I am starving. I am not on a diet per se but I am really trying to eat better per my EB Survival Guide. It also seems wasteful to kill myself every morning and then come home and eat like a cow. So, I am taking it easy. I am being much better than I used to be. And, like all "diets" require, I am writing down all I ingest. Anyhow, I have been pretty good this week. I ate none of the junk that I have been downing in the recent past - no cookies, no candy, no chocolate, no ice cream, no Nutella (oh, I love me some Nutella), no waffles, no cinnamon rolls, no pancakes, no mayo, very little cheese. No "junk".
The comment today made by my Size 0 Drill Instructor in my sanctioned EB mess log in RED: "Be careful with so much sugar/carbs late in the day." Oh, such discouraging words. These "sugar/carbs" were, get this, 2 of those baby, red potatoes, roasted with garlic (and there was so much left over that I painfully resisted!) that I had with a nice piece of chicken breast (baked) and I had some of Lulo's left over smoothie for an after dinner snack (mango, banana, yogurt, 2% milk, honey). Bring the heifmobile over. That ain't sugar and carbs, honey. Last week, J and I would clear a pint of Cherry Garcia and I would wash that down with some Hershey's Kisses. Oh the irony, oh the suffering. Oh, why did she have to write it in red.
Anyhow, for lunch while everyone ate their burgers from Islands. I ate veggie tacos. They were delicious but I could have had 12 more of them. And then, I couldn't stand it...I took one bite of J's burger. One bite. Oh the deliciousness. Oh, and I didn't put the bite in the effing mess log. What would I write: "1 bite burger to prevent a certain untimely death"?
I am weak. But you know, sometimes you just need one bite. I think that little indulgences along the way make life more tolerable.
You want to redecorate and basically throw away all hand me downs in your house and buy all new furniture. Little Indulgence: Throw pillows and glass of wine. A glass of wine makes it look like a room from the Pottery Barn catalog.
You want strangle your husband for pushing the trash down in the trash can so it appears empty long enough for him to leave the room. Little Indulgence: Watch Mr. Darcy in Pride & Prejudice as he tells Elizabeth Bennett he loves her: "you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on." (Note: The little indulgence was not to strangle spouse for a short while.)
You want to call it a day at work at 10:30 am. Little Indulgence: Facebook, 1/2 hour.
Bottom line. I am thinking we all have these little struggles ranging from starvation to lack of motivation to matrimonial assault tendencies but if we just have one bite, it may be a little better, more tolerable, more doable. Take a bite today. You'll still be hungry, but you may feel better about it. I certainly do.
Chomp.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Luxurious.
In an interesting turn of events, I am starting to understand why "people" say that EB is addictive. At least, I now know why it may end up being something I continue doing. Yes, my muscles ache. I actually have new muscles, ones that didn't exist before I felt them this morning.
Having said that, the addiction for me may reside in that silence as I back out of the driveway in the morning. My kids are all safely in their beds. Sleeping. J is sleeping. Everyone appears to be in some state of rest and happiness. No one really needs me for anything. I don't feel J stare as I leave the room - irritated that I am not billing instead of whatever it is I am doing that I am probably not enjoying. Nothing needs cooking, cleaning, heating up, or changing. I can just be alone in the quiet. From 4:45 am to 6:45 am, I am by myself doing something that solely benefits me that I enjoy without any criticism, judgment, or being torn that I am leaving my kids and doing something for myself.
I spend so much time being torn. When I work, I wonder what my kids are up to, whether they need me more than I know. When I am with the kids, I feel like I should be working. J makes sure that I feel like I should be working more. If it is not express, it is by example.
When I do anything for myself, I feel like I definitely am not where I should be. It is like that moment in Pretty in Pink when Iona (played by Annie Potts) says that every now and again she checks her keys, checks her purse, counts her kids and realizes that the feeling that she has are just repercussions from not going to prom. For me, I get this feeling and it is like - you shouldn't be here. Go back home. Care for your kids or your practice. Reality is missing, not keys. (I actually went to prom.) Go back to your reality. You are needed.
