Confessions and Realizations

I have been toying with the idea of re-starting this blog for a while now. You see, I've gained it all back. Every. Little. Bit.
It's utterly and completely humiliating to know that I was on the right track and I couldn't keep at it. My husband tells me it's not my fault. For the past year or more I've suffered through an injury. I've had foot pain in my right foot for years and years now and it finally got to the point where I was unable to go about my daily tasks without ending in excruciating pain. So I after much reluctance I hauled myself to the doctor.
 My primary care doctor thought it was an untreated stress fracture (because what else could someone my size have?) so he ordered x-rays and sent me to an orthopedist. More x-rays and an MRI. Do you know how noisy and scary an MRI is? Turns out not broken and no major sprains or deformaties. He thinks perhaps it's tendonitis and sends me to physical therapy to strengthen the foot and ankle. That actually winds up making it worse so he sends me to an ankle specialist 2 hours away. He does yet more x-rays and another more extensive MRI. Nothing. Again. He agrees with ortho-guy that there is some tendonitis and perhaps some small fracture that's not showing up on x-ray so I get what my husband affectionately refers to as 'the kickball boot'. It's a walking cast that I get the joy of wearing around for 6 weeks. Oh, and this was during the spring and summer and I am on our local school board. So there are about 400 some kids in the area whose graduation pictures will be forever marred by my fat ass in a kickball boot on the stage handing them there diplomas. Not to mention all the times I hauled that stupid thing around to my daughters track meets all across the state. So yeah, good times. So, the boot comes off and still no improvement. In fact, it seems to be more swollen and tender than it was before. What the hell?!?! He then recommends nerve testing and starts throwing around works like 'Lupus' and 'MS' and 'ALS'.
At this point I'm terrified. I'm 34 (at the time) years old, I've got two kids and a husband who works away 6 months out of the year. This cannot be happening.
It takes me about 2 months to get in to see one of the best neurologists in the state.Meanwhile my leg had started to weaken and I was having some lower back pain which I had never had before. I had decided that I was not playing around. The neurologist, who by the way looks nothing like Derrick Sheppard but is in fact way nicer, keeps me in his office for about an hour asking me all kinds of crazy questions and wanting to know can I lift my leg this way - I can't. Can I lift my leg that way - I can. Can I walk on my toes? How about my heels? Not really on either count. Seems like something I really ought to be able to do. Can I bend over? Yes. Backwards? No. He wants to know have my hands ever gone numb. Yes. Recently? Yes.
Then he decides that Nerve Conductivity Testing is, in fact, in order. No problem, I think. Boy, was I wrong. Holy shit. Let me just say that if anyone ever wants to stick needles into your body and send electrical currents to certain points of your body all while you bend your leg this way and that - it's generally not going to end well for you. Neuro-guy informs me that we are going to do this that very day (another hour - I have never had a doctor who had basically cleared there afternoon for me and I wasn't sure if that was good or bad) The whole process did suck, as promised. But it did show that there was significant nerve damage coming from my spine, running down my leg, whereby this particular nerve (not the sciatica before anyone says that) splits behind the knee and running to both sides of my foot. So, OK that explains that. And Neuro-guy sends me to an associate, a neurosurgeon, to determine if I need surgery for said nerve problem.
I don't, thank god.
They send me to yet another associate (that's six different doctors for anyone keeping count) who is a pain management guy. I was worried before my appointment that this was going to be one of those 'pain clinics' that is basically just a pill mill. Could not have been further from the truth. This pain guy prescribes no narcotics. He is adamant about only accepting patients who are willing to do in-office injections and physical therapy. He even recommends acupuncture and yoga. My kind of doctor. I proceed to go through 3 different rounds of steroid injections in my spine. It helps a bit. Then I begin physical therapy. Again.
But this time it's different. Pain guy wants me to focus on my back (the root of the problem - so to speak) and has me doing all kinds of yoga-like stretches along with pool therapy. Now, I do feel that it is perverse to ask an overweight white woman to put on a bathing suit in the middle of winter, but at this point I was ready to try anything. And shock of shocks it seems to have worked. I have been released from PT for two weeks now and had my follow up with pain guy. He is pleased with improvement and has written my a prescription for an anti-seizure medication that works in my case by relaxing the coatings around my nerves thereby lowering the inflammation. It is also working. I could not be more pleased considering the fact that my next option was a surgical spinal stimulator implant that is kind of like a pace maker for your spine. It works by running tiny electrical currents up and down a particular nerve to scramble the pain signals it sends to your brain.
So I can totally see where my husband is coming from when he says that my recent weight gain is not my fault. But I know the truth. It is totally my fault. Yes, I was laid up and unable to exercise for the better part of 18 months. No, I did not have to eat everything in sight. And boy did I? The less anyone was able to tell me what was wrong with me the more I ate. And the more they tossed around scary diagnoses that couldn't possibly have anything to do with me the more I ate. And the bigger I got the more I ate. And on and on and on.
But that is not even the worst part.
I've known for a while now that my son has been sneaking food. We're talking cookies and candy and granola bars and all the stuff he shouldn't have.
He's overweight. He knows it. I know it. His pediatrition is more than aware. The only person who doesn't seem to be aware is my husband, but that's a whole other issue. I mean, the kid is 5'6" and 175lbs. He'll be twelve at the end of the month. Just today we had to go buy him new shorts because the only ones he had that fit him were stretchy-type gym shorts. And I get it, kids grow. I want him to grow - taller. He's clearly already big enough. And he knows he's a big kid and it bothers him. Quite a lot, actually.
So we've joined a gym. Now that I am capable of working out again I realized just how much I had missed it. Sure it sucks balls and it hurts and I leave the gym sweating and crying and smiling all at the same time. But The Boy seems to love it. He's in a Kids Fit Class which is kind of like a Zumba meets soccer drills meets yoga situation for kids. He also has fallen in love with the elliptical machine. All to the good, I think.
So imagine my surprise when I set down on the couch with my box of Trader Joe's Gluten Free Oreo-thingys was half way gone. What the hell! Now, I know it wasn't The Girl because she doesn't like them. And I know it wasn't The Husband because he's gone. And I know it wasn't me because I just opened the box and carefully had 3 cookies. So it must be The Boy.
Why would he do this, I wonder. He knows better. We've talked about nutrition. The trainer at the gym has talked about nutrition. We've even talked about how it's perfectly OK to have a few cookies or a piece of candy as a treat as long as everything else you've eaten has been on track. I don't want him to ever think he has to be on ' A Diet'. I want him to think in terms of what he can eat rather than what he can't. But 14 cookies is certainly not on the Eat This list. I mean anybody knows that. He's not some mindless toddler just cramming anything he can get his hands on into his mouth. He knows this! We've been over this! Again, what the hell!
And then it hits me. I know that eating things I should not eat is what got me here in the first place and yet I did it anyway. I know that I can almost never stop at just one cookie and yet I buy them anyway. I knew that since I was unable to exercise my eating habits were going to be even more important. And yet? I ate all the food anyway.
Duh!
He is my son afterall. We say all the time, "Do as I say, not as I do." But every grown-up in America knows just what a cop out that is. It doesn't sound credible even to us. So how can we expect it to sound credible to our kids?
So there you have it. I have not only made myself fat. Again. I have made my son fat as well. I'd love to tell you that I have some magic plan of just how exactly I intend to remedy it but the truth is I haven't a clue. I know that we will be eating better and getting to the gym more as a family. But those are just words. Action will tell.
I guess I have no other excuses now. I've really done it this time.

