The Importance of Halves

Cue my theme song.  Last night was weight-in.  As usual Steven pulled out the scale and I took my place.  I lost...wait for it...three and a half pounds!  That's right, 1, 2, 3, point 5!  And that half is extrememly important to me.  It means that I have lost a total of 28.5 pounds.  What's the deal with the half?  Well, for one, it means I am only 1.5 pounds from 30 and that sounds so much better than 2.  A whole half a pound better.  It's a big deal. 

Halves are essential.  We need them.  The half full (or empty) glass is not near as important when it's running over or bone dry.  Halves make us feel better.  Epecially when talking about weight.  It's the perfect portion.  Think of it this way.  If I had said that I gained some weight (I'm lightheaded from the thought right now) wouldn't it sound better if I told you it was a half a pound as opposed to a whole one?  Yep.  And saying I lost three and a half is better than three.  Halves are easy to justify, easy to conquer and easy on the ego.

We've all heard the saying, "don't do anything half-way."  Or something like that.  But isn't half-way better than none at all?  Now I'm not saying we should all turn into lazy people who only do enough to get by.  Well, unless that's your job description (it's in the fine print).  But the half should be more respected.  Finding half a million dollars is better than finding none.  And losing half is better than losing all.  Though at this point in time I wouldn't mind finding half of ten dollars.  But that's another entry.

All I'm saying is that I'm proud of my half pound, tacked onto the end of my three.  It was very important to share with you.  It adds to my acheievement.  And there is nothing wrong with that.  Even if it is one half at a time.

Bozo on a Bender

If you were to see me right now you would think to yourself that I look like one of the following things...

• a young girl who got into her mother's lipstick
• a 3 year old that does not know how to drink red Kool-Aid yet
• a drunk clown

Can you see it?  Do you have the visual?  No?  Let me spell it out.  I have a huge (and I mean it) ring of red around my mouth.  My lips are swollen and they itch.  Hideous right?  Yep. 

This started this past winter.  My lips would get chapped to the point of severe irritation and this was the result  A few days and nights of extrememly heavy Blistex application and it goes away.  But the in the meantime (the in between time, you go for yours and i'll go for...sorry--slipped into the rap from Can't Hardly Wait) it is so embarrasing.  You can tell people are trying not to look at it.  But how can they not?  I would!  You can't miss the glow of red that eminates from my face.  It's like a beacon begging your eyes to follow it as I talk.  sigh*

Since the weather has warmed up (Thank you, God!) this has pretty much stopped happening.  Only after the temperature dips and I subject myself to the elements does it show up again.   I've been good for a few weeks now.  My Blistex has stayed perfectly hidden in the drawer, not needed in the least.  Then last night I went to hockey with Steven.  After the games the guys all stand outside for a while in a circle.  There's a cooler in the middle.  And they stink.  But i've already written about that.  Anyway, last night was really chilly.  I had a coat on and the wind was a little punishing.  I should have known today would be this way.  I should have known that my mouth would turn on me. 

I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when I began to feel that familiar tingling in the lower half of my face.  By the time I went to lunch and bought some Carmex (they did not have Blistex) I was puffed up pretty good.  Note to self:  Carmex is not Blistex.  It does not work like Blistex.  Carmex sucks.  My lips have gotten worse!  Bigger, redder, badder than ever! 

I give up.  Steven went out and bought me a supply of the good stuff so I can start my treatments tonight.  In the meantime (the in-between time) I will have to settle for looking like Ronald Mcdonald's half-sister who may just appear on an episode of Intervention in the near future. 

  

A Thief in the Night...

Ok, we've been robbed.  While we slept someone came to our house and took what was ours.  Can you believe this?  It's infuriating.  How dare they take what doesn't belong to them.  Stupid rabbits.  Those are OUR flowers!

I know it sounds silly, to spout off about animals eating plants, but we all know my history with horticulture.  I finally--FINALLY--had a bit of a garden growing.  We'd planted some Gerber daisies and some petunias up around the mailbox.  They were so pretty.  Shades of pink and purple and a few white flowers, just hanging out, taking in the sun, soaking up some water like plants do.  One night we went to bed, thinking they were fine.  The next morning we woke up to find them accosted.  Eaten!  Dug up from the root!  Totured!  My only hope is that they went quickly. 

The Gerbers are still there though badly beaten.  See the problem is that once I saw that the majority of my work was lost, I kinda stopped caring so much.  I haven't watered them enough and I'm sure there is some rule about picking away the dead things.  Yeah, not so much.  The Gerbers are fighting hard.  They're tall and seem to be ready to hold on as long as possible.  You'd think this would make me want to do for them, give them care, feed 'em.  Eh.  We'll see. 

