This is my last post for the month of November. It was certainly a lovely experience. As we head into the thick of the holiday season I will not continue at this pace.
Here, have a song from me. I'm gonna sway off into the ether.
I got a promotion at work.
Also, I have had great success with this thing over here. But, shhhh. Don't talk about it. Don't you dare.
And then there is this:
That's right. I'm a big fat fucking winner.
Thank you, thank you. Especially you, Secret Agent Mama for awarding me the coolest gun award ever for being a secret agent. And I am. Secret. And secretive. And I'm glad you can all see that.
And I want to thank Becky (who happens to be a mom of 4 kids, and really, that deserves an award right there) for tagging me for the 7 things meme. As I just did it a few days ago I will say "Thanks!" and let you check it at your leisure.
Here are a few things that I love:
I love Sarah Vowell. Every god-damned thing about her up to and including her amazing voice.
I love Christmas music. And I love the cheesy easy-listening station that plays it round the clock from Thanksgiving until New Years Day. Feel free to listen online if you are in need of some insta-spirit!
I love dead people. But you may already know that.
I love Life. And Damian Lewis in particular.
I love my Kiddos.
I love my husband. (You can look but don't touch, ladies. He's taken.)
I love it that Ruben took the kids to the "fireside" Family Reading Night at the kids school tonight - without me! (Is that so wrong?)
That about covers it for today.
School conferences were today.
The kids are doing GREAT at the new school. Levi's teacher told us that he is a joy to have in class. Totally participates and grasps concepts. She showed us a sample of his writing from October and it's like an alien wrote that stuff because it is so different from the writing he does now.
She did say he is relentless wiggle-worm. And he is. And it made me feel like she really knows him. And she still likes him. So I like her.
Madigan's teacher presented us with her report card (A's and 2 B+'s) and proceeded to tell us how she can bring this B+'s up. If she participates in class discussions a little more and steps up the self guided math program, she could have those B's up to A's in no time.
I'm terribly happy with the report card. This is Madigan's first trimester in a new school, with new ways of doing things, play practices every day and holidays every other week. I'm not going back to her to tell her how she can take those awesome grades and make 'em just a little better.
And I told her teacher that.
Today is the day MY family gets together to consume the meal that I wait for all year. And I freakin' stoked!
The other Thanksgiving went well. We were all exhausted after the Turkey Trot and could have slept the day away, but we enjoyed ourselves and ate some good food and seem to be pretty rested now.
Also, Levi ran his first 5k that day. He's 6. And, apparently, a showoff. Whatever.
Seriously, though. He ran the whole way with his dad and my brother. And I am amazed.
Happy Thanksgiving Day Again to you all!
Ring. Ring. (totally not the sound his cell phone makes, but you get the picture)
Husband (from the golf course this morning): Hello.
Me: Hi babe. We need a couple of things from the store. Can you stop on your way home?
Husband: Sure, what do we need?
Me: Sweet potatoes and I need tampons.
Husband: Jam pots? Why do we need jam pots? Like, jelly jars or something?
Me: TAMPONS. Not jam pots.
Husband: Oh, yeah sure. OK. Sweet potatoes and your thing. Gotcha.
He arrived home and plunked the Safeway bag on the counter and returned to the car to unload his golf clubs. I looked in the bag and found only sweet potatoes. I followed him to the car.
Me: Did you leave the tampons in the car?
Husband: Ham hocks? Did you ask for ham hocks?
Me: TAMPONS. Not ham hocks.
Husband: Oh... man. I forgot.
Forgot, or living in complete and utter denial?
OK. Tomorrow is the day. I'm planning on having a relaxing evening tonight prepping the brussel sprouts and salad that I'm taking to my mother in law's house tomorrow while my husband smokes meat. Maybe even a romantic dinner as my children will be at my folks house overnight. Shut up! It could happen!
Tomorrow we will kick off our day with the traditional Turkey Trot in downtown San Jose. OK, so it is a brand new tradition for us, but perhaps a lasting one. Ruben and Madigan will be running, Levi and I will be walking with my folks and my brother and a big bunch of people from my work. I'm excited to have this fun and healthy social thing to kick off the day. I hope we don't freeze. (the California version of freeze, I mean. Which consists of feeling a bit chilly and having a pink nose and complaining about it endlessly while wearing our Old Navy performance fleece pullovers and stomping our feet.)
This means, however, that I will have to Tivo the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. So I'm wondering how it will play on the day after the holiday, without any turkey in the oven or children that I have to rush around. I might even like it better! Yeah!
