him. My brothers were also there.

To get an understanding of how this all felt, you have to know who he was, physically. He was a larger than life person. He was 6ft tall, full salt and pepper beard my entire life. He had a booming voice which he used often. He was a talker. He could talk about anything anywhere at anytime and educate you on things you didn’t know you didn’t want to know. It was exhausting as a kid having to stop and listen to the conversations he’d strike up with random people. He was quick to laugh. His smile and laugh shined through that dark beard. His eyes would light up and twinkle when he thought he had you. He never spoke about his weight, but I’d estimate he hovered 20lbs below 400lbs for a lot of my life. I wasted a lot of time being embarrassed by that. To say he was larger than life was an understatement. Nothing about him was understated.

To see him lying in a hospital bed was shocking. To see the amount of blue tubes coming from his body post bypass surgery was unimaginable. His worry, he told my stepmom, was if something were to happen to him, he didn’t want me remembering him in that hospital bed, blue-tinged skin, with tubes coming out of him like some alien lab creation. I wasn’t anything but shocked and thankful he would be ok.

Then came the recovery. He had a “zipper” as he – and most- called it. His incision was big. He had to hug a pillow when he laughed or coughed or sneezed or did anything but just sit. He had his chest cracked open, for christsakes! Looking back, I don’t know that he ever really recovered from that. He certainly didn’t take it for the life-changing wake up call it was supposed to be. He stopped working. He started even more sitting. He literally wore out his couch.

Five years after his bypass surgery, and one stint and angina later, he was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. He carried nitric oxide around in his shirt pocket to help with his angina. I read all about congestive heart failure and saw somewhere that he probably had about a year to live.

I blocked that. Apparently so did he. He went along his merry way changing nothing about his lifestyle. December 9th, 2001 he died. He had a night where he was unable to sleep. He was freezing cold. When you are pushing 400lbs, you are never cold, by the way. You are always warm or hot. His wife knew once he was cold something was wrong.

But nothing was really ‘wrong’. He was sitting on the ER hospital bed early Sunday December 9th 2001 when he was chatting with the doctors. He began to have some difficulty breathing so they laid him down. The fluid filled his lungs faster than they could evacuate and then his heart stopped. Then he was no longer. He was just a morbidly obese man who died at the age of 55. Gone.

I remember getting to the hospital around 6am when my stepmother relayed this story to me. Up until that point, I thought he was still ok. I didn’t realize what “gone” meant until they pulled the curtain back for me to say goodbye to him.

It was so surreal. Abnormal. Strange. Alien to walk up to him and not have him move. He wasn’t ready for a rib-crushing hug. His arms did not reach out to comfort me. There was no grin showing through his beard. His eyes were closed. His hands were quiet and cold and resting on his belly.

I can’t do this to my kids. I cannot leave a legacy of sickness and seeming nonchalance about myself. They need to know that I love them with all of my heart, so it’s my job to take care of that heart. Whatever issues I have with myself, I cannot do what my dad did to everyone who loved him enough to want him to change his path.

So today I decided to change my path from sick and tired, to healthier and worthy. I know it will be hard and I wont want to comply, but whatever I have to do will be easier than my son and daughter burying their mother from something completely within her control. I love them that much, so I must learn to love myself that much more. I start back at Weight Watchers tomorrow morning. This time I will not stop. This will be my father’s legacy. His preventable and crushingly early death will be how he can still help me. He can still support me by being that constant reminder that yes, it most certainly can all end if I choose to do nothing about it. It happened to his mother, it happened to him, and it can happen to me.



Published October 21, 2014 by sarcasmica

Ugh. I hate being defeated. In any form. Right now my failure is my sodium intake. Last year I had a chat with my doctor. He told my I needed to go on BP meds, and I agreed. Grudgingly. We talked at length about how we  have a treadmill and it’s time I stop using it for a clothes dryer. I vowed I would NOT be one of those people who goes on medication and then gets worse because she gets comfortable and lazy. No, I was going to use this as a wake up call and be off of it in six months, damnit!!

Well, I tried to look back in my archives to find the original post about going on this medication and couldn’t find it. That’s how long i’ve been on it, apparently. I believe i’m somewhere around the 1 year mark.


Bigfatfail. Literally.