Interestingly, I actually feel like the fact that I "get" to work is a luxury. Whereas, the societal standard is women who get to stay home are luxurious. I feel like working is a luxury sometimes. I love my kids but love my job too. The other day my MIL innocently asked me, "why do you work?" I think she asked because it is clear that I am torn all the time. Always doing 100 things at once. I answered, "because I want to." Oh, for a woman to have wants. The horror.
So, getting that 2 hours in the morning is beyond luxurious because it is luxury without guilt. Quiet. Solitude. Time to think. Time to breathe the cold air (when I am not gasping for it, it is a little nicer). Yes, I am with others. Others who are ensuring that I stay motivated. But, they don't expect anything from me other than participating in a task that we all participate in together. They also don't ask me to feed them goldfish that I later have to dig out of the carpet. It is nice.
Now, the not nice part. Today, in EB, they made us jump rope A LOT. Remember how I mentioned my dislike for running? I think that I like running more than jump roping. I am a spaz of the highest order. I trip on the rope. My abnormally long arms get wrapped up in it. I try to jump and get exhausted. Try to skip and I trip. I am really lame. Don't people learn how to jump rope in grammar school. Apparently, I missed this. Because, I really suck at jumping rope. On the other hand, jump roping in the fresh air at 5:30 am...luxurious.
Having said that, the addiction for me may reside in that silence as I back out of the driveway in the morning. My kids are all safely in their beds. Sleeping. J is sleeping. Everyone appears to be in some state of rest and happiness. No one really needs me for anything. I don't feel J stare as I leave the room - irritated that I am not billing instead of whatever it is I am doing that I am probably not enjoying. Nothing needs cooking, cleaning, heating up, or changing. I can just be alone in the quiet. From 4:45 am to 6:45 am, I am by myself doing something that solely benefits me that I enjoy without any criticism, judgment, or being torn that I am leaving my kids and doing something for myself.
I spend so much time being torn. When I work, I wonder what my kids are up to, whether they need me more than I know. When I am with the kids, I feel like I should be working. J makes sure that I feel like I should be working more. If it is not express, it is by example.
When I do anything for myself, I feel like I definitely am not where I should be. It is like that moment in Pretty in Pink when Iona (played by Annie Potts) says that every now and again she checks her keys, checks her purse, counts her kids and realizes that the feeling that she has are just repercussions from not going to prom. For me, I get this feeling and it is like - you shouldn't be here. Go back home. Care for your kids or your practice. Reality is missing, not keys. (I actually went to prom.) Go back to your reality. You are needed.
Interestingly, I actually feel like the fact that I "get" to work is a luxury. Whereas, the societal standard is women who get to stay home are luxurious. I feel like working is a luxury sometimes. I love my kids but love my job too. The other day my MIL innocently asked me, "why do you work?" I think she asked because it is clear that I am torn all the time. Always doing 100 things at once. I answered, "because I want to." Oh, for a woman to have wants. The horror.
So, getting that 2 hours in the morning is beyond luxurious because it is luxury without guilt. Quiet. Solitude. Time to think. Time to breathe the cold air (when I am not gasping for it, it is a little nicer). Yes, I am with others. Others who are ensuring that I stay motivated. But, they don't expect anything from me other than participating in a task that we all participate in together. They also don't ask me to feed them goldfish that I later have to dig out of the carpet. It is nice.
Now, the not nice part. Today, in EB, they made us jump rope A LOT. Remember how I mentioned my dislike for running? I think that I like running more than jump roping. I am a spaz of the highest order. I trip on the rope. My abnormally long arms get wrapped up in it. I try to jump and get exhausted. Try to skip and I trip. I am really lame. Don't people learn how to jump rope in grammar school. Apparently, I missed this. Because, I really suck at jumping rope. On the other hand, jump roping in the fresh air at 5:30 am...luxurious.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Not a Judge.
I am extremely judgmental. It is a flaw. It is a flaw that I am trying to work on but I am certain that it will always be part of me. I don't have patience for the laziness and stupidity of others that seems to spill out in front of me at every turn. There are problems with being judgmental.
The problem with being judgmental when you are lawyer is that you have to separate yourself from your judgment. We are not judges. We have to defend our clients and make their case favorable, even when we think they exercised poor judgment, for example, when they did not listen when you told them - "don't do that". I don't judge clients because I am paid not to judge but to defend.
