Observation

I think that I learn much more from my son than he does from me.

As I observe him walking through the park this morning, it is as though I am seeing everything for the first time again. The squirrels, the leaves, the grass. Endlessly fascinating.

a photo may say a thousand words: here are mine

I already know that some people may actually be a touch offended by some of my thoughts on this subject.  I am aware that I'm being a touch judge-y when it isn't, at ALL, my place to do so.

When I see photos of online acquaintances in which they are significantly heavier than when I last saw them, I cannot help but feel sad, (and a touch curious.)  ME, feeling sad that people, like myself!, have gained weight.  It's dumb.  It's judgmental.  It's none of my goddamn business.  But I start to wonder, "what happened?"  "Did they injure themselves?"  "Are they dealing with depression?"  "Did they just let themselves go?"  Again--none of my business.

In the event that I'm not alone.  In the event that even some of MY online friends and acquaintances are thinking, "HA! Irony of ironies!  What the f*ck happened to you, lardass?" here is my situation.

I have never been skinny.  Never.  Not a day.  But I'm glad of that fact, honestly.  Skinny doesn't necessarily mean "healthy" or even "pretty" in my world.  It, in my world, means thin to the point of boney protrusions.  It does not mean "unhealthy" by default, but it could.

Oh, no.  I have always been a bit soft around the edges.  But not until adulthood did I get actually fat.  That never stopped anyone from calling me fat when I was younger, though.  I was often picked on as a child, always for things well out of my control such as my last name, my height, and their warped perceptions of reality.

As an aside, I can recall a time--when I was at one of my smallest points in my adult life, of course--when complete strangers, a car full of them, took the time to roll down their windows and insult me for my "big ass."  I was a size 9, and all that I had done was have the gaul to be out in public.  How dare I?!  Yeah.  Not so good times.  Not the first time to be put down by strangers for my appearance.  Neither the last.

Aside from genetics, I can easily blame the lousy eating habits I picked up as a child for my size.  When I was able to have my own household, I made a conscious effort to learn good food habits.  I recognized a connection between what I ate and my overall health.  I noticed that the many folks in my family struggling with weight issues were also, often, the ones who ate poorly.  I decided that I did not want to be one of those people.  I became a pescatarian, abstaining from eating any pork, beef, chicken, lamb, et cetera.  I did eat the occasional fish or seafood.  Within a month of changing my diet, I lost fifteen pounds.

I wavered a little bit at that weight for several years.  I'd gain a pound or two, lose a pound or two.  I had a physically demanding job.  I was in pretty good shape without needing to focus on eating a certain way (other than my eventual vegetarian diet), nor needing to worry about exercise.  But that all changed when my career drastically changed.  I went from standing and moving for hours on end to sitting at a desk for eight hours a day.  My clothes began to feel snug.  Favorite pants that had always been flattering were suddenly unsightly for the roll of skin that bulged over the waist.  And then I started to see photos of myself.  Particularly, candid photos.  Did I REALLY look like that?  Was I REALLY that big?  It was too much.  I started saving my pennies and I signed up for Weight Watchers.

For the first time in my life, I was putting serious limits on how much I could eat.  I did nothing else.  I didn't exercise, I just altered my eating.  Foods in my pantry started carrying the words "low fat," or "fat free."  Diet soda replaced regular.  Subway became my favorite "quick-fix" meal.  The pounds melted away.

I can still recall feeling confused, and even doubting the experiences of some of my fellow Weight Watchers.  They complained of occasional struggles.  Surely, they couldn't have been following the program as well as I was.  It was so easy!  I could still have a donut every Friday morning and lose weight.  I could still eat dessert from time to time.  The weight just kept coming off.

I did eventually hit a plateau about five pounds from my goal.  After a few weeks of struggling, my WW leader suggested that re-evaluate my goal.  I was currently in the healthy weight range for my age and height.  Did I really want to be any lighter?  Would I be able to be happy eating even fewer calories every day?  I decided that I was already starting to feel a touch deprived, and revised my goal.  After a few weeks of maintenance, I was labeled a Lifetime Member.

(Ironically, in the weeks following my decision to revise my goal, the pounds started to come off again.)