For my friend Tammy in Arizona:
The Wonder Emporium was delightful! Really sweet and thoughtful. It is the most celebratory movie about death that I have ever seen. Did I mention it was about death? Cause no one else did either so I was more than a little worried when I put it together in the theater, but was so pleasantly surprised. Both my kids left the theater believing that we made a good choice when we decided on this one over Bee Movie. So, there you have it! Go and have fun.
But really, Enchanted opens today. So maybe you should go to that one, and then you could send me a review! Whadda ya think?
By the way, I LOVE this recipe for 18 can stuffing. OK, it's not really a recipe, but a look into the mind of a woman whose writing I dig. And 18 cans of stuff. Which becomes a "Black Hole of moist." Really, check it.
Me: Did you put on clean underwear?
Levi (now wearing a very exasperated look): Why don't you tell me that before I get dressed? Every day I have to go back and put on clean undies!
Apparently it's time to learn how to extrapolate.
That's what we've been up to at the Casa Cupcake.
It's a short week which means all of my work needs to get done in less time. Super cool!
Levi is a big reading guy and so he shows off his amazing talent on a nightly basis. Two shows every evening, 6:00 and 7:45. Shower in between. Don't be late. You snooze you loose.
I've been making new recipes. Modified to be healthier (I know - ugh!). But it's good for my whole family. And since I can't live with the crap that passes for "low cal" recipes I'm making my own. I'll post the finalized goodness.
This week was low fat brownies with Scharffenberger dark chocolate. Fudgy and delicious. Also a spinach, mushroom and onion quiche with a little emmentaler. It has barely enough egg beaters to bind all the goodness together. Crazy tasty.
This week will bring smoked turkey and salmon, roasted brussel sprouts, salad and soup.
And as to the loving, I'm going to let you guess...
The kids and I are going to Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium today. I'm ready for magical.
And also, I've been drinking this miracle drink for the last 4 days. Ridiculously perfect energy drink. If you can tolerate the sludgyness. I don't use parsley but I do use a lot more ginger than the recipe calls for and I add lemon zest and a little Splenda.
Have a lovely Sunday.
My sweet girl popped up this morning (I mean I dragged her out of my bed) and decided to create some adventurous seasonal pancakes (meaning I said, "How do pumpkin pancakes sound?" and she said, "If they're gross can I make some plain ones?").They were delectable. She's a breakfast rock star.
Check it out:
- 1 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/4 cup packed brown sugar
- 1 1/2 tsp baking powder
- 1/4 tsp salt
- 1/2 tsp cinnamon
- 1/2 tsp ground ginger
- 1/4 tsp nutmeg
- 1 large egg, lightly beaten
- 1 tbsp canola oil
- 1 cup nonfat milk
- 1/3 cup pure pumpkin
PREPARATION:Whisk flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg together in a medium bowl. Combine egg, oil, milk and pumpkin in a small bowl. Stir pumpkin mixture into dry ingredients. Leave to stand for five minutes.
For each pancake, scoop 1/4 cup of batter on to a hot griddle or nonstick skillet sprayed with cooking spray. Turn pancakes when bubbles appear and edges are cooked, after about 2 minutes. Cook for 1 1/2 minutes on second side.
Makes 8-10 pancakes.
Fewsh - I'm going to make it before midnight.
As I sit here watching "The Soup" on E, I am delighted to see a commercial for the "Total Gym" featuring Chuck Norris and Christy Brinkley. Which brings up the obvious topic of bad plastic surgery.
Kanye West's mother's death makes me think about it. Plastic surgery is a choice commonly made by women of all ages. I know dozens of women from all different areas of my life who have told me that they have had work done. Smart women do it, beautiful women do it, kind and generous and well-grounded put-together women do it. And it makes me wonder.
I'm not picking a fight. I'm not standing on a soap box. I'm seriously wondering. What is it? Why do we do this? Put ourselves at risk. Literally risking life an limb.
I want good things for myself. I want better things for my daughter. I want to support her and help her to achieve what ever her dreams are. What if these beautiful (though distorted) images she has seen every day of her life affect the way she sees herself? What if she wants to change her body? Make it bigger, make it smaller. Make it different from the one I grew in my belly. Hugged with my arms.
What will I do?