Back to School and I'm the Fool

My babies went back to school yesterday and yes, it is ridiculously early. I would so much rather them go to school all through May and then not go back until the end of August. Like so many other things, it would be so much better if I ran the world. So I am sad that the summer, at least for this family, is officially over. On the other hand, I will be glad to get back on some sort of schedule. My healthy lifestyle has gone woefully off course this summer and it would seem that while my kids pack up their little pencils and crayons, I will be packing up my protein bars and free weights.
Seems like there are a few lessons I need to brush up on. Like, how to get motivated to workout every morning. No choice, no options, just routine. Oh, it's a weekday? Then it's a workout day. (Weekends are still optional/light days)
I also need to relearn how to order off of a menu. . .and enjoy it. I have admittedly eaten some stuff this summer that probably won't be gracing the pages of Clean Eating magazine. Yes, that food was delicious. And I know that they strategically place such things on the menu, usually with big glossy pictures, just to lure you in. But I also know that the same restaurant that offers the delicious chicken Parmesan with all the ooey gooey melty cheesy goodness, also offers a really  fresh and tasty salad with crunchy greens, juicy tomatoes, fresh mushrooms, and other vegis, all topped by a really savory piece of lemon grilled salmon. I just forget about it because it's buried at the bottom of the menu. So I guess I'll be spending more time at the bottom of the menu.
Likewise, a lesson I have never learned, is how to dine out with friends without feeling like the weirdo dieter friend. My friends are amateur foodies in the sense that maybe we don't have our own food network show, but we can definitely compete in the food Olympics. So when we go to a restaurant and I order a salad or some version of grilled chicken for the umpteenth time, they notice. "Oh, she's being good," they coo. Not sure if they are trying to be supportive, but the effect is the opposite in fact. I wind up feeling conspicuous and judged.
I guess I have my work cut out for me. I guess, like most things, that I will just have to knuckle down and do it. I am much better at avoiding, but that is no longer an option. Now maybe my daughter can explain long division to me so I will have a better time of dividing the calories in a restaurant dish.