I blame the rabbits.  They killed my drive.  Now the lady across the street has some flowers around her mailbox.  If they stay there I'm going to take this as a personal attack.  We've never caused any harm to the bunnies that inhabit our yard.  They poop all over it and we still do nothing!  Have you seen piles of rabbit poo randomly placed in a yard before?  Weird stuff.  Anyway, I didn't know were were expected to provide them with treats.  There is plenty of other junk in the yard that they can have their fill of.  Why the pretty stuff?  Why the stuff we paid for?

I'm whining, I know.  I'm stomping my feet and pouting.  I'm making a scene.  Stupid rabbits.     

Don't mess with breakfast

So in my never-ending search for healthy things that I can eat that do not induce gagging I found my way to Joy Bauer's newest cookbook.  Yep, my Inner Skinny lady has come up with even more ways for me to get some variety in our meals while still following her rules.  YAY!  I got the book about three weeks ago and we've been busy trying new things.  The turkey meatballs in marinara?  Awesome!  The upside-down pan pizza?  Hello!  The Italian breakfast bake?  Bleh.  Yeah, bleh. 

Don't mess with breakfast.  It's an easy meal and pretty hard to really goof up.  We stick to basic breakfast foods that have withstood the test of time.  The bowl of cereal.  The toast.  The pancake.  The (occasional) bagel sandwich from Dunkin' Donuts.  You know, the stuff your mom and grandma made.  But I thought-- crazily--that I wanted to stray from what I knew and go for something different.  Well, phooey on that. 

The breakfast bake had such promise.  Eggs, potatoes, Canadian bacon, oninos, mushrooms.  A sprinkle of Italian seasoning.  Cook the veggies some and then mix it all together.  Pop it in the oven and take it out when the eggs have set.  Easy.  Bleh.  There is a pound (yeah, a pound) of potatoes in this thing.  And it was just too much.  The other veggies and bacon were good in the egg, but those potatoes killed it.  Steven loves potatoes.  He was not a fan of this.  Grrr.  I'm all for trying new stuff but that was a dozen egg--gone!  An onion--gone!  All that time--gone!  (It did take forever to prep and pre-cook everything.) 

Oh, well.  I know better now.  It's back to cereal and toast and bojang--oops!  Never mind.  Back to what I know.  Most of her recipes have been so good.  We're trying another one this weekend.  Buffalo Chicken Chili.  Fingers crossed.  And at least it's not breakfast.          

The Sunday Blues...

I used to love Sundays.  It was our relaxation day, the day we hung out and did nothing together.  Saturdays were great because there was that promise of one more day at home.  One more day to get the housework done, start or finish a project or simply sit on your butt in front of the TV and doze off all day.  Sundays were our days.  And now I feel like I've lost them. 


I hate Sundays.  Sunday means that Monday is coming.  The alarm goes off, the shower comes on and I'm out the door by 7:30.  On to a place I hate and drains every last bit of happy out of me.  This is not just the whole "work sucks" speech.  Yeah, yeah work stinks.  Who cares?  We would all love to be doing something else with our time, that's just a given.  But when work starts to make you not only dislike every second of your week day but also who you are when you're there, something is painfully wrong.  That's where I'm at.  That's who I've become. 


At home, I'm happy.  I'm not even sure how many times I've said that this week.  But it's true.  As soon as I leave at 5:00 and head to my house I feel like everything is finally ok.  That weight that sits on my shoulders when I get to the office in the morning lifts and I actually feel like I can smile.  I don't smile at work anymore.  Not much anyway.  And don't look at me sideways because I will start crying.  Actually start crying.  And it's an all day thing.  And last week, it was an all week thing.  Every day the same.  Every day picking away at who I am. 


It's Sunday right now and I'm anxious, nervous, on edge.  I want the time to stop so I don't have to go.  I wish I was the kind of person that would call in sick when I'm not.  Hell, at this point, I wish I was actually sick.  But I'm not.  And I'm not the person that lies and says I am.  Even now, when I hate it this much, I can't pull that prank.  I can't tell that fib.  So I watch the clock and know that I am another minute, two minutes, ten minutes, an hour closer to tomorrow.  How sad is it to already hate tomorrow and it's not even here yet?  That place has stolen my tomorrows. 


