Window Shopping for Wedding Dresses

My fiance and I have been together for over three years and have never really discussed marriage before the proposal.  We had both joked and hinted, but never a serious a discussion.  So, needless to say, we have a lot to talk about.  The first thing I wanted to know was what kind of time frame he was thinking....tomorrow, a year, three years?  We talked about it and agreed that at this stage in our relationship and our lives, we do not need a long drawn out engagement and are throwing around the idea of September or October.  Now for the next basic issue, where?  I am 110% sure I do not want a big hoopla of a wedding.  I would really love to go to Vegas and just have a simple, fun, romatic Vegas wedding, just the two of us.  On the other hand, I would feel guilty if the boys (his and mine) aren't included, and I would like them to be there.  I'm torn between the right thing and the exciting thing.

I have been having a little fun looking at dresses and was thinking if we do Vegas a dress in this style would be fun, but a dress like this would require a lot more push-ups, a lot.  My mother will die a million deaths if I wear a white ball gown!  LOL

 

Inner and Outer Satisfaction

Like I said, my boyfriend wouldn't let me in on where we were going for date night, so I had to come up with a go anywhere outfit.  Really, my "going out" wear is pretty standard no matter where I am going, black pants, some sort of nice top, and heels, so me telling him I had to know where I was going so I could figure out what to wear was just a tactic to pry some information.  I have at least 12 pairs of black pants in several sizes, but none of them fit, so I went with a skirt.  I got dressed, looked in the mirror, and for possibly the first time in my life I thought, "Damn, Meem!!  You are skinny!"  Now, I have been this weight before, and ever so slightly smaller too, but I never thought I looked thin.  It is easy to focus on the flab that is still there, on the thighs, the tummy, the arms,  but on this day, I saw the whole picture, and I liked what I saw for once.  Maybe it is age, acceptance of imperfections.  During the night, I kept catching my reflection in the mirror and seeing my calf and thigh muscles and silently thanked running!

I decided I was putting calorie counting aside for the weekend.  I was still very sensible with portions, and didn't eat everthing in sight, but I chose what I wanted to eat based on what appealed and not on what would be the least amount of calories.  I ordered the coconut fried shrimp with a mango chili sauce served with a coconut almond rice and veggies.  To be honest, I didn't touch the veggies because I wanted to get in as much of the fabulous shrimp and rice as possible.  I ate 7 of the 8 jumbo shrimp, and really wished I could get the last one in, but I was feeling delightfully full, and didn't want to push it to the uncomfortably full mark.

I had a few drinks during the evening, which led me to have some late night munchies, so I split a basket of fries with my boyfriend. We went out for a diner breakfast and ordered the classic two egg, wheat toast, bacon, and hashbrown breakfast, but I left all the eggs, two slices of bacon, and half a slice of toast behind.  I think my body is finally getting it's "I'm full" meter back.  I had given myself license to have a "free" weekend, so at night I figured it might as well include ice cream!  I got a bowlful, topped it with chocolate and caramel, ate four or five bites, and then decided I really didn't want it anymore.  This is pretty revolutionary for me.  To feel full, satisfied, and stop.  It has been awhile. Trying to lose weight, I am almost never what I would call "full", mostly satisfied, often a little nawing of hunger, but rarely full.  As I head towards maintenance, this is good news that I can eat normally and then stop when I am no longer hungry. 

When I told my sister that we are getting married, she said "At least you won't have to go on a wedding diet!"  LOL  True that!

Date Night With a Big Shiny Ending

My boyfriend of over three years and I hadn't been out on a date, ALONE, together since before Christmas.  The sun, moon, and stars finally aligned and we happened to have a kid-free weekend.  This occurred to me last week as we sat in the baseball stands watching not one but two Little league baseball games.  I declared "Hey, we have no kids this weekend.  You are taking me on a date this Saturday."  A day or two later, he had made the plans and said it was all taken care of.  I am always telling him just to show up and take me somewhere, but now I decide I don't like surprises.   He wouldn't tell me where we were going.  Hello????  A girl needs to know where she is going, so she can figure out what she is wearing.  Still, he wouldn't tell me.

He took me to a nice hotel downtown, one with a casino, which I couldn't get into because I didn't have photo I.D., and security was not convinced I was 21.  I am 34.  Neither of us likes to gamble much, so we weren't too disappointed.  We walked down the street and had a really nice, delicious dinner.  Then we hung out in a bar in the hotel, people watched, talked a lot, and enjoyed the drinks, music, and later a basket of french fries when the craving hit me.  After he had a few beers, I told him to have another because the fourth one always makes him "mushy."  I will leave the rest of the details out, but it was a fabulous night ;0)

We had just finished getting ready for the day and check-out time was 10 minutes away.  My boyfriend was hesitant to leave, but I wanted to get this show on the road.  "Come on!  Let's go!  I'm hungry.  I need coffee.   We need to go visit our dads for Father's Day."