I honestly have no idea. I will, of course, talk with her as honestly as I am able. I will encourage her to educate herself. But I am flummoxed by so much of the topic how could I be helpful? The one thing I am clear about is that my decisions will shape her opinions about acceptable behavior more than most others. In good ways and bad. If I smoke, she is much more likely to smoke. (I do, by the way. Secretly and ashamedly - Ugh!) If I volunteer she may be more inclined to spare her time for people in need (I do this one, too). I hold this belief to be true about plastic surgery.
And so I abstain. I do not participate in any way.
Do you? Let me know...
(PS - these are my exhausted ramblings. Ignore them if they enrage you. Or drop me a line. Cause I could use a little drama...)
Is hurling her guts out today. Once at school (cause, yes, I did send her), once in the parking lot on the way to the car, and now at home with her dad.
Here is a picture of her on Thanksgiving 2 years ago. When she was happier. And feeling better.
I'm off to a WW meeting and my women's group. Catcha later, gators.
The turkey. And a bunch of salmon. Maybe a chicken .
What did you think I meant?
Thanksgiving is fast approaching. I like this holiday for a bunch of reasons. First for the most delicious single meal of the year. Oh, I will have other wonderful meals in the weeks and months to come, but none that are as anticipated and deliver so consistently on my high expectations.
Second, I like the name. I think that a national holiday intended to promote thankfulness is just so folksy and American. The French are not doing this. Brazilians are to busy shaking it in thongs on their beautiful beaches. But us, we're giving thanks for our ridiculously wonderful lives. Even when life is awful, it is still full of wonder and I'm really giving thanks for being able to see that. I know people who don't.
Third, I usually like the people I spend the day with. So there is that.
There is one really terrible Thanksgiving that stays in my mind. A fiasco that started when my maternal grandmother had a stroke in early November. My mom and her 4 sisters (Sherry, Sally, Sonia and Sandi - my mom is Susie) decided to go ahead and have a gathering but determined that it should be close to the hospital in case they needed to get there quickly. So my mom offered to do the turkey.
I should really just stop here. ANYONE who knows my mother knows that my mother doesn't cook. The tell-tale sign that my mother was clinically depressed was when she started baking. I'm not joking. She's better now. She has resumed her "Don't ask, don't tell" attitude toward the magic that turns ingredients into food. We are all happier.
Anyway, that fateful year my Aunt Sonia showed up with Jello that she just couldn't get to gel (she was also not much of a cook) and my father's hair and eyebrows burst into flame while he assisted my mother in basting the turkey and we all laughed that giddy/hysterical laugh of people who can't get a line on how they should feel or act. All except my mother because she was sobbing after nearly burning my father's face off. So, overall - not the best Thanksgiving on record.
This year should be better than that one. So I guess that would be my fourth reason.
Everyone does that when they like a new song, right?
Thanks to CityMama this song is my new obsession. It gets better every time you play it. (The video keeps disappearing, so you can check it out here as well.)
Which reminds me of this one that I love. (Forgive the crappy video quality. Use your ears.)
My gift to you.
For the lovely TXPoppet. Though it will not bring back her herb garden, hopefully it will sooth her spirit and fill her belly.
This is a great recipe for holiday mornings. It doubles nicely. The trick is using the correct size baking dish for the amount of bread you have. This can be made lighter with Egg Beaters, lowfat milk, low or non fat cream cheese, and greasing the pan rather than buttering each slice.
1/2 loaf of French bread cut into 3/4 inch slices and buttered on both sides
(older is better - this is how I use up my 3 day old bread)
1/4 a brick of cream cheese, cubed or broken into bits by hand
1/2 cup of berries (frozen work fine)
1 to 2 cups milk (or milk and half and half combo)
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 tsp cinnamon
I layer the bread in a small casserole, 2 slices high. Make sure the casserole is small or the liquid won't cover it all and the top will turn out dry. Sprinkle berries and bits of cream cheese over the bread. Beat the eggs in a bowl. Add the sugar and beat until smooth. Add the cinnamon and vanilla and stir to incorporate. Add the milk. Whisk to combine. Pour mixture over the bread/berries/cream cheese combo until it just covers the bread (not too soupy). Cover with parchment and set a Tupperware container of leftovers from your fridge directly on top to press down the bread (this assists the bread with soaking up the liquid, rather than floating). If you need to you can fill a Tupperware 1/2 way with water and pop it on top.
In the morning, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Pop the covered casserole in for 45 minutes to an hour. I like mine good and set, but you may like it a little softer. Use your judgement but there should be no runny egg parts visible.