And it's stolen my Sundays.  And even my Saturday nights.  I actually got upset last night because today was coming and it would lead to tomorrow.  Crazy, right?  I know it sounds that way.  I know you probably think you have the answer to my problem--it's all so simple right?  You're wrong.  Nothing is that simple.  Not right now.  And probably not for the next little bit.  So I have to deal.  I have to go and suck it up and do a good job so that I can have a job.  I have to sit there and focus on what's in front of me so that I can keep what's on my mind quieted enough to make it through the day.  Have you ever had to do that?  To push something to the back of your mind even though it is screaming to get to the front?  It's hard.  And it's exhausting.  I'm exhausted. 


I want my Sundays back.   

Milestone

So I've hit a milestone.  Wanna hear about it?  I knew you did.  I have officially lost 25 pounds!!  I'm doing a happy dance right now.  Well, not really.  But only because I'm sitting.  If I were standing, it would be on!

I'm a long way from where I want to be but I'm also a long way from where I was.  It's a little hard to believe that I've lost this amount of weight.  I have struggled for years to lose anything.  This is certainly not my first venture into the world of dieting.  But it has cleary been my most successful.  So thank you, Skinny Cow.   Thank you, Moe's.  Thank you to everyone that has encouraged me and pushed me.  Can't you just see me at the podium with my little statue--a gold scale more than likely.

Tonight we get to celebrate.  We're having PIZZA!  Ok, ok don't freak out.  It's not what your thinking.  We are having upside-down pan pizza.  It's made with ground turkey, whole grain pancake mix, veggies and some mozerella cheese.  It's actually good for you.  Go figure.  I never really thought that I would enjoy things that were healthy for me.  Now don't get me wrong, I still love the bad stuff.  The pizza from dominos, the chocolate chip cookies and all their friends.   Friends like fried chicken and macaroni and cheese and butter and....better quit.  But you get my point.  I still like those things but i know that they don't like me that much in return (or maybe they do since they like to stick around).  I don't HAVE to have them anymore. 

Twenty-five pounds later, and that feels really good to say.  

still here

Well, it's been a while.  But i'm still here.  It's really funny--and not that funny at all--how quickly things can change. And by things I mean your life.  Everything.  One minute, say at 11:29 am on Friday, everything is going like it always does.  You're going through the motions, waiting for the next day to come, not realizing that in 60 seconds, the world is going to stop. And then it does.  And all of a sudden it's hard to remember what is was like before 11:30 slapped you in the face. 

My life--our lives--changed last week.  Steven was told that the company he had worked for since he was 15 no longer had a place for him.  I'm not going to get into reasons or blame or anger.  It's all there but it's not healthy.  Well, a little is.  But that's all I have to give right now--a little.  It's time to move on--to pick up and walk away and know that in the end he--and we--are better off.  And I know that we can do that because we have each other.  And we have friends and family that love and support us.  We will all lean on each other.  And we'll be ok. 

I just wanted to say that I haven't forgotten about what makes me happy.  Writing this blog is one of those things.  So I need it now. Plus I know that you are all just dying to know how my weight loss is going.  Never fear, my friends, weigh-in is tomorrow! 

My husband is another thing that makes me happy.  And even though I don't see him at work anymore, I do see him at home.  And that's where I need him the most.  Cleaning the kitchen liked I asked him to.  And loving me more evey day.

cry, cry baby...

So let me start off by saying that I was weighed last night and the scale did not move.  Considering the punishment I put my diet (yeah, that's what i'm calling it now.  It's shorter so it's easier to type) through this week, I will take that as a personal victory.  I may not have lost, but at least I didn't gain.  Good enough, moving on.   

Tonight is Friday.  I usually love Fridays.  It's my favorite weekday. You have two work-free days ahead of you, live it up!  Well, this Friday Steven is going out of town.  He is heading up to VA on a fishing trip with his older brother and a friend of theirs.  The boy is more giddy than a nine-year-old at a Hannah Montanna (or is that Miley Cyrus?  Who cares, neither of them can sing.) concert.  He's really quite cute to watch.  I love that he's super excited and I know the boys will have a fantastic time.  

However, my problem is this:  I don't do well staying by myself.  The thought of it will stress me out to no end.  I'm not sure exactly what it is, or honestly, when it happened, but I am a bonafide, possibly certifiable, Scardy Cat.  I spent my youth watching scary movies with my girlfriends.  "Candyman, candyman, cand---"  Well let's not test that out.   I've seen hundreds of them.  And loved them.  Even the cheesy ones that no one should love.  Have you seen Dolly Dearest?  Then you know what I'm talking about.   

I've lived by myself before.  I did it for YEARS.  No issues.  Not one problem.  Then Steven came along and now I only feel safe when he's there.  I don't watch scary movies anymore.  It's sad really.  A whole genre of movies, wiped out.  And staying overnight by myself is something I just avoid.  

