Monkey Mama Lite

Score = Andrea: 2 -Temptation: 0

Last night, I said “No thank you” to pizza. I will give you all a minute to digest that concept……There was pizza, freshly baked, covered in cheesy deliciousness, and I chose not to eat it. I ate a salad instead. And, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t resentful or feeling deprived. I just didn’t want to eat it. I didn’t want to feel gross afterwards. Andrea: 1 – Temptation: 0

Today I was CRAVING a turkey sandwich. And not just any turkey sandwich, a turkey sandwich, with the meat, freshly sliced off of the whole roasted turkey, a little cranberry sauce, some lettuce, onions all pilled together in a sandwich full of deliciousness. But I didn’t want the bread. So, I ordered the sandwich, from my little work café, on a wrap. And I asked for extra veggies. And then I ate the sandwich, with a fork, but threw the tortilla wrap away. I had all of the flavor that I was desiring, without the carb crash that usually accompanies that sandwich. And once again, I felt like I was in control. I felt powerful. Andrea: 2 – Temptation: 0

I am a lover of food. I love the flavors, the textures, the experience of food. And this little game I have been playing with myself, of trying to eat the things that I LOVE while still being healthy has actually become fun. I am learning how to make things in new, healthier ways, full of flavor, without added crap. It is a remarkable feeling, one I haven’t had in quite some time, to feel like I am in control of my body again.

Today I pulled out a pair of pants, from my closet that I haven’t worn in four years. And I am wearing them to work. I have many cute, still fashionable items of clothing that I haven’t worn in years, staring at me from the dark corners of my closet, just waiting for their second chance too. And although I have a long way to go to wear many of those little pieces of fashion heaven again, it is nice to know that I WILL wear them again.

The day the stress took over

I have been working on my Masters degree for almost 7 years. Yes, you read that correctly, I said 7. I took a full year off in there when I got married and moved and started a new job. But all in all, it has been 7 long years. And when I started this degree, back in the dark ages, I stressed about the Thesis that I would inevitably have to write. Doesn't a Masters thesis sound daunting? No? Well, to me it was the cornerstone of all things stress.

Over the past 7 years, whenever I have thought of said Thesis, I have instantly had a stomach full of knots. At night, when I can not sleep, it is usually because I am thinking about how much further I have to go to complete my thesis. Going to the dentist sounded more appealing then writing a stinking Thesis. As a post-high school student, I have never been a procrastinator. I have taken great pride in the fact that I get my work done, long before the deadlines, so that it's not hanging over my head. My Thesis however, has made me the Queen of procrastination. There is something about it that I have made out to be insurmountable. Something about it has held me back from progressing to the finish line.

Today, I am taking great strides in my race to the Masters degree finish line. Today, I am conducting my research, which puts me only 3 chapters away from finishing the darn Thesis. And still, my stomach is full of knots. I think that is because today, things get real. And today, it feels as if the universe is laughing at me. Did I get a good night's rest so I can at least appear intelligent and prepared for tonight? Nope, sure didn't. Somehow my wonderful sleeping baby decided that last night would be the perfect night to wake up screaming at 1am and not go back to sleep till 4am. AWESOME! There are unexpected work fires popping up all over the place, work deadlines looming, and focus group participants backing out at the last minute. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. What would life be without a million unexpected curve balls, just to keep us on our toes. Here's hoping I can still maintain a coherent conversation by 6pm tonight.

David doesn't know it yet, but as soon as my Thesis has been successfully defended, I am organizing a HUGE party. Because I think that seven long years of graduate school, at Johns Hopkins none the less, earns me a big freakin' adult party. Filled with debauchery and friends. Cause for this girl, the artist formerly known as "The Rockstar", nothing is more motivating then the promise of a party! First though, I need to finish the darn thing, pronto. AND stop stress eating everything that's not nailed down. Stress drinking doesn't count though, right?

Bye bye Surfer Dude

PEY's hair has always been his signature piece. He was born with a full head of jet black hair. And anytime we were out in public, I consistently was asked how bad my heart burn was during pregnancy.  I also consistently referred to his signature look as his "rockstar hair". He was pretty freakin' cool. And  people reminded me that I should appreciate his newborn "rockstar hair" because he would most definitely loose it all within a few months. Oh yes, these experts knew what they were talking about, or so they thought.