I am an equal opportunity judger. I feel sorry for the people in my life sometimes. For example, my awesome husband who works sooooooooo hard. 24/7. Really, he is amazing. He even works in his sleep. I literally hear him talking about patents and swearing about missing imaginary dream deadlines in his sleep. He never misses deadlines in real life. I judge him. I say, "Well, the reason you work like that is because you have boundary issues, priority issues, you are a workaholic, and you cannot allow anyone to do anything without micromanaging." Mean, cruel, judge.
But, he works to provide. To be a "good father and husband" as he was taught to be a "good father and husband". I know he also enjoys it. He also is a perfectionist. Perhaps, I should be stepping back and reserving judgment until I've fully put myself in his shoes. Or, in the shoes of a wife who works a 60 hour week to come home to a husband who hasn't done anything at all but eat Cheetos, drink beer, buy Sham Wows on the Amex, watch sports, and wear out the couch? Or, in the shoes of a wife whose husband has just been laid off and has nowhere to work? What would she think of my judgment? She would judge me. She would also be Dr. Laura. But that is neither here nor there. And yes, another judgment. I can't stop.
I probably am thinking about this more because I judge myself as harshly as I do others. When I was running at EB this morning, I went into an alternate state (mostly to get through the pain) and I started judging myself as if I were a person on the outside. I saw myself lumbering down the street as the guy who had just driven by and I said (channeling Tom Leykis) "fat ass, why did you let yourself go and become a heifer, you are here because you chose to eat all that food and sit on your butt."
I also see myself and judge when I am with Lulo and he is shrieking and wailing about his chosen thing for the day - the fact that I put his sock on, the fact that his granola bar broke in two and it is not fixable, or the fact that his penguin won't stand up if it is on a deep slope. These are things beyond my control. I can hear the judgments of others when he wails: "lousy mother who works instead of being a proper role model and interacting with her children" or "why doesn't she discipline him when he does that?"
A few years ago...I would have judged me if I saw me. But then, I still turn around and judge the co-sleeper/family bed Moms, the no vaccine moms, and the breastfeeding 3 year old Moms.
But that is the thing, as I have gotten new priorities, new conflicts, new experiences - I have changed my mind about some of my old judgments only to pick up new judgments. Perhaps the thing about being judgmental is that it is only a flaw or a true "problem" if you don't grow and you don't realize that each situation is capable of a different interpretation and you are only colored by your experiences and what has fallen on your lap. Or maybe it is only a problem if you act on that judgment - being hurtful to that person, saying something mean, gossiping, etc. I don't do that even though I have wanted to. Well, strike that, I am a little bit of a gossip too.
I don't think I can stop judging - some people are really lame (Nadya Suleman, for example). But the bottom line is I am going to make an effort to pause and see if I can look at things a different way...even when I am not paid to do it. I will stop myself, judge carefully, and give other people a chance before SNAP judgment. Until they complain...then, it is all over.
Don't judge.
The problem with being judgmental when you are lawyer is that you have to separate yourself from your judgment. We are not judges. We have to defend our clients and make their case favorable, even when we think they exercised poor judgment, for example, when they did not listen when you told them - "don't do that". I don't judge clients because I am paid not to judge but to defend.
I am an equal opportunity judger. I feel sorry for the people in my life sometimes. For example, my awesome husband who works sooooooooo hard. 24/7. Really, he is amazing. He even works in his sleep. I literally hear him talking about patents and swearing about missing imaginary dream deadlines in his sleep. He never misses deadlines in real life. I judge him. I say, "Well, the reason you work like that is because you have boundary issues, priority issues, you are a workaholic, and you cannot allow anyone to do anything without micromanaging." Mean, cruel, judge.
But, he works to provide. To be a "good father and husband" as he was taught to be a "good father and husband". I know he also enjoys it. He also is a perfectionist. Perhaps, I should be stepping back and reserving judgment until I've fully put myself in his shoes. Or, in the shoes of a wife who works a 60 hour week to come home to a husband who hasn't done anything at all but eat Cheetos, drink beer, buy Sham Wows on the Amex, watch sports, and wear out the couch? Or, in the shoes of a wife whose husband has just been laid off and has nowhere to work? What would she think of my judgment? She would judge me. She would also be Dr. Laura. But that is neither here nor there. And yes, another judgment. I can't stop.
