Buh-Bye Coke, Hello Life

There are times in your life where you look back and say, “Oh…that is what was going on with me.” Like when you have a newborn and PPD, and you look back four years later and think, “So THIS is how I was supposed to feel. I wish I would have reached out more back then.” Or once your new puppy is housebroken and has stopped chewing up your shoes; and the infant that you already had when you acquired said puppy is now feeding herself; and your husband isn’t working 100 hour weeks. I look back and think, “WTF was I thinking? That was a lot of shit to deal with in a short span of time!” That is how I feel about last week.

I decided to go with the meal replacement plan. It sounded ideal. Easy as pie smoothies (did you know that pies are actually not that easy to make?), bars for meals, bars for snacks, and a yummy sensible dinner. I also decided that on the EXACT SAME DAY I would give up Coke. Did you hear that? I would GIVE UP COCA-COLA CLASSIC. It wasn’t a conscious decision in that I said, “As of 5pm on March 8^th I am finished drinking my most favoritest carbonated beverage in the whole entire world. No, I just didn’t have any at home. On Saturday, day one of the meal replacement plan, I was hyper-focused on eating healthy and following “the plan”, so going to McDonald’s drive-thru for a treat wasn’t exactly high on the list of things that I wanted to do. I mean, sure…I WANTED to go, but then I figured taking a nap was just as good. And it was. Sunday wasn’t much different; I treated the caffeine headache with Excedrine and lazed around all day. Monday was more of the same, except while laying around, I also worked on my laptop.

Part of the plan is to make smoothies for breakfast and either lunch or dinner, with two scoops of flavored protein powder mixed in. I thought, “Oh! This will be great!” And then I actually tried making a smoothie with my new blender that I only spent $53.99 on. Yeah…not so great. I wound up fighting with the ice or frozen fruit most of the time (I lost one battle, my kitchen and my clothes and the ceiling paid the price…did you know that berries stain?), and the other times I put in too much of something disgusting and I had to choke the damn thing down, and then struggle all day to keep it down. By Thursday morning, I’d had it. All week I had been nauseous and could barely get out of bed. The thought of fighting my blender was too much to bear for the powder-tasting concoction that I was whipping up. I was exhausted, felt like shit, knew I had been complaining to my co-workers entirely too much, and was questioning the meal plan decision. As it turns out, easy as pie also tastes like shit. And therefore isn’t easy as pie.

The only good thing about my days were the evenings. Most days I was too nauseous to eat anything, so by dinnertime I was starving. And I could give a shit what I ate. Leftover sour cream and cheese enchiladas? Yes Please! Leftover lasagna? Hand it over! Toasted ham and cheese sandwich? I am drooling. Food had never tasted so good. The best thing about the whole week though was that I did not have a single Coke. NOT ONE. I did not celebrate that victory as much as I should have.

Thursday night rolled around and it was time for bed. The girls had been extra energetic lately; cabin fever is reaching its pitch. In other words, I wanted to strangle them. Actually no…that isn’t true. I wanted to lock them in a soundproof room and leave them in there for 24 hours. Someone else could make sure that they had food and bathroom breaks and diaper changes. And whatever the hell else they wanted. (THIS toy, to paint, THAT sippy cup, MOM!! CHARLIE PUSHED ME!!) I was ready to snap. I think the girls finally got the hint and lay down to listen to me read the ONE book I begrudgingly agreed to….5 Minute Princess Stories. (Five minutes my ass.)

After the stories were read I tucked in my little angels and tried to leave the room. I still felt like shit and just wanted out. I wanted to go watch an adult show (like NCIS or Parks and Recreation…not that XXX stuff you all are thinking) and play on my phone. I wanted to snuggle my favorite yellow blanket and hide from everything that was bothering me. And then I heard the little voice, “Mommy, snuggle?”

Sigh. The guilt. Oh the mommy guilt. I agreed to snuggle with my little girls and fetched my yellow blanket and iPhone. I nestled myself in between the girls and wrapped myself in the coziness that is my yellow blanket and Workaholic's blue blanket. I turned on Candy Crush Saga and began trying to beat level 65 for the hundredth time.

Charlie was the first to snuggle up close. She was the one who wanted me in bed with them in the first place, so I wasn’t really all that surprised. She loves to watch my phone when we’re in bed at night, the lights turned off, no TV on, the glow of the screen illuminating her beautiful long eye lashes. It doesn’t matter if I am playing a game or on Facebook or reading Scary Mommy Confessions, she puts her little head on my shoulder and presses up next to me as close as she can. A couple of minutes later Sam crawled out the cave she had created for herself under the covers and did the same thing on my other shoulder. Before too long I heard the long steady breaths of little kids dreaming as only little kids dream. For all the drama before bedtime, they were out like a light once I got them to hold still.