So, the parents are coming up to stay with me.  That's sad, isn't it?  I have to be babysat by the folks.  In my (puny) defense, I didn't ask them to come.  They just told me they were.  But it's not like them being there will bother me.  However, it is a tad embarrasing.  Oh well, at least I will get some sleep.   

Pulling the Trigger

As a part of this life change that I'm going through, I am supposed to stay away from "trigger foods."  These are items that lead to overeating.  For some it's potato chips--you know, you eat one and then all of a sudden you've eaten a whole bag?  Ok, so I'm part of that "some."  For others it's something like cookies--you know, you eat five after you cook them and enough dough to make ten more?  Yeah, I'm in that group too.

What I have come to realize is that I have a lot of trigger foods.   Cookies, potato chips, reese's pieces, potato salad, peanuts, peanut M&M's, bacon (yeah, bacon.  Who are you to judge me?!) and loads of others.  Overall I have done a great job of staying away from these things.  I know that if I start, I won't stop.  But last night I gave in.  I had a royally crappy day at work and I had no interest in cooking or doing anything good for myself.  So we ordered pizza.  sigh*--and chicken wings.  (It was on special!!)  I ate until I felt like my elastic pants (home time is PJ time) were too tight.  Well, not really, but still.  It was bad.  I won't tell you the exact numbers.  As my mama says, "Jessie, you should be shamed!" 

Clearly pizza is a trigger food for me.  So sad.  No more cheese and bread (wow, two more trigger foods!) and topings?!  It can't be.  I would say that I will just have to enjoy in moderation but that's a joke.  I don't think I have ever enjoyed pizza in moderation.  Or cookies, or chips or peanut M&M's or...sorry, off track.  I'm going to need serious help to eat just one or two pieces of pizza.  Thank goodness for Steven.  He is really good with this stuff.  Well, except last night.  But in his defense, I was pitiful.  I really think he would have given me whatever I asked for.  Dang, I should have mentioned a new coffee table.  Anyway... 

I guess it all boils down to the fact that these things happen.  I'm going to mess up from time to time.   Got to pick up and move on from here.  I just really wish that there weren't still pieces left in the fridge.  At least there are no cookies or M&M's in my desk. 

I've Learned...

I've learned that...

• ground turkey makes a mean burger and an even meaner meatball.  (Seriously, it's good!)
• only Moe's can make the Close Talker salad.  Don't try it at home, folks.  I did and now I can't even bring myself to eat the real one.  The wanna-be version I made has tainted me for a while.  :(
• plants have to be watered regulary.  Crap, forgot to do that last night!
• no matter how many times you say something, it doesn't mean a thing if the person you are talking to is not actually listening.  (Steven, I promise that wasn't directed at you.) 
• whole grain pasta tastes nasty.  But if you coat it in enough sauce, it's totally edible.
• that not everyone will like you and sometimes it's for no reason.  (Though I still can't fathom why...I'm fabulous!)
• wanting to put on your wedding dress never goes away.  Every time I see mine hanging in the closet I have an overwhelming urge to put it back on and walk around the house.  
• missing my sister never goes away either.
• pollen is the devil and Claritin is a joke. 
• I have picked up a few (or a lot) of my Mama's manerisms.  Lord help me...Lord help us all. 
• raw almonds were meant to be dunked in sugar-free, fat-free, chocolate Jello pudding. 
• credit cards can get paid off.  patience, my friend, patience.
• I have no patience.  
• you can have more than one "soul mate," but that they come in different forms.  Right, Courtney?  :)   
• no matter how much you blow your nose, it's never quite done.
• the people that seem to demand the most attention from you will, nine times out of ten, be the ones you want to give the least attention. 
• I love my friends' kids more than I thought possible--even the soon-to-be-born ones. 
• banana bread with chocolate chips is awesome!  Says the girl who does not like banana. :)
• my hair can hold enough static electricity to shock a grown man into submission.
• Agri Supply is to Steven what Target is to me.    
• Steven really will always be "my favorite." ;)
• I need my girlfriends.  Even the ones that don't live next door--or in the same state. 
• It can get worse.  But it usually gets better too.  
• Johnston county grows the biggest bees I have ever seen!  Mutants, I tell you!
• there really are enough hours in the day, you just have to spend so many of them doing junk you don't want to do! 
• time does fly.  And no matter how much you beg, it ain't slowing down! 
• pink is definitely not just for little girls.   
  
  

What goes up must come down...