I probably am thinking about this more because I judge myself as harshly as I do others. When I was running at EB this morning, I went into an alternate state (mostly to get through the pain) and I started judging myself as if I were a person on the outside. I saw myself lumbering down the street as the guy who had just driven by and I said (channeling Tom Leykis) "fat ass, why did you let yourself go and become a heifer, you are here because you chose to eat all that food and sit on your butt."
I also see myself and judge when I am with Lulo and he is shrieking and wailing about his chosen thing for the day - the fact that I put his sock on, the fact that his granola bar broke in two and it is not fixable, or the fact that his penguin won't stand up if it is on a deep slope. These are things beyond my control. I can hear the judgments of others when he wails: "lousy mother who works instead of being a proper role model and interacting with her children" or "why doesn't she discipline him when he does that?"
A few years ago...I would have judged me if I saw me. But then, I still turn around and judge the co-sleeper/family bed Moms, the no vaccine moms, and the breastfeeding 3 year old Moms.
But that is the thing, as I have gotten new priorities, new conflicts, new experiences - I have changed my mind about some of my old judgments only to pick up new judgments. Perhaps the thing about being judgmental is that it is only a flaw or a true "problem" if you don't grow and you don't realize that each situation is capable of a different interpretation and you are only colored by your experiences and what has fallen on your lap. Or maybe it is only a problem if you act on that judgment - being hurtful to that person, saying something mean, gossiping, etc. I don't do that even though I have wanted to. Well, strike that, I am a little bit of a gossip too.
I don't think I can stop judging - some people are really lame (Nadya Suleman, for example). But the bottom line is I am going to make an effort to pause and see if I can look at things a different way...even when I am not paid to do it. I will stop myself, judge carefully, and give other people a chance before SNAP judgment. Until they complain...then, it is all over.
Don't judge.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Carry You Days
When I go wake up (get) Lulo in the morning, I walk in his room and he usually enthusiastically calls out the name of his chosen animal of the day - MONKEY, PENGUIN, LION, ROOOOOOOAAAAR. I try not to take special offense when he screams "ELEPHANT" + Trumpet Noise. I grab his clothes for the day, get him out of his crib, shower him with kisses and he says, "BOWNSTAIRS". Translation: Downstairs.
We walk to the stairs together and some days, he walks down counting out the stairs. Some days, he says "Carry you, carry you." This comes from the days when he used to stand at the top of the stairs look down and I would say, "do you want Mama to carry you?" and his arms would shoot up. And, he would rest his warm little head on my shoulder and we would go bownstairs.
Today, was a "carry you" day. I kind of looked at him and thought, "sure, you want to carry me down the stairs because I can't carry you." And yet, I garnered that one last ounce of strength, squatted without my knees giving out, and lifted him. And when I did, he took his little hands and put them on biceps and gave them a little rub. Out of blue. Isn't it funny how when you have nothing left, you find it for your kids. That little bit of bicep love carried me down those stairs. The "carry you" days are so special to me. Really, how long will he let me carry him?
Today, at EB, we did a lot of arm work with the running of laps around a parking lot interspersed in between arm work. And when I say arm work, I mean 5 lb weights in each arm, and a lot of reps, in a lot of new positions, and I could not hold the steering wheel on the way home. My arms shook.
Later on today, J. and I are going to go check out the preschool down the street so that we can potentially enroll Lulo a couple days a week for a few hours. I think Diego is tired of Lulo. He wants to spend more time rescuing animals with his prima, Dora and his hermana, Alicia. Maybe will carry me through the parking lot and to the preschool. Shuffling and limping from the car to the preschool may not leave a good impression. And, literally, I may need the carrying to give me the courage to let my Lulo go.