I put down my phone and stayed there a while, taking it all in. The soft chirps of the sound machine in the background, the heat from two little bodies pressed up against me, the quiet that resonated throughout the rest of the house. At one point Sam, in her slumber, began stroking my arm and Charlie reached up and laid her little hand on her face. The softness of their skin when they are clean and being gentle always makes me pause. These are my two little girls. At the end of the day, I can come home and burrow myself in their arms, caress their soft hair and live in the moment. I can stop thinking about how tired I am and how hungry I am and wonder if I just go throw up would it make me feel better. Life at its simplest. The purity of kids is never more apparent as when they are sleeping. I eventually made my way to my bed, desperate for a good night sleep.(only to be awoken at least twice by my little angels).

Friday morning came and I was more tired and nauseated than ever. The cycle was starting again. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t, because we had a doctor appointment to make in Chicago. I had to push through. It was when I sat down in the passenger seat of the van where I finally caved. I couldn’t take it anymore. I forced Workaholic to pull into McDonald’s for ONE Coke, and threw in some fries for good measure.  By Saturday I had decided to give up on the meal plan because the thought of that powdery smoothie made me want to vomit. The nausea was starting to go away, and pizza and beer on Saturday night with friends made things much, much better. By Monday the nausea had pretty much disappeared, and I was eating healthier but not eating any of the meal replacement food.

Looking back, I realize that drastically changing my diet at the same time as giving up the caffeine and fake sugar that I depended on every day was probably not the smartest thing to do. I was having full on withdrawal. Even though I supplemented with Excedrine, my body was PISSED OFF that I would take away the yummy deliciousness that is high fructose corn syrup. I can’t believe that I was so hard on myself. Giving up pop (or soda, depending where you live) is a HUGE accomplishment. Screw those disgusting protein bars and smoothies that piss me off. Screw the “guilt-free” snacks of raw carrots, celery, and broccoli. Screw feeling guilty and ashamed that I “can’t do it.” Fuck. This. Diet. I. Gave. Up. Coke.

My ultimate goal is to have more energy and lose weight and be a happier person, without meds. I am going to do this. But I have to take baby steps. Really little baby steps. Teeny tiny baby steps. Coke is my first. (OK, so quitting Coke is like a baby taking its first step and falling down the stairs. It hurts, but no reason to stop!) Daily fast food is my next. I am trying to only eat out twice a week…that includes lunch AND dinner. This will be a huge fete for me as well, seeing as how a month ago I probably ate out a dozen times a week.

I wonder what I will think a year or two from now when I look back. Will I think that I was getting my life in order? Or will I think that I was crazy for trying to quit all of the things that I loved? Only time will tell!   

Everyone is on the Internet...and Don't Forget It

***Update
After 200,000 views and apparently some death threats, You Tube took down the video because of its "content". Yeah, no shit You Tube. I guess it is re-posted places, I haven't seen it. It was reviewed by TV network.



Last night while playing with my kids, playing with the dogs, playing on my phone, I came across a video my nephew posted on facebook. The still frame was a guy wearing a Notre Dame T-shirt, and my nephew's post was something to the effect of "Stay Classy Notre Dame". The title of the video included the phrase, "I am not racist." HOW COULD I NOT WATCH?

Here is the video, which is NOT on the YouTube account of the guy who originally posted it.

In case you don't feel like wasting four minutes and thirty-six seconds of your life, here's the gist. Samuel Michael Hendrickson would never want to be Asian. (He also does not go to Notre Dame.) He was bored at work and made a list of why he hates Asians, which he then put on his own version of cue cards and made his own video. I think he was attempting a Daniel Tosh approach, but it came across as more racist ignorant asshole. It actually reminded me of a bit Margaret Cho would've done on Stand Up Spotlight on VH1 back in the day. She is Asian, he is not. 

One guy stood up to SMH (SMH, LOL get it?!) on facebook in the short time after he posted his video, and that kid (my nephew) was assaulted with insults by the idiot and his friends. But then the video spread. And was shared by everyone. And, as it turns out, no one actually thought that SMH was funny. I'll admit, I watched it and kind of kept waiting for the point. Which, as it turns out, was that by grouping Asians in such a racist way, Sam was epitomizing the negative stereotype of a dumb Indiana farm boy. He probably isn't even a farm boy, but since anyone who isn't from Indiana thinks that all boys from here are dumb and live on farms, it make total sense. (I wonder if he plays basketball?) Especially since Asians are short, identical, and the men are sexually inadequate. (I won't even mention the Notre Dame T-shirt, because I would not want to be accused of stereotyping ND football fans who possibly might also be fans of Indiana basketball. But seriously, anyone wanna take a bet he is?)   

