Not Fat or Sick or Nearly Dead

I'm about to disclose something that may change your perception of me forever. A week ago I bought a juicer. Please, please don't run away. It's still me. I love you, you love me...remember? I was desperate.

Remember the weight gain and the endless eating of Doritos? I needed to fix the problem drastically. I tried the normal approach, the calorie counting. For two weeks I kept track of my calories and nearly every evening I would bust my daily allowance. I was failing and there's no better way to reward myself than with more Doritos. And beer. Good beer. Relying on my good judgement wasn't working. Maybe I don't have good judgement? Maybe that's the root of the problem.

I needed drastic changes. If I couldn't be trusted to eat good food, maybe I could drink good food...and for the first time I'm not talking beer, wine, or vodka. Enter Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead. Now, I know I'm neither fat, sick, nor nearly dead...at least I hope not. Though I suppose I could find myself nearly dead in a car accident this afternoon or from the sting of a colony of bees on my next trip to the park, but that's neither here nor there. At the present I am not nearly dead. I would like to be healthier. I would like to crave fruits and vegetables instead of juicy cheesteaks and ramen noodles. So, with the encouragement of a close friend I have been juicing for a week now. And it's been good.

For a week I have not eaten breakfast or lunch, I have drank it. I'm buying produce I have never touched before, like Swiss chard. I was the freak at the zoo picnic table drinking green juice for lunch while everyone else ate like normal human beings. Surprisingly, I like the green juice. I think it actually tastes good. I've also been making juice for Hatta to take to work, at his request. A co-worker said it best when she compared his lunch to pond water.

Brace yourself for the best part...next week I'm starting a ten day juice fast. Ten days with no food to chew, no coffee to drink and no alcohol to celebrate with at the end of a stressful day. Ten whole days of juice, water, and herbal tea. Stay tuned to hear how happy I am, how much energy I have, and about all the pounds I've shed. But even more important stay tuned to days 1-3 when I'm irritable and hurting while detoxing from my coffee addiction, when I rip some unsuspecting person's face off for daring to speak when I'm starving and bitter for agreeing to fast. It ought to be a good time had by all. I imagine by the end of day ten, I'll be willing to lick the goldfish crumbs off Alice's face, shit I imagine I'll lick them off the floor.

March Mad-ness

Every year it's the same. Every year, it's only March Madness. I'm so very sick of it.

Let me back up a bit. When we were much more kids than adults, my dear husband and his boys started a tradition. A very bad tradition, in my opinion. They decided, being the avid sport's fans they were, to go out to the bar full time for the NCAA basketball tournament. They'd take a few days off work from their entry level jobs and party all day and night, like the kids they were. Fast forward to now when they are much more adults than kids and the tradition is still going strong. March Madness makes me a single mom.

Now, I'm the first to agree, husbands and wives need time apart. We need our space. We need our own hobbies and interests. We need friends other than each other. I really do agree with all this. But...March Madness and everything it brings makes my blood boil. Year after year, this tradition has become too big. I heard talk from one of the wives of a birth being missed if the baby should happen to come during March Madness. Last year a wife had to rearrange her annual girls weekend gateway because it was accidentally planned during the tournament. I will have two extra house guests until Saturday. Which means I will have three drunk boys coming home several nights in a row waking me and Alice up. Seriously friends, don't get the wrong impression, I like a good party just as much as the next guy. When this tradition was started, us girlfriends took part. We all had little responsibility and it was a great excuse to let loose. Fast forward ten years, we all have huge responsibilities and don't have the luxury to party like we used to. And yet, the boys still do. Maybe they do a few less shots than they use to, but they still demand the March Madness freedom from work and home.

Last year I was fortunate enough to get away for a night of it. My sister had Alice for a sleepover and I got out of town and stayed with a friend. This year I am not so fortunate. With Ellie's well being depending upon me, I can not leave. I'm forced to witness the men become boys. I think I should start planning now for next year. I'm going on a trip. Somewhere great, a spa retreat!

Beer or Food

All of my life I've been skinny. Now, I know with that one statement some of you are hating me. I know some of you have struggled all your life with weight. Some of you have spent many years trying to love your body, and really, I'm no different. Let me fill you in on a secret, in case you didn't know, women of all sizes can be insecure about their bodies. But I digress, this story isn't about loving and appreciating your body. This story is about me and my body. I'm so selfish, jeesh. Me me me. You'd think this was my blog or something. Oh right.