He was standing around, pacing, stretching, hugging me, sweating bullets!  He started to say that he had wanted to tell me yesterday how much he loved me and how much I mean to him, but that he held back because I had told him that he gets mushy when he drinks, and he didn't want me to think it was the beer talking.  "Awwww, I love you too, Baby.  Let's go."  Not yet.  He went and got a towel to wipe the sweat away.  I sat on the bed.  He kneeled.  Ohh, ohh, oooooooohhhh.  Oh. My. God.  He was a nervous wreck, and now I was too.  I got up from the bed.  I sat back down on the bed.  I put my sunglasses on.  I laid on the bed.  He took my sunglasses off.  He told me to get up.  He started to talk again, but kept tearing up.  Oh, maybe he isn't proposing.  Maybe something is wrong.  I asked him what was wrong.  He said that nothing was wrong, that everything was right.  He would start talking, fumbling in his pocket, then start crying, then kiss me to cover it up, then repeat.  It was the sweetest mess of a proposal, and I was now 99% sure of what he was doing, but I was still acting clueless, and fidgety, and was not making it any easier on him.  Finally, he said the words "I want to marry you."  Then he pulled out the most gorgeous ring and asked me if I would marry him.  And still I was a mess.  I said you don't want to get married.  (He is 42, has had a couple long-term live-in girlfriends, but never married.)  He told me he wants to be married, to come home to a wife and a houseful of kids every night.  That he can't stand being apart from me each night.  That he doesn't want to live his life anymore without me in it each and every day.  I told him my boys and I are a lot to handle.  He said he loves me, and that he loves all three of them too.  That's what got me, hook, line, and sinker.  I got choked up and finally shook my head yes, and he held me and cried, and I could feel his relief, and I said the word "Yes" out loud.  We told his dad, and my parents, and my sister, and everyone was so excited.  I cannot wait to tell my sons and his son.  It is killing me to wait a whole week until they are home. 

It Gets Me Every Time

My kids just left for their dad's house for a summer visit of 10 days.  Packing my kids up and sending them out the door for over a week gets me every single time.  Puts me in a funk.  Makes me angry.  Makes me sad.  Gives me time to think.  Gives me time to organize.  Right after they left, I began putting away the loads of school junk they had unloaded from their desks.  I read my 10-year-old's school writing folder. 

Valentine's Day Letter To Dad "These three hearts are for you, Dad.  One for always helping me with my homework.  One for always driving me to practice and cheering for me at my games.  One for always taking good care of me."

WHAT?????  Dad isn't here to help you with homework.  Dad makes it to zero practices and maybe one out of every four games, and even then he comes late and leaves early.  Dad takes care of you?  Dad went to jail for 30 days rather than pay child support.  Dad hasn't worked in 7 years.  Dad doesn't do anyting.  MOM does it.  Big, deep breath.  Don't get angry.  This is not a reflection on me.  This is just what he wishes were true.  Maybe his friend next to him was writing his Valentine Day's letter to his dad. After I think about it a moment I realize it is not something to be angry about, it is actually very sad.  I closed the journal and will pretend I never read it.

I will not console myself in a pint of Haagen Daz.  I will take this out on the pavement with an evening run.  I enjoy evening runs, but it is rare that I can do one because I am at baseball games/practices from 5:30 to 8:00 Monday through Thursday and some Fridays too, then we had homework, and baths, and feeding to deal with.  I go because I love it, because I can't imagine missing it, the joy, the pride, sometimes the disappointment, the thrill of wining, the looks on their faces when they touch home base.  I know that I am their home base.  I don't do it for the recognition.  I do it all because I love them.

"Mom, I think you have a problem...."

My six-year-old comes up to me yesterday evening, and says, "Mom, I think you have a problem, a popcorn problem, and it is not healthy."  After getting a good laugh, I explained to him that popcorn is healthy, that is a whole grain.  He said, "Yes, the POPCORN is healthy, but not that stuff you put on it."  What stuff?  "Butter!"  Uh-oh, the boy is smarter than I thought LOL  Who does this little Toaster Strudel eating little boy think he is lecturing me on nutrition?  I explained that our body needs a little bit of everything, and fat is one of the things it needs to work properly.  But he DID get me thinking, maybe next time I will swap a tablespoon olive oil in place of the butter..