Serve hot, cut into squares, with powdered sugar and syrup. Or plain as it is a little sweet. My family said it was yummy. I hope yours does, too.
Whatever was I thinking? NaBloPoMo is kicking my ass. Every day, people? I have to think of something every day? Goodness graciousness. This may be beyond my capabilities.
Alright, well yesterday I cooked up a storm. I made split pea soup, beef stew, cookies and French toast casserole for this morning. Sometimes I cook in flurries. I didn't eat any of it while I was cooking, though. Just 'cause I'm quirky.
That's not very interesting, is it? Hmmm...
Oh, here's something! Today I returned some perfume. Clinique Happy. Cause it smelled like shit. Seriously, bad. And the lovely lady behind the counter wanted to argue with me as to the shittiness of the smell. Which I appreciated. Obviously.
"That's what it is supposed to smell like." she said. "Have you smelled it before?"
I grabbed a couple of those little paper tabs, sprayed the sample bottle on to one and said, "Smell this. This is what it is supposed to smell like." Then I grabbed my shitty smelling one and sprayed it on to the other paper tab and said, "Now smell this one. It's not good. It's bad. It shouldn't smell bad. I paid for the good smell. Not the bad one."
"I don't know..." she said.
My look convinced her to give me a fresh bottle. I immediately opened it. She balked.
"You can't open them all!"
I actually had to say the words, "I'm not leaving here with a perfume that smells bad. I'm going to open it and check it before I leave." She was not pleased with me. Apparently I should take my perfume home and smell it there and if it smells bad at that point I should learn to live with smelling like shit. As if I need her perfume for that...
Luckily for her, it smelled good. And I didn't call her the "c" word. Even if I thought about it.
But now I'm not sure if I ever want to wear it again, as it no longer has Happy memories for me. We shall see.
I made my first real fire of the season in the wood stove tonight (not the fireplace though, too much work for too little payoff).
Expert level fire-building is a talent I never expected to acquire in my lifetime. Like parallel parking and plumbing, I just thought I'd never be good at it and that I would turn on a heater or ask someone else to make a fire. And then, 9 years ago, we moved to the mountains.
Living in a tiny little cabin in the mountains with one below-average wall heater meant that we relied heavily (exclusively, really) on our little wood burning stove. And if I wanted to have a warm house in the morning before the kids went off to school and I to work, I had to make a fire. Every cold day. For months. (I exaggerate. Sometimes Rube would make it. And often he would do his best to load the stove before we went to bed so there were coals in the morning. But I was loading wood every day. And I cut my own kindling with a hatchet - so that's impressive!)
I prefer fire heat to forced-air heat. When sleeping away from home I am often awakened all sweaty and dry-mouthed when the heater kicks on in the morning. Yuck. This never happens in fire heated homes. The gentle warm air tends to stay in the same room with the fire, which allows some of the rooms in the house to stay nice and cold, in the event that you want to visit some of that. And sometimes, when I really get the fire cranking and the sun comes up and warms the house a little, I do get too hot. Time to open windows and hang out in the room furthest from the fire. Like AC. But only in the dead of winter.
This season is my favorite. Cozy is my natural state. Curled up with a warm mug of something and a pile of laundry to fold while watching a movie. Wind whistling through the trees and the seams in the door. Sweatpants and fuzzy socks in ugg slippers and long pilly sweaters. This is my nirvana.
Happy first fire to you. Happy cold. Happy beginning of the holidays with all of their stress and expectations and people we love and people we wish we didn't. How blessed are we to have so much thanks to give.
My son. His soccer season ended today. It was a dreary and wet day wherein they lost, as they have every week. But in these photos, taken last week, you can see none of that. All momentum and limbs and hair and tongue. He is perfection in thigh high socks.
Having him made me complete in a way that I didn't even know I needed. Which is why I can sometimes consider the divine.
I have a cold. Hopefully not the flu, but I'm getting that bleary head woozy feeling with the tingly feverish skin. So I'm going to deliver these kid to Rube so they can all go to a football game and I'm going to come home to spend an evening alone drowning my sorrows in hot tea. And maybe a hot tub. But maybe that's too much work.
Are you wondering if you have the flu? Here is where you can find out for sure.
In the event that you do, I've found this self care guide to help get through it.
That's all I got.
Have you never tried to find a comfort from inside you?
Have you never been happy just to hear your song?
Have you never let someone else be strong?
No pressure, I was just curious. Don't go getting all mellow on my account.