This sinus infection has outworn it's welcome.  The inability to breathe properly has really started to hamper my mood.  When I went to the doctor, he suggested I try using a Neti Pot.  Have you heard of this craziness?!  You pour luke warm water, mixed with a little packet of something to help the process, into your nose.  Yep.  Into. Your. Nose. And then it comes out the other side, along with all the nasty stuff that's been clogging it up.  Say wha?! 

I think I looked at the doctor like he had five eyeballs.  Or like he just told me to pour water up my nose so that snot could rain down.  Whichever, I feel like he got the point.  He laughed and said that there was another type of sinus cleanse that wasn't quite so awkward to manuever.  It's basically a squirt bottle but the objective, and overall result, is the same.  I left his office with no real tought that I would actually try this thing. 

Well, that was Thursday.  By Friday I felt like my head was underwater and I was so frustrated with my inability to breathe that I figured, "why not?"  Desperate times and all that.  So Steven and I went to Target and got this lovely thing to the left.  Same basic deal.  Squirt it up one nostril, drain from the other. 

Steven refused to be in the room with me while I violated my nose.  But he did stay close enough that I could yell out the play-by-play.  So there I am, leaning over the sink, plastic bottle to nose.  And then...I squeeze.  I will spare you all the details; it's really quite gross.  But it does just what you think it does.  And after it's done, you blow your nose and you can breathe!  But it takes a while to finish draining so don't go too far from home.  And don't lay down for a while.  

I've been doing this twice a day for the last three days.  Love it!  Am I still stopped up?  Yep--but not as bad.  Can I smell or taste anything today?  Nope--but i'm getting closer.  And for a good while after I use the spray it takes all that sinus pressure away.   Steven says I'm addicted to it.  Whatever.  Well, maybe.  But I'm really ok with that.  So I have a flaw...sue me.  But don't take away my Sinus Rinse.     

Puffs Plus indeed...

So let me tell you about my yesterday.  My sinus issue had hit an all-time high (or low I guess you could say) and I decided that I really needed to just suck it up and call the doctor.  The nurse I talked to squeezed me in at 4:30--a time that was perfect because I only had to leave the office an hour earlier than usual.  I got there at 4:20 and they called me back immediately.  Wonderful!  And then i sat in that stark examining room, sitting on a VERY uncomfortable chair with nothing to do but concentrate on the fact that I could not breathe through my nose and that my face had more pressure in it than the tires on my car for a total of 39 minutes!!! 

I can hear the doctor's voice right outside the door, teasing me with how close he was to my room.   I began to panic, thinking I had been forgotten, and wondering if all the lights would be shut off and I'd be locked in for the night.  I was just about to get up and check to see if anyone remembered the poor girl in the back room when the doctor finally came in. 

Conclusion: sinus infection.  Yep.  At least I'm on antiobiotics now so hopefully it won't be too long before i can taste and smell again.  Doesn't that just stink?  I'd already lost the ability to breathe or speak like a normal person but then, to add insult to injury, I have completely lost my ability to taste anything or smell anything.  The not being able to smell part could come in handy for certain situations (going in a public restroom, the guy who wears too much cologne, my husband after eating, etc.) but the not being able to taste part is just mean!  It's a slap in the face to the girl in a life change. 

If I had to find a silver lining--and it's hard, trust me--it's that I didn't over eat at all this week.  I ate just until I got full and then I was done.  And guess what?!  I lost five pounds!  That's right, at last night's weigh-in, when I was hoping (fingers crossed and everthing) that I had at least not gained, I actually lost.  My grand total is 21 pounds!  And I put on a pair of pants I haven't worn in two years yesterday.  I wish you could see my smile right now.  It's obnoxiously huge.  It makes having a sinus infection almost better.  Almost. 

Ok, off to blow my nose.  Again.  

Quick Thought

Tonight is my weigh-in.  Do you think that the extra ten pounds of snot in my head will hinder me?  Stupid pollen!  There is so much pressure in my face that I feel like if you touch it too hard, it will pop.  Gross, right?  My eyes are swollen, my nose is running and I sound like that old, dead woman from Beetlejuice.  Pretty picture, right?

Me Like Hockey...

That title is for my husband.  Steven is a hockey fanatic.  To him, it's the only real sport.  He has respect for football and can mildly tolerate baseball.  Basketball is something he has had to endure due to Duke's run to the Championship and my family's love for the Devils in Blue.  But Hockey is his gold standard.  You'd never know he grew up in the heart of the ACC, the land of round ball, a place very south of Canada.  (eh?)  

So, over time, I've come to love hockey too.  There are few things better than going to a Hurricanes game (even sitting in the nosebleeds) and getting the roasted, sugared pecans.  Oh, and watching the game.  Though, let's be honest, that might be second to the pecans; they're that good.  (Do you see why I needed a "life change?")  

