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.

Visions of Sugar Plums

My daughter wants to be a baker when she grows up. This has been her ambition for several months now. After reading Fancy Nancy and the Delectable Cupcakes at bedtime a few nights ago, her and I talked.

"Mama? What's it called, what I want to be? Not a cook..."

"A baker."

"Yeah, that's it. I wanna be a baker and make cakes and cupcakes, like Fancy Nancy did. But I'd make chocolate."

"Chocolate is good. Is that your favorite flavor?" I asked.

"Yes. But Mama? When I'm a baker, I might need some help. I'm not very big and I can't reach the big bowls and I can't do the oven. Will you be a baker with me? I might get lonely, too, doing it all by myself in the kitchen. And I will need your help. I don't know all the ingredients. I know butter and sugar and chocolate chips and vanilla and raw eggs. You're my best friend, so will you be a baker with me?"

"Of course. I'll be a baker with you," I tell her.

The odds are, Alice will have many career goals before she gets to college. Even then, she's likely to change majors and down the road, possibly change careers all together. That's entirely okay. I will support her dreams.

For now, her dreams are literally about cakes. The other night, having sleeping troubles in her own bed, Alice found herself in my bed, dreaming. I was awaken to the sound of her halfway crying, calling out, and very distraught.

"NO MAMA! I wanted the icing on it! Mama, NOOOO!"

I'm not sure about the criminal act I was committing. Seriously, how dare I take the icing off! I mean, everything is better with icing. What I do know is Alice eats, sleeps, and breaths sweets. All children do, I suppose. My girl seems to take it to an extreme. Sweets are constantly in the forefront of her mind. She could stare at the pastry counter in Whole Foods for hours admiring the pretty cakes, tarts, and petit fours, asking for clarification about the names of items. She looks through my cake cookbook with the same sparkle in her eye as when she's reading Sleeping Beauty or Rapunzel. If 20 years from now she's pursuing a career as a pastry chef, I will proudly say I knew it all along. Then again, a few months ago, part of me thought she was destined to be a UPS driver. So there's that.