As he has grown, his hair has lightened, but it never went away. It just kept growing. As summer arrived this year he became what I affectionately referred to as my little surfer boy. The ends curled up, and framed his face in these precious golden curls. But like every good thing, it eventually got in his eyes. And was turning into what I dare say, was the beginnings of a mullet. And I may be open to MANY things, but mullets are not one of them.

So I brought up to David the idea of cutting PEY's hair. David was not a fan. He wanted to just let PEY's hair grow. I can't blame him, I loved his hair too. But eventually, we decided that it was time for a trim. I didn't want to take PEY to a professional for fear that they would cut too much off. Because I still wanted him to maintain that surfer dude vibe. So I decided, in a moment of shear stupidity brilliance, that I would cut it myself.

See exhibit A and B:

PEY was supplied with a liberal amount of graham crackers, I was armed with a hair cutting kit, and a trusty water bottle and David was poised with the camera. And so the cutting began.

 

 I was working as fast as I possibly could, without seriously maming le babe.

It didn't take long for the squirming to begin. And the fussing. Oh man, was there fussing.

But thank goodness there was a Daddy, to supply the laughter, and the welcome distraction, aka the Wii remote. This kid has an obsession with electronics. Hence the reason I am missing two keys from my laptop.

The final product was a little diappointing. I didn't butcher the job. It was a decent cut, considering I was dealing with a 16 month old who we call the "Texas Tornado". But he doesn't look like a sufer dude anymore.

But it's just hair, it will grow back. And at least it is out of his eyes.

I do not, however, think that I missed my calling as a professional hairstylist. Next time I want to maintain a specific look, I am just going to take him to see the professionals. The professionals who are trained in the way of baby haircut wrangling. And who also supply lollipops, for baby and parents.   

My childhood "normal"

I realized after I wrote my post yesterday, that the way I felt during my “rebellion” with food, was actually more about my constant desire to feel “normal”. Don’t worry, this will be the last serious post for awhile.

As an adult, I am a totally average 5’6’’ height.  However, I have been 5’6’’ since about the 5^th grade. Growing up, I was off the growth charts height wise, and the doctors always thought that I would be close to 6 feet tall. I can clearly remember the height charts on the classroom doors in elementary school, particularly the height chart in first grade. I don’t remember how often we were measured, but I do remember that I was always in competition with a male classmate, to be the tallest 1^st grader. Somewhere between that height chart and 3^rd grade, every so often I was referred to as “Andre the Giant”. That was the beginning of not feeling “normal”.

In the 4^th grade, at my elementary school, you put on a huge 4^th grade production. And let me say, that play, it was kind of a big deal. All of the 4^th graders were involved, and ALL of the school came to see you (along with your parents). The tricky part was that you did not audition for a role, the teachers just put you where they thought you belonged. I was SO excited for that play. You see, I was going to be an actress. I had faithfully loved Princess Leia from about the age of 3. And I believed that when I grew up I would indeed become Princess Leia. When I came to understand that Princess Leia was not an actual person, and actually a role played by the actress Carrie Fisher, I quickly changed my life plan, and decided to become an actress. By the time the 4^th grade rolled around, I had thought about the 4^th grade play for years. I had already been very involved in theater and this 4^th grade play, this was going to be my big break.

There were many roles in this play, the starring role for girls being that of the “Princess”. Of course that was the role that I wanted. However, do you know what role I received? I received the role of the “Giant”. Yes, you read that right, I played the highly coveted, and much esteemed role of “Female Giant”.  I put my heart into that role, because it was still acting, and I was still in the play, but it was heartbreaking. It was heartbreaking to watch the petite blonde play the role of Princess, knowing that I was so very different from her. Suffice it to say that it wasn’t until my late 20’s that I was able to fully DEAL with that heartbreak. That role was a changing point for me. Any ounce of “normal” that I had ever felt went right out the window. After playing “Female Giant” I just felt huge.