One of the coolest things is that Steven plays.  He's a part of an adult roller-hockey (wheels instead of blades) league that plays once a week.  And I like to go watch.  I'm not a screamer.  I don't get in people's faces or throw my hands up at bad calls.  Mostly, well, because I have no idea what they're calling.  I'm new to this game from the Great White North.  It's going to take me some time.  But I still love to watch.  

It's been a while since Steven played.  Around the time we got married (October 24th, 2009 in case you wanted to mark our annivesary on your calendars--ps, we were registered at Bed, Bath and Beyond.) he was missing more and more games because of stuff we had to do to get ready.  So he took a few seasons off.  Now he's back.  And essentially, I'm back.  Back in the stands.  Back watching my man.  Back in the most horridly smelling atmosphere ever created.  

That's right, folks.  It stinks like hell in there.  It's the kind of smell that sets off automatic gag reflexes.  It stirs your lunch.  It is the only place in America where the BATHROOM is the best smelling area available.   

Tuesday night was the first time I had been back in a while.  But that smell, oh it was waiting for me.  It slapped me on the back as I walked in as if to say, "Hey, friend, where ya been?"  And after about ten mimnutes, you begin to get acquainted again.  You get used to it like you were before and you start to think, "ok, it's not so bad."  And then it happens.  Some child (or group of children, as was the case with me) skates by or stands by you fresh off the rink after their game.  Hockey stink is pure stink.  And the players are testament to that.  You know how chicken smells after it's been in the trash can for too long?  Yeah, you do?  Nasty, right?  This foulness that I am referring to makes the chicken smell seem like no big deal. 

So there I stood, waiting to grab a seat once the parents from the game before Steven's cleared out, when a group came and stood right beside me.  I gagged.  I stepped away.  My eyes watered.  But the smell persisted.  And after they'd left, I thought I would be safe.  So I sat and watched the game.  I got through two periods when the goalie for the team playing after Steven skated by in his full gear.  Good Lord!  Don't these people ever wash this stuff?!  (I know they don't.  Steven thinks Febreezing is washing.  Guess what, my friend, it ain't!)  The stinking goalie sat beside me.  I had to get up.  He probably thinks I'm a jerk.  Well, I think he smells like pure as--er, not nice things.  So there!

After the game was done I was so happy to see Steven and head outside--into the fresh, pollen-filled air--and sit with him and the guys for a while.  When we got home, Steven's hockey stuff got laid out in the garage.  I'm sure it's keeping the critters away.

ps--Steven scored a short-handed goal and had two assists.  That gave him three points for the night.  I'm so proud of my stinky, hockey player.  :) 

Exercise, Shmexercise

Thirty minutes of exercise a day is not a lot.  In fact, it's nothing in the grand scheme things.  Shoot, I spend 30 minutes typing on this blog some mornings.  A half hour flies--it really does.  I get home, I put on my work out clothes and either head outside to walk or jump on our elliptical.  No biggie, right?  Easy stuff, huh?

So why did the thought of doing either one of those things last night make me turn into a whiny four year-old, complete with foot stomping and pouting?  Eh, who knows.  Blame it on Monday.  Blame it on an exhausting weekend that I haven't recovered from.  Blame it on my soar throat (Dear, pollen, i hate you).  Blame it on the rain (Milli Vanilli, that one's for you...), I don't care.  But it wasn't happening.  

Now the guilt has set it.  I should have done something.  I should have picked my lazy butt up off the couch and traded my comfy blue sweat pants (the ones I adopted from Steven once we moved in together) for something more workout appropriate.  I should have made myself sweat and made my heart rate increase.  Woulda, shoulda, coulda.  And Guilt will force me to work out tonight.   It is Guilt that will push me out that front door, sneakers on, iPod playing, into the heat.  It is Guilt that reminds me that the scale is waiting, laughing.  I hate that guy!  And I want him to say I dropped another pound this week.   

So tonight I will erase last night.  One step, one mile, one pound at a time.   

Who wants pollen in their Easter basket?!

We had an extremely busy Easter weekend.  First, on Saturday we headed down to Fayetteville to spend the day with my parents.  My sister, her boyfriend and his two kids joined us.  See the picture to the left.  Be warned...the cutness is blinding.  That's Cole and Hillary after the Easter egg hunt in my parents' back yard.  Cole's basket is really white but the pollen got to it.  Kidding--but it was BAD.  We all looked like we had been playing with sidewalk chalk after walking around outside.  Our feet were covered--and so was my white shirt since Steven thought it would be a good idea to tackle me--and I know my poor parents had it all over their house.  But it didn't stop us from spending most of the day outside.  We threw the football, tossed some kids around and had a great time just being together.  Brian and the kiddies are great additions to the family and we were very happy to have them there.  