So there I was--a Lifetime Member.  I was CURED, right?  No longer fat.  No longer heavy.  I was getting crazy compliments on my looks, on my weight loss.  I was often asked questions like, "what's your secret?" "How did you do it?" Of course, most of the folks that asked the question, really didn't like my answer.  My "fix" wasn't quick enough, wasn't easy enough, took too much time and too much work.  Years later, I'd agree.

I remained a Lifetimer for a couple of years.  I moved, and stopped going to meetings, but I was otherwise doing an okay job of maintaining my weight.  Then I really mucked up the works--I changed careers again.

Going back to school meant that I was grabbing food on the go.  I stopped measuring portions.  I stopped counting points.  I started gaining weight.  It was a slow gain, but within a couple of years, I was back to my pre-Weight Watchers weight, only this time I convinced myself that I looked okay.  Sure, I was heavy, but I was a good-looking heavy!  And while I told myself this lie, I still felt awful.  I felt broken.  I felt like I blew it.

From time to time, I would eat a little better.  Or, I'd say, "the heck with eating right, I'll just exercise this time."  While I might lose a few pounds, the loss was never lasting.  Additionally, every medical physical I'd have showed me to be crazy healthy chemically.  No diabetes, not even a hint.  No cholesterol trouble.  No heart disease.  I started to think that maybe I was just meant to be fat.

When I had been pregnant with my daughter, I was terrified about gaining weight after she was born.  I'd witnessed a few women go from being fit, beautiful ladies into being heavy, dowdy moms.  By jove, I was NOT going to let that happen.  So I didn't.  While I did gain a significant amount of weight during pregnancy, I lost it all postpartum thanks to a vigorous job and a fair amount of exercise.

When I became pregnant with my son, I knew that I was already starting off heavy.  As such, I kept tabs on my weight gain.  I knew that I needed to gain weight to have a healthy pregnancy, but I also was not about to go crazy-go-nuts and eat everything save New Jersey.  At each prenatal visit, my gains were right on track.  I gained exactly what I should have gained--even less than what I had gained when pregnant with my daughter!  I knew that the difference of 17+ years would affect my postpartum weight loss, but I was already feeling great knowing that I'd have less to lose to get back to pre-pregnancy weight.

Alas, it didn't quite work out that way.  I was on track for getting back into pre-pregnancy shape when I was hit with a devastating betrayal of trust.  The stress of that situation brought my weight loss to a halt, and brought with in a weight gain.  I was in agony.  I was trying SO. HARD. to lose weight, but was seeing the numbers go up and not down.  Soon I was recognizing that I didn't have all the answered.  Sure, I'd lost weight before.  Of course, I should know what to do to do it again.  But it wasn't working.  I decided that I needed help and I returned to Weight Watchers.

I've since learned why those other members in other meetings struggled, and it wasn't because they weren't on plan.  I've since learned that getting older means working harder for smaller gains.  I've since learned that I can do it--I AM doing it--and that I really do need the meetings.  I've also learned that the answer isn't replacing my pantry with "fat free" items or diet anything.  I've learned that I need to eat REAL food, like Michael Pollan says: not too much, and mostly plants.  I've also learned that I'm much better when I exercise.

While I've lost over twenty pounds, I'm still heavy now.  There may be some folks who, upon seeing recent photos of me, are thinking, "Damn, she's big.  She was so fit a few years ago."  Well, they're right.  But I also know that I'm working towards a real, and lasting change.  I know that I'm a product--a reflection--of all the struggles and stress I've had the last few years.

I write this because it helps ME to recognize that those folks who, like me, are heavier today than they were weeks/months/years ago are also a product of their travails.  And who am I to judge them?!  So, while I may feel sad, I need to recognize that they might not.  They, too, might be working towards a goal.  They, too, might be proud of their efforts.  And they, too, just might be heavy now--but have still done so much good for themselves.  Who am I to judge?

Do you struggle with image issues?

a product of my surroundings

There are times when the blank box for composing a blog entry is so intimidating.  Right now is one of those times.  While I do have a lot on my mind, my brain feels so cluttered and unorganized.  It must be the influence of my surroundings.

Almost everywhere I look I can see boxes.  Fully boxes, empty boxes, in-between boxes.  Worse would be the places where there are no boxes, for there is still so much left to pack.  The kitchen is largely untouched.  Not a thing from the bathroom has been packed.  It is certainly daunting.  We still seem to have so much left to do.  I should be thankful that our closing date was pushed back.