Fried Chicken Is Not Considered a Quality Source of Protein?

This is not secret as I think I have mentioned it before. I live in the South. Specifically, Kentucky. And unfortunately most (though certainly not all) of the things you think about when you think "South" are rooted in the truth.
Yes, we say things like "y'all" and "fixin' to". Yes, we love us some big ol' hair. You know, the higher the hair, the closer to Jesus. (by the way that's Jesus with a Y - 'Jay-sus') And besides, the bigger your hair is the smaller your butt looks. Trust us, we know. We still say things like "yes, ma'am" and "no, sir" and "please" and "thank you" and no one thinks you're being excessively polite - except Yankees. On the other hand Southerners have perfected the art of the fake polite. You see when a Southern woman dislikes you, you may never know it until it's too late. We'll slop sugar all over you and say things like "How's your momma been doin'?" or "those are just the cutest shoes!" These things are code for "I've got my eye on you, so don't be trying anything". But when you get the ol' "Well, bless your heart.", especially if it comes with a head tilt - It's too late. The best thing to do is politely excuse yourself and seek cover. That woman surely hates you.
That's not to say that all southern women are just a big ol' bunch of bitches, but we can certainly hold our own. No, in fact, you will never have a truer friend.  When your husband has to work away for a while don't be surprised if your yard just magically gets mowed. When your hound dog gets loose, don't worry. Someone will recognize the mutt and send him home. And if someone that you're even vaguely related to should have the misfortune of dying - expect a casserole promptly at dinner time. Which brings me to my point. Food.
Yes, when you thing Southern you think food. No one ever said, "Ummm, going up North to get me some of that good Northern food." That's ridiculous. The South is famous for it's food the world over and so much of our traditions are steeped in food and/or the preparation of it. You've got tailgating and crawfish boils, church suppers and fried chicken, homemade biscuits and sweet tea, bar-b-que and bourbon,iron skillets and julep cups, cornbread stuffing and Sunday at Mamaws. And Bob knows that there ain't nobody can cook like a Southern Mamaw.
My Mamaw Carolyn could whip up the fluffiest melt-in-your mouth biscuits. Ummmm. Biscuits just ain't been the same since she passed. And you cannot convince a Southern Mamaw that you've had enough to eat.
"No thanks, Mamaw. I believe I'm full."
"La, you didn't hardly eat enough to fill up a bird. Come on now and try some of this. This'll fill you up."
And it's your mamaw and you wouldn't dream of talking back to your mamaw. That's just sass.
So what do you do? How is a person supposed to lose weight when so much of our lives are tied up in food. It's easy for someone to say that you just need to focus on activies where food is not the main attraction. But that's just not the way of life around here. And it's not fair to me, or to my family and friends to exclude myself from situations where I know that I'll be tempted. I just need to have a little stronger will power. Make better choices. Realize that yes, I can have a piece of fried chicken, but only one, and no dessert. Or if I want dessert, then I will have just a bite, and no more. That's really what I'm after anyways. The taste. And wouldn't I rather have a 64 calorie beer when I tailgate than to have no beer at all?
So I guess what I'm saying is that life's all about compromises, y'all. You can have you a biscuit as long as you're fixin' to hit the gym afterwards. And certainly having your hair jacked to Jesus is no harm to nobody. And by all means have you a piece of that peach pie, but now don't you be eyeballin' that pecan pie. BTW a crawfish boil is, funnily enough, one southern tradition NOT steeped in fat and calories. It consists of boiling a big bunch of potatoes and corn and smoked sausage. Then boiling the crawfish (or shrimp if you prefer) in a bunch of spices. Then dump it all out on newspaper and enjoy. As long as you avoid too much of the sausage - Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Maybe Baby???