So where was I, ah yes, all my life I've been skinny. Not just thin, but skinny. Skin and bones, some muscle very little fat. I remember regularly being the brunt of an older horse showing friend's joke. "Are those your legs or are you riding a chicken?" he would tease. My grandmother in-law would criticize me constantly for being skinny, accusing me of eating Iike a bird, and trying to force food on me. I'll have you know, I eat. This has never been an issue, which I will get to later. I was constantly asked in a mocking way, when will it all catch up with me, when will my metabolism slow down. My friends, I have an answer for you. And sadly, the answer is...drumroll please...now. More accurately, February 27th, 2013.

Up until now, I really could eat what I wanted. I remember when I was in middle school, nearly every day for months and months I would get off the school bus and walk with my friend to his dad's shop where I would proceed to eat a snickers bar and drink a glass bottle Pepsi. I'm not talking a mini snickers or a fun size. I'm talking an entire full size candy bar...almost every day. When I was teaching, I would eat three chocolate chip cookies and a pint of milk every night. Not every once in awhile, not every other night, but every freakin night. "I want some milk and cookies," Hatta would tease me, doing his very best Baby Girl from the Bernie Mac show impersonation. It was a running joke. I'm the kind of girl who can eat four glazed doughnuts in the time an average person eats one. One of the best days ever was when I discovered Swiss Cake rolls. Mmm, so good. Suffice it to say, I like food. Actually, I love food. Some days nothing is better than a carb loaded lunch of ramen noodles on a good crispy bread roll. I have to show restraint in the grocery store to not buy the family size box of frozen Jimmy Dean sausage biscuits. And I only show restraint because Hatta would kill me, apparently they are really bad for you. So tasty.

Which brings me to today, the day after I realized my metabolism is shot, I'm getting older, and can no longer eat whatever I want. Thirty two years was a good run. I enjoyed every single soft serve sundae I ate...did I mention during the summer in high school I worked at a ice cream parlor and ate a vanilla soft serve sundae with peanuts, hot fudge, whip cream, and five cherries just about every day I worked? I worked six days a week. Right, a very good run. But yesterday, going through my closet I discovered the vast majority of my pants no longer fit. I guess a winter wardrobe of yoga pants and leggings allowed me to live in denial. I knew I had gained a few pounds, I had no idea it had gotten this out of hand. Frankly, I was disgusted with myself.

With summer coming and all the exposed skin it brings with it, I knew the time for action was now. So I downloaded an app. Yup, a calorie counting app. It seems to me I did the same thing about this time last year. And I was in the best shape I'd been in since before Alice at the end of last summer, so this just has to work. The magic is obviously in the app! Today is day one of "magic app" and I'm a tiny bit concerned. I've recorded breakfast, snack, and lunch and according to the powers that be I have 645 calories left for today. How can I possibly have another snack and eat dinner, all the while allowing for enough calories in my budget for a post-bedtime beer? The beer in my fridge is 249 calories. I'm scared, people. Am I going to start to drinking Michelob Ultra (that is the beer they advertise as under 100 calories, right?) I hear about people giving up alcohol while they are on a diet, I always thought it was a myth. But I see why, it comes down to your priorities. Do you eat all three meals and two snacks or do you forgo food for good beer? What good does it do to look hot lounging poolside in your skimpy bikini if you can't even enjoy a cocktail while doing it? (Obviously, I don't lounge poolside very often, I have a needy child who insists I play mermaids or dive for toys. And I don't own a skimpy bikini, but it proves my point just the same.) I enjoy food and I enjoy good beer. And wine. And cocktails. Don't worry, I'm no more addicted to alcohol than I am food. Which brings me back to tonight's dilemma, eat a good dinner or drink a good beer? I'll let you know how it turns out. Either way, I'm sure it's gonna suck. Getting old blows.

Hell Weekend Do-Over

I'm a glutton for punishment. It's the only logical explanation. You recall hell weekend, right? I've agreed to a do-over.

Shaking my head in disbelief.

Tomorrow morning we will load beach chairs and sand toys, suitcases and duffle bags into my new car (yup, I finally got the new car. Another post, another day.) I will drive us nearly three hours to attempt to have a relaxing few days.

I used to be a faithful Oprah viewer and I can still hear her, "When you know better, you do better." I'm not sure if this exactly falls under that quote, but I know better than to expect the next few days to be a breeze. In order to fully embrace realism, I give to you my expectations for the next few days.