Yes, we are not closing this week rather next week.  One week from today, supposedly.  I am so looking forward to more space, a back yard, and a life not surrounded by much of my personal items boxed and stacked.

I am trying to take advantage of this time by purging items that are no longer needed.  We've made numerous trips already to donation centers in our area, but there is still more that could go.  I have at least five different ways to curl my hair; hot rollers, rag rollers, velcro rollers, hot sticks, curling irons (numerous).  I think it's time I downsize.  I have so many pairs of black heels I could shod a troupe of ladies.  I have three FULL boxes of vintage hats.  I think that it's time to let go.

My disjointed thoughts are washing over me again and I'm not sure what else should be said.  Perhaps it's best that I close this confusing, rambling entry and get back to work (as much as I can work with the very active toddler at my heels)...

Amongst a stack of cardboard

Moving is exciting. The promise of a new start, a new place! Particularly when the move--like in our case--is a move upwards. A better neighborhood, more room, more privacy! It's thrilling!

But I'll tell you, packing is for the birds. I loathe this part. We've packed over a half dozen boxes of books and still do not have an empty bookcase.

I have packed THREE boxes of tea cups. Three. That does not include the box of cups that I never unpacked from the last move.

My roll-top desk has already filled another box with books. The desk is still quite full.

We haven't packed anything from the kitchen yet, but we did collect two full bags of kitchen stuff to donate. That accompanied three or four bags of items from my daughter's room.

Our apartment is a disaster of boxes, newspaper, toys, laundry. It's a mess. I just keep telling myself, only a week or so more.

What do you hate about moving? What do you love?

Club 33

To celebrate the anniversary of my 29th birthday, my husband worked a small miracle.  With the help of a friend of ours, he made reservations for us to dine at Club 33.

My birthday is in August.  So if you're wondering why I am posting this in October, it's because October was when they were able to secure a reservation.  As I had waited for years to experience Club 33, waiting a few months to have a birthday dinner seemed like nothing.  But I digress.

All that I knew beforehand was that my fella had made arrangements for something special.  He asked that I dress nicely, and told me not to worry.  (He knows that I am not a big fan of surprises.)  We then met up with our friend, David, at the Grand Californian Hotel in Anaheim.

The plan was to meet David for cocktails at the bar in the Grand Californian.  David was to mention that he had reservations for us at the Blue Bayou Restaurant in Disneyland.  As we stood in line for the restaurant, the boys were then going to spring the surprise on me about Club 33.  It was a great plan.  Alas, it did not turn out that way.

When we pulled into the valet for the hotel, my husband produced a note that basically said: "This is a surprise for my lady.  We have reservations at Club 33.  Please do not say anything about our destination.  Thanks."

The first employee quietly read the details, and simply directed Brian to the front of the hotel.  The second employee, however, skimmed the note and asked Brian--multiple times--about our reservations at Club 33.

When my fella turned to me after the cat was freed from the proverbial bag, I could tell he was very disappointed.  His awesome planned ruined.  But I was certainly giddy at the news and could not help but be excited.  And otherwise, the evening ran smoothly.

We started with cocktails in the Grand Californian's Hearthstone bar.  They offered an excellent rye whiskey Manhattan cocktail with three Luxardo cherries!  The atmosphere at the hotel and bar was lovely, and we enjoyed catching up with David and hearing about his recent vacation.  (Oh, how I now long to go to Europe!)

Grand Californian

It was a good thing we plied ourselves with drink, because getting through the park on a Saturday night is always something of an ordeal.  We managed to time it just as folks were gathering for one of the park's many productions.  This one in New Orleans Square.

Main Street was CROWDED

When we finally arrived at the mysterious club door, we were greeted by a throng of children.  One of the adults with the kids mentioned that the club's lobby was full and that we, like them, would have to wait outside.  It's here that I must trail off for a touch, do forgive me:  But who can afford to take along six to eight children all about the age of nine to an $80/person minimum dining establishment?!  Wow, could they adopt me?!

The worst photo ever of the 33

Wait we did, though Brian did push the discrete button to summon the club's greeter to confirm our reservation.

