weight watchers

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Working On It

Published February 11, 2016 by sarcasmica

So foggy today. We have a sleep number bed, but damned if I can find the magic number that will eliminate my husband’s snoring.

He’s getting over a cold, so I can’t completely blame him … .but that doesn’t stop me this morning. I tripped on the bags under my eyes on the way to my Keurig.

This week I’m working on moi. This sounds so douchey, right? The whole “me time” thing is a little grating for this stay at home momma. Mostly because I have friends who are in a situation where this is not an option, so I don’t like talking about it … but hell. This is my life and I should just live it regardless, right?

It’s taking a lot for me to fix some stuff. Taking a lot of energy and money and time. I’m blessed to be able to be a stay at home mom and have these opportunities. I’m badass for taking the opportunity and making the most of it. .. finally… after seven years or so of being a SAHM. It helps immensely that my mom lives with us and is open to being a last minute and scheduled babysitter whenever we need it.

I’ve been working with a trainer for six months now. We had a rare sunny day recently and I dusted off a stretchy then-too-snug pair of capris from last summer. I was so sure of myself that they would finally fit nicely!

Spoiler: They didn’t. They fit the same. Needless to say I was kinda butt hurt. However, it was my own fault. I’ve been working out with a trainer for six months once a week… and most weeks that’s the only day I exercise.  I haven’t overhauled my eating habits, either. Just consistently have made minor tweaks. It’s my own damn fault, but i’m trying my hardest to use it as motivation to get to the gym.

Another point of sale is my new gym membership.

On one hand one could argue losing weight is hugely expensive and not realistic. On the other, paying for outrageously priced medication that is necessary to live everyday can be more expensive. With this in mind i’ve been also seeing a therapist to help work through some issues. Specifically food-related. .. well, that’s how it started anyway. It’s morphed into a lot more areas, but it’s all been for positive change and I thoroughly believe if you’ve been overweight your ENTIRE life, there’s more to changing habits and ingrained beliefs about yourself than just “exercise for 30 min/day!” and “eat the rainbow!” … which, loosely translated could mean “eat a pack of Skittles everyday!”

So I have it in my head that i’m a swimmer. It’s the perfect exercise for a fat chick. You are nearly weightless (hence eliminating all the daily aches and pains that go along with carrying a Goodyear tire or two around your body for 30+ years) and the best part; you don’t have to feel sweat! I love it.

I have swam/swum/swimmed used the pool twice and actually managed a good starting work out time. After a week of a sick husband, a sick kid, and 4 doc appointments between both children, I neglected to swim at all last week. Upon taking my daughter to her lesson this week, however, I felt the first pang of regret at an exercise. I actually missed swimming when I smelled the overbearing chlorine and saw the swim team practicing. 

It was a very surreal experience. I’ve hated all forms of exercise my entire life. To find the holy grail of something I enjoy is literally mind altering for me.

So today, despite having to pin my eyebags up behind my ears, and fighting the urge to fall asleep walking from one room to the next, I WILL fasten that new swim cap over my headache and strap on my new goggles, and I will head to the pool.

I may drown from lack of effort or motivation once in the water, but that will just look like I pushed so hard and worked so much that I died from exhaustion. Something I never thought my obit would say!

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Dyslexic Weight Watcher

Published June 10, 2015 by sarcasmica

Ok. I haven’t been keeping up with the weight loss stuff like I should. I HAVE been going to meetings, however.

I feel like i’m crashing a course I continuously forget my homework for. I have been going to meetings because that seems to be the only consistent commitment I can make. I haven’t been tracking. As a result, I am a dyslexic weight watcher. I’m gaining. The weeks I happen to lose, it’s because of my cycle or dumb luck. It’s definitely not because i’m working my ass off and eating kale.

(kale = term for anything at all healthy and grown from the ground)

I think I managed to consume three peaches over the last week… along with Pizza, Red Robin, Starbucks S’Mores Frappuccino, my son’s birthday cupcakes, and about four pina coladas.

But other than that, i’m doing grrrrrreat foodwise!