Anyhoo - I found this lady. Well, I guess "found her" is a little strong. I think she existed before I came upon her page. But, again, I digress. I like her. So I thought I'd share. She does some good things with F-words. And kids. Together. Good times. Seriously.
As the month goes on I may be doing more "sharing." Can't say I didn't warn you.
A meme. From the lovely Schmutzie. (I'm more than a little embarrassed to say how flattered I was that she picked me. I'm sure it doesn't mean what I think it means. What I hope it means. She, like a lot of innocent victims, was probably wooed by my incredibly sexy avatar. Which can be seen here.)
Anyway, the rules of the game are:
- Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
- Share 7 random and/or weird facts about yourself.
- Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
- Let each person know that they've been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
Let's hit it!
1. My best friend has been my best friend since we were both 12. Which she likes to say has been 15 years. I like to say, "How old do you think you are?" It's been 24 years.
2. My idea of the worst job in the world would be working in one of those tiny box perfume shops. The only thing worse than a rotten smell surrounding my head is a cloud of various perfume smells. I've been known to get nauseous and head achy from strongly scented candles.
3. I was vegetarian for a stretch. I resolved to eat meat again on New Years Day, 1995. I have successfully kept that resolution ever since. The hardest part of going veg for me was not having gravy. There is no good veggie substitute for sausage gravy. On biscuits. With Bacon.
4. My first baby came via c-section. The next one was a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). I had epidurals with both. I waited to go into labor on my own with the first (11 days late) and induced with the second (10 days early). And also, when my daughter (the first one) was born she weighed 11 lbs., 1 oz. **I share this fact with anyone who stands still long enough for me to get the words out. Cause eleven pounds is a fucking lot when it is trapped inside your belly skin.**
5. The summer I was 8, when I lived in Glen Burnie, Maryland, a group of churchy teenagers drove through our neighborhood dressed as Star Wars characters in a big churchy bus. Luke and Leia and Chewie and Darth hopped out and gave us fliers for the vacation bible school at their church. So I went.
6. I worry about books that aren't being read. I believe that a book only has a life if it is being read. Library books are the luckiest of all the books. And I don't just say that because I am married to a sexy librarian.
7. My favorite thing in the whole, entire world is the silky end of of the blanket. Which makes me borderline mental.
When I asked Rube, "What's weird about me?" he said, "You watch dead people." But I already told you guys that. Geeze, hate it when I piss away the good stuff the day before Schmutzie tags me for a cool little meme.
And now a word from...
Mominitup (who has the same MIL as I do, though we've never met)
Badger, famous for her wit and culinary delights
Slurping Life's Melody
Rose at Kikarose, also a Californian
A lovely woman known only to me as Dapoppins
And representing the Testosterone Tribe:
My new friend Chuck
And my longtime friend and former coworker Adam
Thanks to you all!
You know what I think? Any god who gives a shit about whether or not I go see this movie needs to get a fucking hobby.
But what do I know? Perhaps omnipotence isn't interesting enough. Maybe becoming overbearing and controlling about the entertainment choices of billions of creatures will help fill the meaningless days and oh, so lonely nights. It seems to work for humans.
BJ, if this is the case, forgive me. And also, if you're feeling lonely and you see me awake late at night, feel free to stop by for a game of scrabble and a cup of tea.
I am that mom.
My son, three and a half years younger than his sister, is such a sweet and lovely child. I love him more than life and would do anything for him or his big sister, however I can't seem to get my shit together where his schooling is concerned. I'm one of those bare minimum parents.
Part of his homework is to read and be read to. We do that. But I don't get the books all written on the "Daily Book Log." I didn't get any candy/crap to his classroom before the big Halloween party. I often forget to sign his daily behavior sheet. He can't find his library book and so he can't check out a new one. And I honestly don't know what he did with it. And he is super bummed about it.
This sucks for him. Because he needs parents who don't do a half-ass job of supporting him in his first grade journey. Sadly, that's not what he's got in me.
The first time we did first grade (with the first child - so bright and studious) we were rapt with the excitement of what she was learning - the adventure of reading and writing and her love of learning! This time around it seems so tedious.
And also, reading doesn't come as easily to Levi. Nor does regular homework. He's a bit of a whiner. It takes a lot of work for the whole family just to get the homework and reading done.
He's getting the shaft. And I know it. Ugg.