(For the record, as an adult I realize that I was not a fat kid. I was not one of those kids who goes onto Maury Povich and weighs 100 pounds at the age of 3. I was tall, I was athletic, I was strong, and I was not “thin”. But not looking “thin” like the other girls in my class, not being able to wear the same types of clothes made me believe I was a Giant.)

When it came to food, I felt like the healthy way of eating also made me different. I just wanted to be “normal” to eat what all of the other “normal” kids around me were eating. I associated the healthy food with the abnormal way I was feeling, and in turn felt like because I was always a bigger girl, my only option was the healthy food. I longed to be like the other girls in my class, thin, average height, eating ho hos and oreos and not worrying about what those foods would do to my body. I longed to know what it felt like to live in a body that was just “normal”. So eating those “bad” foods was my way of feeling normal. Somehow it made me feel more connected to those girls that I desperately wanted to look like.

My parents promised me that everyone would catch up, that I would not be taller then everyone forever. And of course, they were right. But in the moment, in that role as the “Female Giant”, it felt like it would never happen. And so I learned to eat those “bad” foods to make myself feel better. Not as a crutch, not even as an emotional eater, but just to feel “normal”.

What would YOUR Mama say?

Growing up, I lived in a healthy house. My Mom, the English Professor, was a bit of the crunchy granola type. Not off the charts, but definitely eating clean and healthy, way before it was the hip thing to do. She made homemade, 100% natural baby food.  My lunches, when I started going to school, always had 100% whole wheat bread, 100% fruit juice boxes, fruit, and maybe a fig newton. I would stare longingly at the lunches of my friends, with their Little Debbie snack cakes and Kool-Aid and wish that I had those things in my lunch box. Some days my friends would trade something delicious in their lunch boxes with me, but usually it was just a simple juice box flavor swap.

When middle school came around and I started going to Public School, I developed a love affair with the school cafeteria. A few days a week my Mom would give me lunch money, so I could buy my own lunch, from my boyfriend, the cafeteria. And that’s when the trouble began. Sometimes, if it was pizza day, I would buy pizza, but that was the healthiest it ever got. Most days my lunch would consist of two chocolate milks, the chocolate hostess cupcakes, and maybe tater tots. All of those healthy eating habits my Mom had so painstakingly tried to instill in me from a very young age, went right out the window when I was allowed to make my own food choices.  

Because to me, those “bad foods” were my little way of rebelling. I was never a bad kid. I was a typical teenager, I did the things “typical” teenagers do, but nothing drastic, no hookin’, no druggin’, no jail time. But I wanted to prove to my Mom that I could eat those foods if I wanted to. I wanted to prove that they were “ok”. I wanted to prove that I COULD eat them and still live a normal life.

So, all of my history makes me feel a little sheepish that I am where I am now with food. My Mama is very good about keeping her mouth shut when it comes to me, my weight, my healthy life, etc. We both learned the hard way that it was not a topic that could ever be talked about, without tears. Because even though I may have rebelled, I also didn’t want to be the fat girl. I had this crazy love/hate relationship with food and my body. Some weeks I would ask her to pack me a salad as my lunch, and others I would go back to my cafeteria boyfriend. I started Weight Watchers for the first time in the 8^th grade. And again my senior year of high school. And again after my freshmen year of college….you get the point. And I tried Atkins and South Beach, and this crazy hospital diet that you only ate certain foods, that were supposed to have some weird chemical reaction that would help you drop weight fast. Yeah, that one I did my senior year of high school too and I can STILL remember what a bitch I was when I was on it. Definitely NOT the healthy choice. But my Mama has been through all of that with me. Trying to be supportive, ultimately just wanting me to be happy, and feeling helpless that she couldn’t take my pain away, along with my insane issues with food.

I’m a grown-up now (but I often don’t like to admit it), and it is crazy the kind of clarity and perspective you get on your life, and the role of your parents in your own life, when you become a parent yourself. And it is even crazier to me that I now want all of the same “healthy” things for my family, that my Mom wanted for me, 31 years ago. I can only imagine what my Mama is thinking to herself about my new way of eating. I’m sure she must want to bang her head against the wall in frustration with the fact that it took me 31 freakin’ years to accept that what she was trying to do, was really the best thing for me. But she is good about still not saying much when it comes to the way that I eat, my weight loss, my healthy journey. Years of arguments and tears later, the pain of the misunderstandings that we both lived with are still close to the surface. But hey, I’m getting there.  It may have taken 31 years for me to appreciate my Mama’s wisdom, but she doesn’t have to say a word now. I know what she would say.