Seriously, I’m kind of just a mess right now. The good news is that i’ve started paying attention to some of my own shit. I’ve been going to the chiropractor consistently for two months now. I started out 3x/week, and now it’s 2x. It has been a life-changer. Honestly. I’ve had about 16 years dealing with a bad bad lower back. Sciatica, muscle spasms, just complete deterioration of my own capabilities.

Not being able to pick up a laundry basket, or bend down to put on underwear is a real hassle at 38 with 2 kids and your day is supposed to include taking care of a house.

So i’ve managed to get something major fixed there. Go me.

Next up, fixing my brain space. I have gone back to a great counselor I saw a couple years ago. I’ve started again because I have found that I have zero goals for myself. More than that, I don’t care much to set any. I am on a day-to-day sanity preservation course and beyond that, I just could care less. … this seems unhealthy as most people rely on goals to get forward momentum. So I’m working on just finding out what makes me happy right now. I’m hoping it is something that doesn’t involve making lunches, trekking to and from from kid therapy, or folding my husband’s socks.

Go figure. I want my life to be more than my family’s clean clothes.

I used to work. I used to have ambition … a little. Truthfully, i’m just a people pleaser who likes to see where life takes me. I don’t expect that to change. I like being low key, mellow, roll with the punches person. But lately i’m finding my feathers are ruffled far too often, and by smaller and smaller things. I do not wish to be that person.

I’m also finishing up a round of meetings at a parent support group for parents with special needs kids. This label, “Special Needs” is something I’ve always had trouble fitting into. My kid does not have autism. He’s not on a spectrum. We don’t have medical professionals on speed dial. He does not have a day nurse. This term “special needs” is kind of stifling for those of us stuck in the grey areas of challenging kids. I would never want to compare my frustrations and hardships with someone who has to take care of a severely limited autistic kid. I don’t feel like I’m in the same realm as what those patient, strong, exhausted parents must have to go through.

But it isn’t easy, either. The frustration of getting a school to put together an effective IEP for your kid. The annoyance at having to babysit the “team”. The sheer emotional magnitude of having to even realize this stuff. Worrying constantly that his behavior will not only embarrass and ostracize him from peers, but myself as well.

The list goes on and on.

This group has been really a breath of fresh air. Most of the parents have kids with sensory issues. Only a few have kids on the spectrum. We get to hear that other people have to deal with the pressures of this kind of parenting while still managing not to divorce your spouse! The pressure of raising a kid with extra requirements in an environment that is not necessarily always willing to understand or even believe it’s a necessity. The basic need to find a group of people who understand your own chaos and insanity is a relief. They know this planet of constantly balancing needs and requirements with wants and wishes.

Singularly we are always dealing with our out-of-the-box kids who stand out in a classroom or play group because they are different. Always hearing how something extra or special needs to be figured out because no one else in the room is similar makes you start to believe you’re on an island. It’s easy to forget there are others on islands. It’s a relief to send up that smoke signal to see that your neighbor is either a-just as crazy as you are, or b-completely ‘gets’ that you need to know you aren’t alone.

So yea, my tracking and exercise have fallen by the wayside a little, but sometimes the bigger picture takes over. I’m ok with this for now. I’m ok being weak and needing some help. I’m ok with finding other success for now outside my tracking sheet and weight chart.

MULK

Published March 12, 2015 by sarcasmica

Yesterday I was primed and hopeful to weigh in at Weight Watchers. I had the most active week to date. I had been tracking like a mo-fo. (daily for three weeks in a row!) I was RED-AY.

I step on the miniature livestock scale and boom. I get the whispered, crinkle-nosed “You’re up a little this week.”

I had prepared myself for this possibility. We had 2 salty dinners in a row and I was feeling a little *expanded* from the salt. I was still feeling really proud of all the activity I had done and just took it with a grain of salt ….. ehh? See what I did there? nyuck nyuck nyuck.

So my spirits were high leaving the meeting. Not as high as if I had lost a pound, but happy nonetheless. I went along with my business of the day.

After I picked up my son with the 4 year old in tow, she had a prized little sister moment. We were walking to the van and my son was chattering along happily about his day (a feat in and of itself) when he turns, turns back and says softly, “(my crush) is walking behind us, mom!”.