We walk to the stairs together and some days, he walks down counting out the stairs. Some days, he says "Carry you, carry you." This comes from the days when he used to stand at the top of the stairs look down and I would say, "do you want Mama to carry you?" and his arms would shoot up. And, he would rest his warm little head on my shoulder and we would go bownstairs.
Today, was a "carry you" day. I kind of looked at him and thought, "sure, you want to carry me down the stairs because I can't carry you." And yet, I garnered that one last ounce of strength, squatted without my knees giving out, and lifted him. And when I did, he took his little hands and put them on biceps and gave them a little rub. Out of blue. Isn't it funny how when you have nothing left, you find it for your kids. That little bit of bicep love carried me down those stairs. The "carry you" days are so special to me. Really, how long will he let me carry him?
Today, at EB, we did a lot of arm work with the running of laps around a parking lot interspersed in between arm work. And when I say arm work, I mean 5 lb weights in each arm, and a lot of reps, in a lot of new positions, and I could not hold the steering wheel on the way home. My arms shook.
Later on today, J. and I are going to go check out the preschool down the street so that we can potentially enroll Lulo a couple days a week for a few hours. I think Diego is tired of Lulo. He wants to spend more time rescuing animals with his prima, Dora and his hermana, Alicia. Maybe will carry me through the parking lot and to the preschool. Shuffling and limping from the car to the preschool may not leave a good impression. And, literally, I may need the carrying to give me the courage to let my Lulo go.
Monday, February 23, 2009
But it's Green
This morning I woke up at 4:45. No, actually I woke up at 1:45, 2:45, 3:45, and then 4:00. I stared at the clock for 45 minutes and turned off the alarm before it went off. I had set up all my EB stuff so that I could just jump in my clothes and go. I drank my coffee nervously and had serious fear about being late and having to run home after a drill instructor took my keys and jumped on them. I was 20 minutes early. I got there (at the same time as the instructors.) It was dark still but I was happy to get there early enough to see where to park because I would NEVER have found it if I wasn't following the instructor. Of course, I parked next to him and wondered if I would have to do extra push-ups if I hit his car by accident. Then, I started to sweat. So, I was sweating before we even started, literally.
We did various calisthenics, stretches, and then we were tasked to run a timed mile before returning for a nice core workout. The thought of running bothers me. I remember high school basketball hell week and it just makes me uncomfortable. Shin splints. Running. Being the last one...clunky, tall, slow, slow, Tina. And I remember the coaches being all annoyed having to wait for me at the finish line as I lumbered through.
But, today, I jogged the first 1/4 mile, then walked "with spirit" for another 1/4 mile, then I jogged the last 1/2 mile. My lungs burned. It rained. But, I survived. I live to die another day. Oh, and I wasn't last. Time: 13 minutes, 40 seconds. I am certain that this was my time in high school too.
Meanwhile, I have eaten 1/2 of what I normally have ingested at this point in a day. I watched everyone in my house eat pizza while I ate a turkey sandwich, no mayo, no cheese. I fear that the ingestion of bread will bring me some kind of punishment. I also have drank more water than I typically do in 3 days.
I drank green tea. Who drinks this? The tea tastes green - and not in a fresh lime way, in a sewery way. I thought green everything was "in" - tea, electric cars, compost heaps, St. Pat's day is coming up, isn't green the new blue? But, this is too many changes in my life at once. Maybe I just need to find another kind of green tea. I literally don't think green tea can get better. Hmm. I will sleep on it until 4:45.
We did various calisthenics, stretches, and then we were tasked to run a timed mile before returning for a nice core workout. The thought of running bothers me. I remember high school basketball hell week and it just makes me uncomfortable. Shin splints. Running. Being the last one...clunky, tall, slow, slow, Tina. And I remember the coaches being all annoyed having to wait for me at the finish line as I lumbered through.
But, today, I jogged the first 1/4 mile, then walked "with spirit" for another 1/4 mile, then I jogged the last 1/2 mile. My lungs burned. It rained. But, I survived. I live to die another day. Oh, and I wasn't last. Time: 13 minutes, 40 seconds. I am certain that this was my time in high school too.
Meanwhile, I have eaten 1/2 of what I normally have ingested at this point in a day. I watched everyone in my house eat pizza while I ate a turkey sandwich, no mayo, no cheese. I fear that the ingestion of bread will bring me some kind of punishment. I also have drank more water than I typically do in 3 days.