 

My perfectly imperfect journey

I’m still in the “inbetween” between wrapping my brain around Primal eating, and counting my points on Weight Watchers. A lifetime of being told “fat is bad” is hard to let go of after only a few weeks.

Here’s what I know to be true, however. I love feeling healthier. I love learning these new recipes that include loads of vegetables.  I love that my husband, bless his junk-food eating heart, is eating his vegetables, albeit gagging them down, but eating them all the same. Because he knows he SHOULD eat them. I LOVE how my 16 month old eats the vegetables first, and often tosses the other stuff over the side of his high chair for the eagerly awaiting dogs.

I love going to the gym and having a lady I see there often tell me that the weights I am using are definitely too light for me now. She told me to suck it up and push a little harder. That is the beauty of a small town gym. People notice when you are there. People notice your progress.  

This is my perfectly imperfect journey, of getting my body back to a healthy and happy place. There are days when nothing still fits and I beat myself up for letting myself get to the place that I was 6 months ago (my rock bottom weight). I’m still fighting to get back from that place. But then there are days like yesterday, when I wore a pair of pants that I bought five years ago when I started my new job, and only was able to wear for about a year before they rapidly became too small, and I wore them to work yesterday, without needing to cut myself out of them.

Will I stay “Primal” for the rest of my life, I have no idea. And that’s not a cop-out or an excuse or even setting myself up for failure. I’m just trying to fill up my mind and my body with as much “truth” as I can about living healthier.  I need to find what works best for me. But I also live in the real world, where I commute over an hour each way to work, and I have a junk-food addict for a husband, and a baby who I am trying to teach to live healthy, from the beginning. And with all of that, I have no idea where I will be in this food journey, even six months from now. But what I do know is that I will still be healthy. I will still be exercising and feeding my body and my families bodies with as much healthy food as I possibly can. I will NOT go back to the way that I was living. I have fought for every success I have earned on this journey I’ll be damned if I give any of those back to the unhealthy darkside that I was living in.

  Cause this happy life is totally where it's at.

The Primal bandwagon

Ok, I am certainly not the first to write about the Primal lifestyle, nor will I be the last, I am sure. But I must say, I am a believer.

One of my favorite bloggers, that I have referred to here before, Modern Matriarch, also has a Primal blog, and she wrote about the lifestyle very well here. Honestly, I can't put into words how I am feeling as eloquently as she did this week.

First, I think that I am so open to this now, because I have spent the past 6 months struggling on Weight Watchers. But although I have fought for each one of the 22 pounds I have lost, I have been changing my life, one day at a time. And for the first time ever, I have not given up, even though the thought has crossed my mind more then a few times. And because I have made so many lifestyle changes in regards to the way that I eat, I am ready to take my healthy eating to a new level. I am ready to make even bigger changes and make myself even healthier. So, bottom line, the old familar standby of Weight Watchers gave me the foundation I needed to jump on the increasingly popular "Primal" bandwagon.

But beyond the foundation, I think I am so open to this now because it isn't a fad. It isn't Atkins or South Beach. It isn't a diet. It is an entire way of living. And considering one of the foundational elements of this lifestyle is to play more, who doesn't LOVE that?  I love that other bloggers who I have read for FOREVER, who I respect and consider to have very similar lifestyles to my own, are also considering going Primal. I think that serves as a testament that there is something to this way of life. And, honestly, I can use all of the support I can get considering that my husband has not had the same "come to jesus" as I have about getting healthy. Some habits are hard to break.

And, like Modern Matriarch, I'm doing this for me, and hopefully for my family. I'm not going to become some Primal zealot, where my way is the only way. We each have our own journey. Right now I am just taking it one meal at a time. Because for now, that's really all I can handle.