He hasn’t learned not to utter such phrases around his little sister. Instinctively, she grabbed onto this and wouldn’t shut up.

“G loves (her)”.
“SHUT UP!”
“G want’s to marry (her).”
“SHUT UUUUUUP! MOM! Make her stop!”
(mom laughing) “She can’t hear, honey, don’t worry about it.”
(trying desperately not to laugh)
“G wants to kiss (her)”
“knock it off !!! She’s going to hear you!”
My daughter was really feeling her moment at this point. The thrill of the possibility of embarrassing her brother. The fact mom was turning purple from trying not to fall down in hysterics. The raw POWER! It was going to her little head.

It ended with us getting to the van finally as my son was making threats on his sisters’ limbs if she didn’t shut up. I felt bad we were all snickering cackling in front of a family we didn’t know, but it was a rare moment of my son being quiet and embarrassed and my daughter puffed up with all the power. It was hard not to react.

Cut to this morning. I am taking my son to school while the daughter is at home on the iPad with the unconscious husband. Somehow we get on the subject of monsters or fighting and I made the comment, “Oh yea, kind of like me when I turn into a monster, huh?” … setting the trap… he responds, “Yea.” and SNAP! Caught just like that.

“Am I a monster mom?”
“No .. not really.”
“Am I nice more often or a monster more often?”
“Nice ….mostly.”
*gasp*
“I’m just kidding, mom! 🙂 …  I was kidding …. mom …? ”

So I did my best imitation of myself losing my shit. He is laughing and then says, “Yea, you’re like the MULK.”

“The Mulk?”
“Yea, like a mom Hulk”

How very flattering… not.

Then we had an informative conversation about how I turn into the Mulk. The common thread being a lack of movement or direction-following on his part. Coincidence? I think not.

I wonder how many calories I burn turning into the Mulk? I’ll have to pay closer attention to my steps … MULK SMASH!

(She’s missing a spare tire and a cup of coffee… and a scowl and double chin. Then the resemblance is uncanny!)

Bouncin’ Bertha

Published March 5, 2015 by sarcasmica

I had a great weigh in this week. I am down 3.4 pounds!

Two weeks ago I weighed in and had gained, again, for the third time in a row. The leader asked, “What are you going to do differently this week?” as a rule, tracking is the first thing everyone talks about. Naturally, I robotically chanted, “Track.” to which she asked for an actual amount of time I would commit to it. Panicked, I said “2 days.”

The following week I managed to track every. single. day.

Boom!

Take that, leader lady!

Except my daughter woke up that Wednesday throwing up. I had to miss my moment meeting.

Instead of showing off – admittedly a pathetic reality – and then being able to just go back to not tracking, I had to continue through the next week and track.

I did it!

I tracked every day for two weeks, not just the two days I originally committed to. As a result, I lost…. finally.

So now i’m really trying to get in my steps on my fitbit. I’m trying to be more active. Last night I had dinner with a friend and afterwards we walked! What a novel idea. We also got a small squirt of terrible froyo, but we walked!

Today I took my daughter to a trampoline center. I have been fearful of these things and always imagined kids with casts jumping about knocking each other down with zero supervision. Like a mall play area on springs. She’s big enough now to hit back, so I figured it was safe.

Oh. My. Gosh did we have a blast! There weren’t too many kids, and there were plenty of separate areas so we didn’t feel crammed. After about 20 minutes of watching other normal sized parents bouncing with their kids, I ventured slowly onto an empty square and gently began to bounce.

Every Funniest Home Video with people tearing through and breaking a trampoline ran on a reel through my mind. I tentatively gave it a little push to see how far the springs let it stretch. I was convinced an employee was going to come over with a lit sign saying “Sorry ma’am, you obviously exceed our weight limit. Please vacate the trampoline area without harming the children with your tusks.”

My daughter was loving this.

Once I noticed the bounces were registering on my fitbit, all bets were off. I was suddenly 12 years old at my uncle’s house on his trampoline again.