No, don't pass out. I said that I was not having any more children and I meant it. The two I have, the wonderful little weirdos, are quite enough - thank you very much. No, I was actually thinking of starting my own from-home business. BabyCakes Custom Cupcakes. Whadaya think?
Yes, I know cupcakes are not by any stretch of the imagination diet food. But I'm not on a diet, anyways. And as far as I'm concerned a cupcake free existance is not a life I'm willing to contemplate. Woman cannot live by lettuce alone! Believe me, I've tried.
Now, hear me out. I want to use all natural and organic ingredients and show that while cupcakes may never be called health food, they don't have to be toxic either. No one should feel guilty about eating a sweet every now and then. After all, kids aren't going to quite having birthday parties, graduations,and school parties. And unfortunately well-meaning friends of brides and new moms are not going to stop throwing showers. I do hate a shower, but that's another story. Suffice it to say that I am all for celebrating milestones, but I will buy you a much nicer gift if I don't have to guess the new babies name and drink flat punch from a paper cup. Just sayin'
So my new business would consist of custom cupcake orders. People could pick them up at my house, meet me in town, or I would even be willing to deliver them to local schools and/or businesses. I don't like to brag, but I can make a cupcake taste or look like just about anything.  I can make the cutest baby shower cupcakes that look like a big nursery full of sleeping babies - ironic, I know. I have versions for every major holiday. And if you have a favorite flavor, I can do that too. A particular favorite is mint julep. Another is root beer float. Just think of the possibilities.
And as for killing my weight loss goals. I don't think so. I'm one of those people that can't look at something the same way after I've worked with it. I once worked at Fazolli's Italian Restaraunt. Yum!, right. Well, it was my job to make the breadsticks. Their famous garlic butter breadsticks. I don't think I have to tell you that it didn't take me very long to become heartily sick of breadsticks. I still can't eat them.
That's not to say that I'm likely to forever swear off cupcakes. It's just that if I am going to spend all day making 3 dozen basketball cupcakes for a local team, I'm not going to be likely to nosh on them.
I'm still not sure. But after much consideration, I think I'm gonna go for it. It has very little investment, virtually no overhead, and it's something that I'm not only good at, but that I actually enjoy.
I'll offer more info as it comes. For now keep your eyes peeled for BabyCakes!

"Is this Russia? . . . This isn't Russia."

Let me start off by saying that it is snowing here in the hills and my kids are going on their fourth snow day after going back for one - that's right, one - day of school after winter break. It's snowing and I'm stuck in the house with two adorably sweet but bored and cranky kids. My husband is, of course, out of town.
As if all that weren't enough the cold is making me crave . . .dun dun dun . . . CARBS. Now, I'm not one of those crazy Adkins crazies who swear of all semblance of carbohydrates in favor of animal by-products. But I do try to take a sensible path of carb limitations. I enjoy whole grain breads and whole wheat pasta and I like fruit and sweet potatoes way to much to go cold-turkey. But, sadly, what I'm craving is Aunt Jemima's buttermilk pancakes and/or mashed potatoes. Maybe even a big hunl of pound cake. As if I didn't do enough carby damage over the holidays.
Now here comes the snow and I'm contemplating building a fire in the fireplace. Which of course leads to. . . hot cocoa. I guess it wouldn't be so bad had I actually chopped the wood and hauled it up the hill from the woodpile. But I think we all know that didn't happen.
My question is this. Why does the cold weather lead to natural carb cravings. Is it a comfort food thing that makes us think of when we were kids and would stare eagerly at the (considerable smaller that today's) TV just waiting for the "No school today in___" to flash across the screen. Or is it deeper than that? Are we all just cavemen at heart. Fattening up for the long winter ahead? Is this why all the Russian steriotypes focus on Borsht and Vodka? Surely no body freezes to death in Russia nowadays. Boredom, maybe. But hypothermia? OK, OK, I know I'm being culterally insensitve, but carbs are about to get me and I have to blame someone. And who can we as Americans blame if not the Russians?
I have firm resolve not to let it end badly. I mean, this snow is supposed to last for days. I can't hole up and hibernate - much as I may want to. So, I'm thinking, in the spirit of the end of the Berlin Wall, a compromise is in order. Perhaps a cup of hot cocoa in front of the fire would not be so terrible if I log a few extra miles on the treddy. Plus I have my Wii fit which I love, and my Walk Away the Pounds, and most exciting my new Valerie Bertinelli DVD which came by UPS today. (more on that - the DVD, not UPS - later) I'm having somewhat of a girl crush going on with Valerie right now.  Alright, so I'm firing up the DVD player right now. Hot cocoa, here I come. Pancakes, perhaps another day. Like after a marathon or something.