His lecture stems from summer arriving this week, and me having the kids make lists of healthy foods that they would like to snack on, and telling them they need to think about what their body needs, a piece of fruit or Popchips, which would make their body happier and stronger.  He is my healthiest eater and often chooses fruit over icecream, so this conversation was more geared toward my older two.

I have been eating popcorn four or five days a week since I discovered that you can make your own all-natural popcorn without a pot or a machine, just a brown paper bag and a microwave, I have been addicted to the stuff.  How did I live 34 years without knowing this?  Is this Pop Secret's secret?

Imaginary Running Coach

With summer here, I am trying to figure out how to fit in my runs.  I'll preface this by saying I am not a morning person.  I repeat, I am not a morning person.  I was dropping my kids off at school, then running from 8:30 to 9:00, hop in the shower, arrive 10 minutes late to work at my home office.  Perfect!  I rolled over this morning at 7:00 and I asked myself, "Meem, are you going to get up and run before the kids wake up, or are you going to lie in this bed like a lazy slug?"  The answer was loud and clear, "Lie in this bed like a lazy slug."  But the guilt nawed at me and kept me from sleep, and so I got up and I ran.  I pushed it the first mile because I wanted to feel the strength of my body.  I'd look down at my legs and think, "WOW!  Look at what these legs do for me, they can carry me fast and far.  I am a runner!  I. Am. A. Runner."  It felt good, and then I got tired, and hungry, and I wanted my coffee.  I always have a cup as I am getting the kids ready for school before my run.  I sorely missed that coffee this morning.  My brain wanted to stop running, but I was at 1.5 miles, and I have a 2.25 minimum rule.  I got to 2.25 miles when I was still a quarter mile from home.  I thought about stopping, and then Coach Bobby popped into my head.  Coach Bobby is one of my sons' football coaches, my favorite one.  And suddenly Coach Bobby was my running coach.  I could hear him and the team chanting.
COACH:  Can't stop!
KIDS:  Won't stop!
COACH:  Want some?
KIDS:  Get some!
That mantra pushed me the last 1/4 mile home, directly to my coffee pot.  Running, exercise for the mind, pushing farther than your brain wants to go.

What's My Next Evolution?

Summer officially began at 11:40 a.m. yesterday when the school's let my kids out, another year gone by.  My two youngest kicked it off with a summer party at their friend's house.  The parents let each of their four children invite a handful of friends, had a barbecue, a trampoline, water balloons, and swimming.  When I came to pick them up, there were 20+ kids running and yelling, all their backpacks dumped in the living room, their discarded clothes and shoes scattered around the yard, which has been so trampled from years of four children and all their friends that there is more dirt (now mud from splashing) than grass, dirty, empty serving platters were still on the picnic table, loads of half-empty juice boxes, a plate of fruit was still being picked at by kids with dirty hands, and the living room carpet was full of wet, muddy footprints.  And all I could think was "What a beautiful disaster."  That was us years ago.  Okay, I wasn't so lax about the running in the house with wet dirty feet, but when I was married, in my beautiful house, with money to spare, and a close knit neighborhood, this family was our family.  We had backyard parties, a swimming pool, roasted marshmallows with friends on hot summer nights, lit off fireworks with neighbors, held flag football games in the yard.  We had it all, on the surface.  Until my ex-husband literally put it all on the table and gambled it way.  The lies and betrayal too great for me to live with and I left.  But this, this beautiful disaster, is part of what I lost.  Single motherhood isn't a party.  Most of the time, I try to smile and it helps get me through.  After the party, I juggled two kids with two different baseball games at two different locations with one parent.  Then my oldest started the summer with a sleepover at a friend's house.  I am so grateful that my kids get to experience the joys of summer, but more than a little bit sad that I am not longer THAT mom.

Okay, I can now do 6 push-ups, run 5 miles, and lost 30 pounds.  What's next, Meem?  What's next?  Make yourself happy!

Smile Through The Miles

While running today, I thought of the day I ran five miles a couple weeks ago, about how during that run I could not stop smiling and that the whole five miles felt easy.  I am sure the cool weather that morning had some influence on my ability that day.  I went into that run with a positive attitude, thinking this day I was going to run strong, this day I was going to run far, this run was going to be a great one, and I smiled the whole way.  I occasionally tried to force myself to stop because I am sure I looked silly running the streets of my city with a huge smile across my face, but that smile just kept creeping back up on me.  About halfway into my run today, I thought about that smiling day and wondered if maybe I wasn't smiling because it was easy, that rather the smile itself helped to make the run easy.  I decided to break out the grin to test the theory, and once it was out, I couldn't put it away.  The smile helps make running easier.  The smile helps make all tough things a little easier.  I will try to remember this :0)