My daughter has been having trouble in gymnastics with her “seat drop”. Instead of bounce, sit, stand she just sort of bounce sit sitsitsit struggle ups. So she practiced and then I showed her, and I actually did it. I did a seat drop, y’all! The most non-genteel, megatron, ungraceful seat drop, but a completed one, nonetheless.

Then I got even more brave and did a knee drop. My back didn’t think it was all that cute. My daughter was enjoying the launching my ass dropping was doing for her on my same square. We had a great time, and it counted as a work out 🙂 Bonus!

As added fun, when she was telling grandma later about our adventure she said, “Mom went on it too! The springs went SOOOOOOO far down !! ”

Hopefully I don’t get a bill in the mail for a repaired trampoline patch!

The Old Watcher of the Weight

Published February 25, 2015 by sarcasmica

Yup, that’s me. I’ve been going to meetings since last October. Four months. Know what i’ve managed to lose?

ten pounds.

That’s it.

Actually, i’ve lost nearly 15, but i’ve been slowly adding pounds for the last three weeks. I’ve been limping into my meetings knowing full well that I haven’t tracked, monitored, activitied, or otherwise. The meetings were the jist of my effort.

Last week my leader asked, “So what are you going to commit to do this week?”  “Track.” “For how many days?” – damn pushy leaders always wanting an actual goal! – “Two days.”   “Ok, that’s a great start.”

I tracked for seven! From zero to seven! Now, about three weeks ago I got a bug up my butt to exercise. I dusted off a DVD a fellow WW-er let me have and did a “cardio dance” portion. Feeling like I needed a real kick in the butt, I invited (sorta) my neighbor to go for a walk with myself and my four year old, her bike, and my mini mutt.

The next day my back went out. Like, out.

I missed that week’s meeting. After about four days, I was well into the kids’ mid-winter break. I had my fitbit on and doing nothing more than collecting data to show me how little I do in a day. I was determined to get some kind of walking in, so I took the kids to the zoo. … along with the population of Seattle, it seemed.

Still, I tracked.

Over the weekend, I went out for a de-stressing dinner with my husband and worked out some of our recent issues. This, of course, involved alcohol.

Still, I tracked.

My son came down with a fever and chills Sunday evening. He made it that much more exciting by throwing in some night terrors and paranoia. He got to stay home from school.

Still, I tracked.

I felt zero motivation to lift nothing but my finger to recline my sofa, let alone my leg to lift a foot for 3K more steps.

I still tracked.

Next my daughter’s croupy cough came back and we all got to deal with the magic of waking up every single night to listen to the barking seal performance. I had the added bonus of administering a tiny  bit of medicine in a clear cup through half open eyes in the middle of the night in a dark room for six nights.

I still tracked.

As of last night everyone’s fever had broken, coughing had diminished (after a trip to the doc for the magic potion) and I was counting the hours until school this morning. (Wed mornings are my WW meetings, btw) I was looking forward to some me time. Solo time. Brain cell recuperation.

But my four year old had other plans. Everyone woke up fine. I gave the cough medicine. Then my daughter announces, “My stomach huuuuuuuurts”

“Here, have a little something to eat and drink to settle it. You had medicine, so you should not have an empty stomach.”

“ok.”

10 minutes later – URP – trashcan barf.

After ushering my whining “Now MY stomach hurts, mom” 8 year old off to school and my husband off to work, I stand on the scale to see that I have lost at least a couple pounds since my weigh in last week.

Figures.

I try to bribe my daughter to go with me to my quick meeting. These people have watched me break into tears, sit silently, wearing my discord with myself on my face. I make a pact with the leader and actually follow through, and now I have to miss the meeting after seeing I actually managed a loss after going above and beyond what I agreed to.

sonofabitch

I do one thing for myself on a weekly basis. I do not get manicures, I rarely get pedicures, I do not zumba or crossfit. I do not gym or cycle or paint or crochet. I do not scrapbook or wine or jog. I simply go to meetings where people talk about lifelong struggles and the tiny, miniscule, itty bitty measures that work on a day to day basis to get through trying to make a healthy choice each and every time they are near food. This is my me time. I have to miss out to play nurse for the idontknowhowmanynow days in a row all to the soundtrack of Nickelodeon in the background and the whiny, “Don’t you want to play with me?” groans from a person who may or may not projectile vomit at any moment.