So the past couple of days i’ve been feeling kind of cruddy. Not because I had the rarely seen or experienced once-in-four-months-or-so period, but just an overall headachy ‘blah’. I had my blood pressure taken last month when I saw the podiatrist and it was high. So high they told me I should make an appointment to go back and see my doctor. I laughed it off as stress from having to see a podiatrist.

So yesterday I had a nagging headache that wasn’t debilitating, but just annoying. It didn’t go away. By the time I drove all over kingdom come for my son’s therapy, it was still bugging me. I went to the local grocery store and took a very high tech blood pressure reading from the germ-covered machine by the pharmacy.


Huh ?!!

My feet weren’t flat on the floor. I didn’t take enough deep breaths before the reading. My arm is too fat to really properly fit and get an accurate reading.

I took just enough deep breaths before hyperventilating, I flattened my feet to the floor and sat up as straight as my back allowed and retested.


Not fantastic.

So now I have to eat crow and face my doctor as a fat fail because as it turns out, I am one of the herd that didn’t take it seriously and now here I am. Back to get a higher dose. UGH!!

I had to call my husband to coach me through my own mental berating.

him: “You know… I had to go back and get mine adjusted, right?”

…. “oh. I didn’t know that.”

So I call to make an appointment and i’m told I have to wait until Friday.

I guess I wont drop dead from today until Friday, but I can’t help but wonder if I need to call back and insist …. ??

A Day Off

Published October 17, 2014 by sarcasmica

I’ve waited a little bit before starting my daughter on “lunch bunch” at her Preschool. For those of you not ‘in the know’ or for the dads out there, this is where you spend $20 for an extra two and a half hours of free time on Fridays. My kid gets to eat lunch with her friends, glitter stuff, and play on their mini playground which all adds up to way more fun than she’d have at home. So yes. I do it. Also, it’s good practice for kindergarten (hopefully) next year. Today was the first time she participated where I was able to spend all the time on my own. I didn’t have to go pick up my son halfway through the day like last time. It all made for a glorious smorgasbord of opportunities for me. Almost too many choices! … almost

So here’s how my amazing day went:

9:20: walk through the door after dropping off both kids and take a deeeeep sigh. Savor the silence. The sound of procrastinated domestic responsibility and understand that I’m not going to change that sound.

9:25: make a steaming cup of coffee and let the dogs out to pee

9:30 sit down with coffee and start ‘Parenthood’

9:33-10:20 actually watch the entire show without interruption.

do not get up and get snacks or drinks for anyone
do not change channel in other room
do not help disassemble lego tower
do not help find missing stuffed animal
do not blow/wipe nose
do not applaud and cheer lead someones bowel movement and subsequent independent hand washing and toilet flushing

do think briefly I should start a load of laundry… then commercial fast forward is over and go back to program

10:25 crate little pee-mine leaver and go upstairs to shower…ALONE!

10:30 dust off music app, turn on speaker and blast whatever the f**k music i want

10:32 look in mirror long enough to find every little blemish/hair/stretch mark I can find, but not long enough to become disgusted because “aint no one got time for that shit!”




10:35 dance over to the shower
think, “ohmygod i can still dance!”
continue dancing and shrieking to Maroon 5 despite only knowing every 5th word

do not turn off/down music for kids
do not poke head out to assess threat levels
do not answer questions from the other room
do not referee the fight happening on the bed
do not yell at all

shave only the parts I want -hubbz out of town = follicle freedom

do not justify danger of dancing in the shower to children
thankful the only loud offensive noises to worry bothering the neighbor are from iTunes and not me “parenting” the kids

10:45 exit shower, continue to shake my jiggly parts freely and without horrified looks from 4 year old daughter

do not feel panic at having a feeling about my body in front of daughter
do not respond to shocked proclamations and pointed fingers at “hairy parts”

10:50 remember I own make up and attempt to apply it

10:52 done with the grueling antiquated beautification

10:54 dress top to bottom all at once

11am get the hell out of house and get a pedicure!

I managed to squeeze in an oil change. I couldn’t make the day 100% frivolous and selfish. I am still a mom after all. Just a mom on a break.

After the oil change, I get lunch at a Mongolian grill spot where I will eat meat and vegetables without small DNA replicas complaining and debating and negotiating the entire meal.

I can really get used to this extended preschool day once/week.

I hope you all get a moment or 5 to reset your brains and enjoy a peaceful thought, or perhaps even a train of thoughts, this weekend!

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