The One-Eyed, Two-Mouthed Hungry Monster Strikes

Just when I think I have this thing down the hungry monster rears it's ugly head.  It is almost unstoppable.  Almost, because I do have the ultimate power over what does or does not go into my mouth.  It is my choice.  I do not believe in food addiction.  I do not believe in the whole "powerless over my addiction" bunk.  I could overcome the urge to eat.  When I felt it coming on last night, I told myself that nothing I was going to eat was going to fill me.  I was either going to still feel hungry when I was done, or I was going to feel very full and loathsome.  And then I chose to eat anyway.  I ate one serving of cashews, one serving of wheat thins, a wedge of laughing cow cheese, two chocolates, one serving of popchips.  After I had polished off that, I saw on my calorie counter I was at maintenance level for the day.  I told myself that wasn't so bad, literally and figuratively wiped my hands clean of the foodfest, and said I was done.   But I wasn't.  I had a moment of stress, red pop exploded on white carpet.  I cleaned it up as best I could, then decided to have another serving of nuts and an entire roll of Girl Scout Thin Mints.  THIS was the exact moment I was saving these things for after all.  How self-destructive, hoarding cookies because you want to be prepared for an all out food fiesta.  The self-loathe kicked in when the roll was 3/4 gone, but that didn't stop me from finishing them.  Sigh.  This is the second time this has happened in the past 5.5 months, not bad.  Maybe I should accept that once in awhile, I am just going to feel an urge to eat until I feel stuffed.  At first I tried to find a reason, was I more stressed?  No.  I had upped my calories recently, so not feeling deprived.  Was it because I had hardly had any protein and way too many carbs?  Was it because I so looked forward to my bi-weekly Panera on plan indulgence, but I hated my sandwich and threw it away with one bite missing?  There were at least ten thoughts of why I felt so driven to overeat, but maybe it doesn't make any sense simply because IT DOES NOT MAKE ANY SENSE. I feel so much better. I look so much better.  My healthy foods taste so much better.  There is simply no good reason to return to old eating habits.  Next time, I hope to say "F@#! this, I can do this!" instead of " F@#!  this, I give up!"  Back at it today. In the long run, that is what matters.

You know what I found most odd about this buffet for one?  (I hate the word binge, and so I have to get creative with wording.)  That I counted out 30 cashews, 20 popchips, 16 wheat thins.  Who does that?

Cake Happens

Today, my oldest son turns 13.  I am the mother of a teenager!  A teenager?  How did this happen?  He was just a baby.  I'm excited for him.  I'm scared for me!

At first he said he wanted brownies for his birthday cake.  This pleased me because it gave me an excuse to try out a recipe I have been dying to try.  I told him to check it out and see if the recipe sounded good.  Well...the name of the brownies is "Knock You Naked Brownies."  I should have known better and just showed him a picture because the name changed his mind, and he asked me to make a strawberry shortcake cake instead.  Dang!  I really wanted those brownies.  But this cake is in my top three for favorite cakes, so I wasn't too disappointed.

I debated about whether or not I wanted to calculate the calories for this cake.  In the end, I decided I would, and now I wished I hadn't.  8,415 calories for the whole cake.  Thankfully, I can say I have never eaten a whole cake by myself before.  Now, I am not saying I couldn't, just that I haven't.  If I divide the cake into 12 slices 701 calories, into 16 slices 526 calories.  That is ALOT for a tiny slice of cake.  But I will eat a slice anyway because my baby only becomes a teenager once, and this is life, and cake happens.

You were probably wondering how something so virtuous as a strawberry shortcake could be so many calories.  This is no ordinary strawberry shortcake.  This is strawberry shortcake covered in a buttercream/cream cheese frosting, and it is amazingly delicious.  He was a 9 lbs, 12 oz when he was born; I deserve a piece of cake on his birthday every year for the rest of his life for giving birth to that giant!

http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2009/05/strawberry-shortcakecake/

American Beauty

I came across this ad for Body Shop on Facebook today.  It is a pretty powerful statement about the standard American beauty ideal.  Eight women have the genetics to look like supermodels.  Eight.  Yet we measure ourselves up to them.  WE do it, us women.  The men, sure they appreciate their beauty, but I think they see and love the beauty in all of the everyday women around them too.  Why are we so hard on ourselves?  This measuring stick, always comparing ourselves to other women.  My boyfriend told me I was beautiful twice last week.  He isn't overly flattering, so I remember.  But when he told me, I thought, "Ya right."  Maybe I should start believing the man who loves me; maybe I should start believing in myself; maybe we women need to start owning our beauty with grace.  I am 5 foot, 5 inches, 134 pounds, and sometimes I still feel FAT.  Ridiculous.