Once inside, we were treated to some Club 33 trivia.  Such as the name of the club was in reference to its address, 33 Royal Street.  When it was our turn to ascend to the restaurant, Brian and I chose to go by their lift.

The lobby and lift

A quick self-portrait

Our photographer and friend can be seen in the reflection

Our host had made a joke about making inappropriate faces in photos, here I asked for him most inappropriate.  He could only laugh in response.

Once upstairs, we were shown to our table.  We were seated in a corner, just off the balcony.  In fact, I was able to stroll along the balcony for a bit, and even caught some of the show that folks had been queueing up for earlier.

Geez, I look maniacal!

We began dinner with another round of cocktails, this time I chose a Sidecar.  (Confession time, I thought the Hearthstone Manhattan was better.)  We each ordered appetizers, David and I choosing the soup--an incredible corn chowder, and Brian opting for a salad, a bright and fresh salad with butter lettuce and mint.

Roasted corn chowder

Brian's salad

For dinner, David had the duck breast while Brian and I had the vegetable tartine.  We also enjoyed a bottle of wine from Steinbeck Winery with dinner.  Dinner was outstanding.  Between the wonderful company and the terrific food (and the flowing wine), I was swept up in the moment.

Vegetable Tartine

Am I already under the table?@!

David insisted that we order dessert, it was to celebrate my birthday after all.  I chose to go with the waiter's recommendation and had their chocolate and peanut butter offering.  David had the cheesecake.  Brian decided to try a bit of each.  The dessert was lovely, the peanut butter ice cream being the real stand-out.

DESSERT!

After dinner, we strolled back to our cars.  Too many early evenings, plus all the wonderful food in my belly made me sleepy.  Oh, how I would have loved to have stayed later, but then the boys would've had to have carried me to the car.

Note the microphone in the center of the chandelier, it was to allow the kitchen to know when conversation had died down and plates were ready for clearing

The evening was certainly one filled with great memories.  I am so blessed to have such fantastic people in my life.

Aw, do we HAVE to leave?!

Oh, I have to mention that the ladies room at Club 33 was worth seeing.  It isn't some architectural wonder or anything, but the toilets look like wicker dining chairs.  Yeah, I guess I'm odd to mention that.

Nap time miracle?

Prepare to be shocked, SHOCKED I TELL YOU!

Declan is asleep.  By himself.

I know, I can hardly believe it myself.


If you're currently scratching your head and wondering, "duh, babies sleep all the time, and there isn't enough room in a crib for anyone else," I have to catch you up to our reality.

A sleeping Declan, a wonderful sight

For a start, Declan does not have a crib.  He sleeps in a bed.  My bed to be precise.  (Well, our bed when you include my fella.)  We co-sleep.  While it may not be the best plan for everyone, it is certainly the best solution for us.  It has allowed us to get much more sleep as a whole.  And, I confess, it's a heck of a lot easier for me to just roll over to nurse him back to sleep than it would be to get out of bed, go to another room,  pull him out of bed, nurse him, and hope I can put him back in his crib without him waking again.  So, yes, laziness is definitely a factor.

Back to Declan napping, though...

Declan is not an easy guy to coax into sleeping.  He fights it, be it bedtime or nap.  Trying to get this boy to nap is a chore.  (Well, unless you're my daughter who must have some magic juju or something. Declan is asleep within fifteen minutes.  It's amazing.)  I'll save from the laborious details of what it sometimes takes to get this kid to nap.  But trust me, it's work.

Yet today, not so much.  Sure, my back is still aching from bouncing on a yoga ball for a good half-hour, but believe or not that's nothing!

Maybe he is finally getting used to the idea that he needs to nap?  Maybe letting him play quietly in his playpen before nap time is helping?  Maybe this is the only day we'll have such luck?

Whatever the answer, I'm just glad that it's happening now.

real estate karma?

So, that dream house? The one that didn't sell while we were going through credit rehab? The one that I wanted so much? The one whose agent led us to believe that they really wanted our offer? The one that then--miraculously--received other offers? The one that couldn't even be bothered to counter offer us and took a different offer instead?

Yeah--that one.

It's back on the market. The offer that they thought was better than ours must've fallen through. SCHADENFREUDE!!