So let's talk about this egg hunt, shall we?  Do you know what was in some of these eggs?  Money!  What?!  Umm...i seem to remember Easter egg hunts in the same backyard that raked in little more than the individually packaged candy eggs with the hard outside shell and weird really-have-no-idea-what-that-is white stuff in the center.  I had no complaints.  I was happy.  But these kids--they get quarters!  Yeah, yeah, it wasn't dollars but silver adds up!  Is this the 2010 Easter Bunny?   If this is how inflation works then my kids will be looking for car keys in their eggs. 

Hillary found most of the money.  Cole seemed to find most of the stickers--which he promptly looked at like, "Wow, someone's getting the shaft!"  I'm with you, kid!  He was hilarious to watch.  Mostly because my mom followed him around pointing out where the eggs were.  I swear she was having more fun then they were.  That's her to the right stealing from the children.  It's sad, folks; we don't talk about it. 

No, no just kidding!  She was having a blast and wanted to be sure that this Easter was a really good one for them.  Mission accomplished, Mama!  It was a really good one for all of us. 

After the hunt came the food.  Lots and lots of food.  Barbecue chicken, pork, potato salad, green bean casserole (my sister and I fight over this), and other goodies.   It was enough to make you want to lie back in a recliner and do nothing...something like this....

We got home that night exhausted.  We did stay up to watch the end of the Duke game.   Championship game tonight!   The next morning we slept in until 9--unheard of for us--and then got to mulching.  My lower back is so upset with me right now!  I may not be able to lay on my side but the front flower beds are pretty.  Fair trade?  I guess.    

We also added ferns to the front porch and they look so pretty!  I know what you're thinking, "so you added more plants that you have to water knowing that you don't do so well with watering plants."  Short answer, "yes."  Hopefully the power of the watering can will continue and the ferns won't die. 

Oh and I need everyone to take a moment of silence and reflection for the passing of our dear daffodils.  (insert quiet time here) 

That's right, we killed them.  Who knew you could not dig them up and move them to a new location once they have bloomed?!?!  You did?  Thanks for the info, pal.  So they have to be pulled up and replaced.  We're thinking more gerber daisies--I seem to be able to keep those alive.  So far at least.  Did I just jinx myself? 

Adventures in baking...

It's been quite sometime since I last had a cupcake.  So when I decided to make them for this past weekend's Easter dinner with my family, I was a bit concerned that my husband would find me on the floor of the kitchen, overdosed on batter with icing all over my face and a death grip on the spatula.  Thank goodness that didn't happen!  (I cleaned up before he found me.)  No, just kidding.  But I did manage to make cupcakes without licking the bowl.  I can tell your mouth is hanging open from shock.  But it's the truth!  Pinky promise. 

My goal was to make something super fun for the kids (My sister's boyfirend has two of the most adorable children ever born and they were joining us for the weekend.) that everyone else could enjoy too and that I would not want to devour at every turn.  Enter the bunny cupcakes!  They have marshmallow ears and cheeks (I'm not a fan of the plain marshmallow.  Melt those bad boys in some butter and put them on some Rice Krispies and we have a whole new ballgame), M&M's for their eyes and nose (I'm not a huge chocolate person so they are easy to give up), and the whiskers were made from some kind of rope candy that Steven loves (not my fave!).  Plus the cupcakes themselves were made from confetti cake mix--my least favorite! 
Now did any of that stop me from eating one?  Well, no.  But I did only eat one and I picked all the stuff off the top.  And one was enough. 

Even though I ate one I was still proud of the restraint I used while baking.  That's hard stuff!  I used to be a severe grazer.  Whenever I cooked, I ate.  Before I could even eat my meal I was already full from all the things I had been picking at while I was making it.  Granted, taste-testing certain things is a must.  You have to sip your tea before you finish to make sure it's good.  Anything with an assortment of spices needs a little try to see if it needs a little more of this or that.  But everything you make?  No.  No, I'm serious.  Really.  You know what a cupcake tastes like and there is no guess work in making it.  The recipe is on the box, people.  And don't even try to tell me you make yours from scratch.  No one does that by Paula Deen--in fact my bunnies were her recipe but I used cake mix and pre-made icing.  