It's finally starting to feel like "home"

We moved to Shady Side in March of 2007. Well I did at least. David was still in the Air Force at the time, still stationed in North Carolina. We bought the house because we were getting married and the lease on my apartment was about to expire. We knew we needed a place that had somewhat of a backyard for our dogs (only two then, three now). For those of you that are familiar with the DC metropolitan area, the cost of living here is RIDONKULOUS!! And three years ago, the housing market was still booming.

So we found a house, outside of Annapolis, that had a backyard, was well kept, and fit BARELY into our budget.  In my mind, the house was like a band-aid. We needed something for a few years, until we both got settled in our married life, and then we would buy a bigger house, one that suited our needs a little better. Our intentions were never to stay in our current house for longer than 3 years.

And then the housing market crashed. And the value of our home depreciated significantly. And I began to resent where we lived. I hated living 30 minutes from a major grocery store. I hated how cramped we felt in our home. I hated living out in the “boonies” where my friends wouldn’t visit. Everything about our house made me feel claustrophobic and unhappy. It just didn’t feel like my HOME. Probably because I never opened my heart up enough to let it be my home.

Recently, I have had to have a serious “come to Jesus” with myself about how long we will be in our current home. We may be here for a VERY long time. And once I started accepting that fact, once I started to open my heart up to the area that we live in, I started to realize that it actually is pretty darn great. Sometimes I hold on so tightly to expectations, to ideas of how I believe things SHOULD be, that I don’t appreciate what I have, and the potential that it holds.

This past 4^th of July, my little family, plus Nona, went to the Shady Side 4^th of July parade.

And it was pretty spectacular. It was like a little piece of simple Americana. There was something innocent and comforting about the small town feel of that parade.

And PEY loved it. He was fascinated by all of the cars, and the people throwing candy from their homemade floats.

I had found an excuse to not go to that parade for years, mostly because I didn’t want to open my heart up to a community that I didn’t intend to stay in. But now that I know we are here, for the long haul, I am beginning to love the small town feel of where we live. It is nice to have local, family owned grocery stores, a half a mile from my house, where I can buy bread AND wine, in a pinch. It is nice to get to know the people who live around me, to enjoy the fireworks set-off by dozens of families, out on the West River. I love taking PEY to the numerous neighborhood playgrounds, and showing him the crabs in the water, and the ducks on the neighborhood pier.

Shady Side is starting to feel like home, FINALLY. And I can finally see the potential that it holds for my family.

Monday blahs

I can not get motivated today. Maybe it's the fact that I didn't get any sleep. Maybe it's the fact that I ate a bunch of sugary crap yesterday. But regardless, time is now standing still.

And since I need toothpicks to keep my eyes open right now the only logical solution seemed to be my old standby cure: Diet Coke and a Peppermint Pattie.

Completely not primal by any stretch of the imagination by dear sweet baby jebus it is tasty tasty!

Buffalo! And the makings of a perfect Sunday

My MIL is a Methodist Pastor. And she recently received a new charge in Northern Baltimore County/Carroll County, Maryland. For those of you not familiar with that area of the world, that basically means, farm country. It had been awhile since I had ventured up to that part of the world, and I had forgotten how simply beautiful it was there.

 

There was something about today. The people at the two churches were very welcoming, the weather had finally turned away from oppressive heat and was actually pleasant, and I just couldn't get enough of the rolling green hills.

And as a woman who is trying to embrace the new Primal lifestyle, my day was made absolutely perfect when I discovered that right next to where my MIL was staying was a Buffalo Farm!  Twin Springs Buffalo Farm, to be exact. And the man who was managing the farm right now was so informative, and honestly excited to share everything he knows about Buffalo meat. 

And I am so excited to have discovered this little jewel of a farm. The word on the street is that they are going to be carrying fresh cheeses soon too which pleases me to no end. I want to fill my family's bellies full of natural, healthy, delicious things, and finding this farm was the perfect Sunday surprise. And next time, PEY will get to enjoy the petting zoo!

 
It's the teacher in me that gets excited about all of these fun, exciting, learning experiences. And I want to help PEY's curiosity blossom at places like this one. Where he can learn about food and animals in this amazing hands on environment. I know, I'm one big fat cheeseball.   

So this Sunday, it was a great Sunday Funday.