I drank green tea. Who drinks this? The tea tastes green - and not in a fresh lime way, in a sewery way. I thought green everything was "in" - tea, electric cars, compost heaps, St. Pat's day is coming up, isn't green the new blue? But, this is too many changes in my life at once. Maybe I just need to find another kind of green tea. I literally don't think green tea can get better. Hmm. I will sleep on it until 4:45.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Losing My Lap: The First Post
This morning I was sitting on the floor with Jojo (on my right thigh) and Juju (on my left). J was downstairs, working. Lulo was watching our friend Diego peacefully until he saw me with Jojo and Juju. He came to me and said "no babies". Um. OK. Yeah. No babies. Sure. Then, he tried to get on my lap. I have a big lap. But at this point, it was occupied by two 25+ pound babies.
Tomorrow, I will begin a new adventure. Extreme Bootcamp (hereinafter "EB"). 6 weeks, Monday through Friday, 5:30 AM. The aforementioned thighs better shrink for that 1.5 hours of lost sleep I intend to give up. 1.5 hours x 30 days = 45 hours. That's a work week. I am losing a work week's amount of sleep in 42 days. So, I better lose other things - my lap would be a good start because three little people can't fit on it anyway and, to my knowledge, the babies are not going anywhere.
Yesterday, I signed my life away at the EB Orientation. I actually signed a document that said that if I die, it is ok with me. I thought about editing the contract but realized that it would not likely be enforceable if I actually did die. They gave us a EB Survival Guide including a mess log in which I am supposed to jot down everything I ingest for the next 6 weeks. My favorite part of the entire Survival Guide is the page entitled "FOR MAXIMUM WEIGHT LOSS, DO NOT EAT AFTER 3PM:" and then it provides a list of all the things I should not eat after 3 pm: bread, rice, potatoes, beans, corn, pasta, cereal, banana, melon, grapes/raisins, pineapple, sugar. Right now, I am thinking of this last year and can think of a handful of days when I ate all of those things after 3 pm. Maximum weight loss may not be a realistic goal for me.
We had to do some initial testing yesterday, sit-ups (I did 14), push-ups (I did 0), weight (no comment), measurements (they ran out of measuring tape). None of the drill instructors said anything mean. I did not cry while I was there or while I was doing my testing. And I even laughed once when the lady in front of me stated that her goal was to be Giselle. We have to state our goal. My goal: To lose my lap, literally.
Tomorrow, I will begin a new adventure. Extreme Bootcamp (hereinafter "EB"). 6 weeks, Monday through Friday, 5:30 AM. The aforementioned thighs better shrink for that 1.5 hours of lost sleep I intend to give up. 1.5 hours x 30 days = 45 hours. That's a work week. I am losing a work week's amount of sleep in 42 days. So, I better lose other things - my lap would be a good start because three little people can't fit on it anyway and, to my knowledge, the babies are not going anywhere.
Yesterday, I signed my life away at the EB Orientation. I actually signed a document that said that if I die, it is ok with me. I thought about editing the contract but realized that it would not likely be enforceable if I actually did die. They gave us a EB Survival Guide including a mess log in which I am supposed to jot down everything I ingest for the next 6 weeks. My favorite part of the entire Survival Guide is the page entitled "FOR MAXIMUM WEIGHT LOSS, DO NOT EAT AFTER 3PM:" and then it provides a list of all the things I should not eat after 3 pm: bread, rice, potatoes, beans, corn, pasta, cereal, banana, melon, grapes/raisins, pineapple, sugar. Right now, I am thinking of this last year and can think of a handful of days when I ate all of those things after 3 pm. Maximum weight loss may not be a realistic goal for me.
We had to do some initial testing yesterday, sit-ups (I did 14), push-ups (I did 0), weight (no comment), measurements (they ran out of measuring tape). None of the drill instructors said anything mean. I did not cry while I was there or while I was doing my testing. And I even laughed once when the lady in front of me stated that her goal was to be Giselle. We have to state our goal. My goal: To lose my lap, literally.
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