So - that's where I'm at. I'm wanting to do right by him. Today, after he got his regular homework done I logged a bunch of the books for the "Daily Book Log" and we played sight word memory. Also, I successfully signed the behavior sheet and we are going to cook dinner tonight before we pick Maddy up from play practice.
I'm trying here, folks.
I just spent most of last night and another hour this morning reading this blog. I read (or at least scanned) every post.
Perfect in every way. Especially this one.
Love at first word? Or blog envy run rampant? Whichever it is, I am smitten.
I LOVE true crime stories. Any way I can get them. I don't discriminate. Give me a true crime and I'm all over that shit like flies. I endlessly watch stuff like Court TV Crime Stories, A&E's City Confidential, and Snapped on Oxygen (this one is narrated by Laura San Giacomo, whom I adore!).
The sound of the TV represents safety and companionship to me. Often I'm not even watching these shows but I need to hear the sound in the background to feel relaxed, which makes my programming choices even more strange.
HBO: Autopsy is the exception to the rule. I don't play this one in the background. I watch every second. I'm a huge fan of Dr. Michael Baden, board-certified forensic pathologist and medical doctor(thank you wikipedia). I see him on a bunch of the other shows, too. But really, this is his best work. His explanations of the condition of the corpses, the positions in which they were found, the degree of decay, and his general demeanor are so warm and soothing. He's way better than Dr. G. She's just so cold. I don't like that. Don't get me wrong, I watch her. I just don't like her as much as Dr. Baden.
I know what I like.
I read the books, too. One of my favorite true crime authors is Ann Rule. In fact I don't think I know another true crime author by name. She is the master and she came by it totally by accident. She had a job with Ted Bundy. So she wrote a book. And then she wrote a bunch more.
My favorite is Bitter Harvest about a doctor who poisoned her husband with a strange poison (ricin from castor beans, usually used to make castor oil) and her attention-seeking fire setting that ultimately resulted in the death of two of her three children. Holy shit. This chick was whacked.
I also highly recommend Every Breath You Take. Total nut jobs abound. Good times.
So , now you know a little more about me. Which might explain why I think the crazy whack-job mom from my kids old school murdered the mom with the heart condition who died suddenly at the end of my daughter's kindergarten year.
I think she did it.
The crazy whack-job thought the younger (and much prettier) woman was sleeping with her husband (which may or may not be true). The crazy whack-job threatened the life of the younger mom. The younger mom got a restraining order against the crazy lady. And then the younger woman died suddenly.
I'm sayin'. I'm actually sayin'.
Because of this I am going to be posting every day for the month of November. Now, don't get your hopes up. This means I'll be reaching into the deep dark recesses of my mind. And we all know that no good can come of that.
It turns out that this thing, this committing to write something (anything) every day for a month, is a big undertaking for lots of people. Don't take my word for it. Check out this site and this one and this one and also this one.
My point is that I may be boring and a little bit lame, but I'm in really good company.
11/1/07 - Cancer
Emotions are so tangible that you could build scaffolding with your feelings now. Avoiding serious commitments will allow you to let your imagination meander on its own. Keep in mind that even the most impractical thoughts can have very practical consequences. Exploration of your inner worlds will lead to outer rewards.
So says Rick Levine.
Well, whadda ya know? Maybe my tenuous emotional state isn't due to parting with my habit of using food as an emotional crutch. Perhaps it is all because I was born in late June! FEWSH!
I've been pretty quiet for a couple of weeks. And here is why. I'm dieting.
Not crash dieting where I drop a ton of weight and start "fake and bake" tanning and wearing slutty clothes and forget who I am and start having an affair with the single dad who hangs around the park with his hyperactive kid. Not that kind.
I joined Weight Watchers. I'm changing the way I eat. I'm getting healthier and at 3 weeks in I feel pretty darn good. Physically. But I'm feeling a little off as well. Vulnerable and wonky and unsure. Like I'm a kid going to a new school. And I don't feel confident and self-assured. More awkward and clumsy and nervous.
For me that means that I don't have a lot of words. I've been watching TV rather than reading. I've been staying up late and going to bed exhausted rather than early and drifting off at a respectable time. Except for the night I went to bed at 8:00. Maybe I'm a little psycho. Who knows.
Anyway - that's where I've been. I'll keep you posted at to my mental well being, however I suspect this will be my only mention of weight loss. It is so deeply personal that I don't quite know how to express it with myself, much less publicly.
But if you want to hear about my vagina or my last therapy session, stick around. I'm all about sharing the easy stuff.