Sometimes I just want to walk out the front door and keep on going.

I’d settle for being able to send my children away at a minimum of three days a week for 2.5hrs per day.

Skittles and Kleenex

Published February 4, 2015 by sarcasmica

Today’s meeting went something like this:

Leader to our morning group of about 35 people: “So what prevented you from reaching your goals this week?”

Me: “Skittles.”

chuckles

Leader: “So you had a goal to make it through the Superbowl …”

Me:  tearing up … trying not to let it out of my eyeballs … trying to get control of my emotions…”I haven’t had a goal, really..”

crying ensues. In front of a room full of stranger-ish people.

Leader tilts her head sympathetically: “So how can you change that?”

Me …. still trying to gain control while feeling embarrassed and emotional (I do not do public displays of emotion well) “I have no idea.”

I’m not upset I gained weight. (2.8lbs!) The number is simply a reflection of the effort I put in this past week … which was nill. THAT is my problem. I can’t seem to get the oomph back. I can’t seem to care at the moment. I’m letting all the other shit get in my way. I’ve been sick. My son’s recent diagnosis is really getting to me and overwhelming me. It’s hard not to feel responsible for his ADHD. I let him have too much screen time, I didn’t get him active enough, I didn’t … i dind’t … i failed.. i should’ve done more … i  coulda shoulda woulda.

I’m letting all of my brain noise get in the way of what I originally promised myself. That I was doing this for myself. I do not want to end up like my father. My father lived his life from his couch. Literally. He wore a giant crater in one side of it. He had a QUADRUPLE BYPASS that lasted five years until he finally succumbed to congestive heart failure because he didn’t care.

I don’t want diabetes. I don’t want open heart surgery. I don’t want to be sick.

But at the same time, my urges and impulses and habits and feelings regarding activity and food haven’t changed. That’s what takes the work and the dedication. That is what ultimately changes my life for myself.

But to do those things without motivation to do them is impossible.

Being positive is not my forte. Positivity isn’t funny. You don’t get the laugh from pointing out the rainbow. Yes, positive people are happy and fun and great to be around, but do they make you laugh? No. It’s more fun to point out the duldrum we have in common. The  crappy shit that happens when you least expect it. Laughing together about it makes it normal and acceptable and just feels good.

I’m working on it, though. I am. It’s just a frigging neverending process. It’s taking forever, seemingly.

On the upside of this week:

Superbowl Sunday: We had a spread of all kinds of food from chips and dip to skittles. I normally don’t have a sweet tooth, but it seemed appropriate since we are (somewhat new) Seahawks fans – a must when living in Washington.

I cut up cucumber and carrots so I would have a guilt-free alternative, and you know what? I enjoyed it. I wanted the veggies. I didn’t have many chips at all. I DID, however, have handfuls of skittles and M&Ms.

We had pizza for lunch (twice this week) and hot dogs for dinner that day, but I didn’t have the junk we had for the sides. I did make strides, small as they may be.

Trying to change habits you’ve had for 38 years is not easy. I have been sick, and our lives are chaotic…. (but who’s aren’t, i know) i’m trying to cut myself some slack and just move on, but i’m afraid today might just be a pity party day.

This week the assignment is to find ‘fun’ things you enjoy doing that can be considered activities. Something not involving sitting, I assume. I’m still working on what that might be for myself.

Dear Stomach

Published January 14, 2015 by sarcasmica

Dear Stomach,

I’m so sorry I subjected you to McDonald’s tonight. I completely understand that I overstepped the boundaries. I cannot lessen my resistance over the last few months to the poisonous “meat” and supposed “potatoes” fried in yesteryear’s oil just to then turn around and pour that “food” down my gullet and expect you know what to do with it.

I took for granted the years and decades you dutifully processed this substance without question.

I will no longer surprise you with a Big Mac without warning or working up to such a feat. It was unfair and I totally deserve the rumbling trouble that is sure to come my way after my spontaneous lapse in judgement.

Next time i’ll pull over and gnaw on the van tire instead of driving through the Happy Meal factory.

Yours Truly,

Gullet Operator

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