I do know that batter tastes better than a cupcake--this is also true of cookies--but I no longer see the need to eat more batter than cake (or much cake at all, for that matter).  If you need a quick fix, find a small spoon.  I don't know that I could go cold turkey on cookie dough.  It's a tragic addiction that I am sure will plague me for the rest of my days.  But that's why I don't have any in my house.  Can't eat it if it's not there.  

But if you bought me some...
Come on, just a little bit...
I won't tell...
  

And in this corner...

Ok, so last night was weigh-in.  Every time I pull out the scales for Hubby to weigh me I swear I hear the Rocky theme song playing in the darkest corner of my mind.  I also feel like I should be dressed in a sports bra and pink satin shorts.  I know most of these guys wear red or something but I'm a pink girl. 

So anyway...the time had come.  That time after you've changed out of your work clothes and before you eat dinner.  I had also already done my work out so that I could sweat out every last drop of water weight that I could.  Does that work, you ask?  I have no clue, but it makes me feel better. 

So there is the scale, staring at me from the bathroom floor.  Evil at its finest.  Terror at its most unholy.  Steven is kneeling in front waiting to do his job.  I step up and the dial starts to spin.  The thought of having giant numbers blink up at me in look-how-fat-you-are red (it's a real color--ask Crayola.) was too much stress so we opted for the spin-and-see model. 

Steven has known what I weigh for the last few years.  He was the only one actually, including me.  I didn't want to know.  He just told me if I lost and if I gained.  Nothing else--not the rings on our fingers, not the marriage license, nothing--is more proof that we are going to last forever.  But I have made it perfectly clear that if we ever do split up I would have to kill him because he knows too much.  Yeah, I said it. And, yeah, I meant it. 

Well this last foray into weight loss has been different.  I know what I weigh now.  He tells me and I cringe.  So last night was no different.  I stepped up and he told me.  I dropped two more pounds!!!  That brings my grand total to 16!  Take that, Inner Tube!  Take that, Scale of Horrors! 

On day 33 of this journey I have lost 16 pounds.  Cue the music, bring up the lights, but don't roll the credits.  Rocky ain't done kicking ass yet! 

Garden Savior

Last night, after work, the Hubby and I took a trip to Mecca. What, that's not what you call Target? Hmm, strange. Anyway, I was in search of the perfect tool to make my black thumb turn green. The one thing I knew would make all the difference. My saving grace, my redemption in the world of gardening. That's right, my multi-colored watering can. I know what you're thinking, "How could you not have had this before now?!" Those were my thoughts exactly and the same argument I have been using with Steven for the past two weeks.
But now it's mine. Ain't she purty?



I feel like I now have the power to conquer flowers and their growing thirst with ease. Steven does not quite understand my need. That's ok...he also doesn't quite understand my love affair with Target. But I needed this watering can. You see, I kill things. Lovely, alive, blooming, planted things. It's not that I hate plants and flowers; quite the opposite actually. I love them. But I have issues keeping even fake plants alive. Didn't know you could kill a fake plant? Well, my friend, come to my house.

We've been making all sorts of attempts to bring some color and life to our front yard. Last weekend we planted some Gerber daisies (in pink and yellow), some petunias (in magenta--that's for you, Tiff) and some daffodils up by the mailbox. The day was so windy that all of them were really struggling to stand up. And my hair was giant nest of knots when I finally went inside. So we replanted deeper. They stood--but they weren't happy about it.
To make things worse, it poured that night. Crazy, Noah-get-your-ark, rain. But our little flowers survived--for the most part. Then the weather warmed up and there was not a rain drop in sight. So it would be necessary to water the plants. What? water? A necessary step? And my gardening idiocy rears its ugly head once again. Almost immediately, the flowers drooped, the petals shriveled and I am left staring at them like a bad mother. I know the neighbors were judging.
Enter my watering can. She saved the day--and possibly the money spent at Lowe's to by those flowers in the first place. She's so pretty, I can't help but want to show her off. If the flowers get watered in the process, that's a bonus, right? I think I need one for inside the house too. There's a plant in the corner that needs some attention. Think Steven will go for that? Yeah, me neither. But it's worth a shot. :)

PS--Tonight is weigh-in. Steven weighs me once a week to track my progress. Not sure why we picked Thursdays. Keep in mind I was in a wedding last weekend. And that i had not one, but two pieces of carrot cake (Carrots are on my unlimited food list. How was I to get to the carrots without eating the cake?) and chicken salad, and pasta, and chicken Parmesan, and Au gratin potatoes, and bread, and bread, and bread. I did drink water though. Well, and a glass of wine. Dang it. At least it was over two days and three meals. Doesn't help, huh? I'll keep you posted...