• I expect Alice to force herself to stay awake on the ride to the beach. We will leave home at nap time and do everything under the sun to provide optimal sleeping conditions. She still will not sleep. Hatta and I will threaten severe punishment if she doesn't allow her body to fall asleep. No nap will be taken by Alice. She will start our "vacation" tired and irritable. Hatta and I will start our "vacation" stressed and on edge.
• Alice will not eat for two and a half days. Food will be prepared for her that isn't identical in color, texture, and consistency to the foods I prepare for her at home. Family members will beg Alice to eat, convincing her that she is running the show and calling the shots. I will spend double the days when we return home reminding Alice that she is in fact NOT in charge.
• Sleep will be lost. Alice will stay up too late and wake up too early. Unfortunately, the same will be true for Hatta and I. Sleep deprived Alice will become grumpier and bossier as the days pass. I will spend an equal number of days trying to help her catch up on sleep when we return home.

Oh friends, I think I'm having my very own Aha! moment right this second. Pertaining to this trip, I think I fully understand the quote. I know better than to expect this trip to go smoothly, so I won't. I will not stress about it. I know how it's going to shake down, why do I get upset when it goes exactly how I predicted?

So let me try again, now that I'm all enlightened and shit. My expectations for the next few days...

• I will enjoy the long drive in my new car. I will caress the new leather and learn the feel of all the buttons. I will provide Alice with hours of video to watch in hopes of not hearing a peep out of her.
• I will eat well. Screw everyone else!
• I will sunbath on the beach and allow everyone else to ensure Alice's safety.
• I will drink good beer and wine. No Coors light and Ménage a Trois Red for me.
• I will drink good beer and wine often.
• I will drink a lot of good beer and wine.

Wish me luck!

I'm Not Judging, Really I'm Not

Dearest Mom of the 7 year old boy I nearly brawled with at the pool,

I want to take a moment and let you know your son was dropping it like it's hot, the f-bomb that it. I'm sure you're not aware of it, being the awesome mom you are. Obviosly, he didn't learn it at home since you would never use such profanity in front of him, rather from that pricey private school you send him to. I thought you ought to know what your money is buying you. For the reasonable price of 20K a year, your son has learned to curse like a sailor in front of 3 year olds. I've heard other mom's in your position use soap or hot sauce in the mouth to fix such problems.

I saw your dear, sweet boy run to you to tattle on me after I embarrassed him in front of all his friends. I'd like to express my apologies. Normally I'm not the type to meddle in other's parenting, but since you were preoccupied with your fourth cocktail of the morning, I thought I'd do you a favor and shut your kid up. I don't want my little girl exposed to such vulgarity at such a young age, and, really, when she learns it I'd like it to be from me.

I was going to confront you in person regarding this matter. But, just as I was about to, your little angel slipped from your sunscreen covered hand and cannonballed into the pool. You seemed to have your hands full trying to order him out of the pool, threatening time out. When you finally waded into the pool to fetch your delinquent, I figured it was best just to let you handle the matter you were currently dealing with. No need to overwhelm you before your fifth drink.

Again, my sincerest apologies,

Nelly

P.S.

I'm not judging you. If your child was my son, I'd likely be drunk before noon, too.




***I'm not condoning hot sauce or soap as behavior modification. But, hey, soap seemed to work for Ralphie's mom. I'm also not endorsing drinking before noon. Even though Mimosas are packed full of vitamin C. On second thought, maybe soap and pre-noon binging should be a case by case decision.

My Inner Merrymaker

I wanted to write something really thought provoking today, a real pot stirrer. Or maybe it would have been a hysterical take on some random aspect of raising my daughter.

But, sad to say, I just can't. Not today.

It would be wonderful if I had a killer explanation for you, but I don't. It's simple really.

I'm tired and hung over. Yup. A classic case of not enough water, a really good band, and too many beers. As a result, my brain is not thinking much. I do believe it's pissed off at me for the night I had.

I'm not in this predicament often. Taking care of the needs of Alice while I'm suffering from this unbearable affliction is lousy enough to keep me in check 98% of the time. However, every once in awhile something happens. Something inside me says, "Lighten up control freak. Enjoy yourself. Go ahead. You can do it. Just have one more drink. You'll be fine. Do it! Do it! Have fun!"

Last night, with Alice away at a sleepover with my sister, I succumbed to the peer pressure of my inner merrymaker and enjoyed myself with the help of two very good friends, Mister Dogfish Head and Sir Lagunitas. Thanks, guys, I had an awesome time last night. Your hospitality was exceptional. And the band, ALO, was phenomenal as well.