Someone wrote a blog post, and since I LOVE blogs, I must link to it here. Because it is well written and makes a super great point. Go read Victoria's post. If for no other reason that she is a dog person. The thing that I love the most about what she wrote is that making fun of everyone equally does not make making fun of people OK. If you want to make fun of me, go ahead and do so to my face, but be sure to personalize it. I mean, don't just talk about short, white, overweight moms who drive minivans and have a blog. Oh no, be sure to bring up how I wrecked said minivan three times in a 3 month period, or how I sometimes won't update my blog for a month, or how I hired a nutritionist but didn't actually do anything she told me to do. Except freak out about how I can't do what she said I should do without even trying. 

I am proud of my nephew for standing up in what he believes in. Racism is bad. (duh) It all goes back to my new found attitude since I became a mother...if everyone treated each other like they would like to be treated, the world would be a much better place.  (So no, please don't make fun of me to my face either, that would make me sad.)

     

Sugar Addict

A while ago, after talking to my mom and a nurse, I decided that I have a sugar addiction. Like, for real. Did you know that sugar affects the same part of the brain that heroin affects? So yeah...I'm basically addicted to heroin.

Awesome.

After several weeks of being a chicken shit, I decided to call a nutritionist. She is in another state, so all of our correspondence will be either through the phone or computer.  She started asking questions, and I filled out a health history. Which included a list of the foods I generally eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And wow. I mean, WOW. I'd say that sugar is the number one ingredient in every single food I eat. If you can even call those foods "food", because they are so processed the nutritional value can't be very high.

What sucks about sugar is that you don't realize it is in EVERYTHING. Well, at least everything good. And everything that is readily available. Think...bread (no matter what kind), all dairy, and pretty much anything with preservatives. And that is a problem. You see, I am NOT a "foodie". (This too was a revelation to me. I always thought I loved food because I ate so much of it.) But I dislike preparing it. I abhor preparing to prepare for it. Lots of the times I hate the actual act of eating, there is no way to not look awkward when you are eating unless you are Lady Mary. If I could pop a pill that gave me all of my nutrition and satisfied any cravings or hunger, I'd be on it like white on rice.

In general, this hating of food sucks for members of my household. They are developing the same eating habits as me...fast food and already made frozen entrees. One serving of vegetables a day, if you are lucky. Fruit? Yes...but generally it comes in a cup in light syrup. This eating habit I've had for all of my adult life makes me feel like crap. I've tried all kinds of drugs (legal of course!) to make myself feel better, and they have motivated me just enough to call a nutritionist. And that is where I am at now. 

The problem with talking to a nutritionist who is also a RN is that they know the ABSOLUTE BEST way of doing things. Which is great, right? She is totally an expert in her field. This also means a whole foods diet. Organic? Yes please. (duh) And that is just too overwhelming for me to ever even contemplate. Organic is more expensive, having fresh food in the house all the time requires a trip to the grocery store more than once a month. And to really do it right, you make everything from scratch. Every. Single. Meal. Have you met me? To be fair, Gina (my expert) is trying to work with me in baby steps. Baby step one, eat a healthy breakfast. She gave suggestions, which I have only given one recipe one chance, and this morning I had cold pizza and a Coke. And it was delicious. So it is going really well.

I've also started taking some different vitamins and some thick red liquid that is supposed to heal my gut. I don't really know much about guts, and neither does MODG, but she did write a post about it that makes some sort of sense. Vitamins-check. Bloody syrup-check. Healthy breakfast....isn't there just a pill I can pop???

I'm trying to keep in mind that eating healthier is my goal for two reasons. I want more energy to play with my kids and I want to lose weight. I'm assuming that if I am skinnier and have more energy then a better mood in general comes with it. I could be wrong, but let's hope. All I know now is that sugar is ruling my life. Not just in Coke addiction, but in carbs too. And I'm going with sugar as one of the primary reasons I have so many high and low periods every day.

I am even contemplating doing a meal replacement program for a month. Actually, it is less than that. Three to four weeks. Shakes and bars and probably some other crap for during the day and a "healthy" dinner at night. Let's be real...me cooking and not eating take out or something straight from a box will be considered healthy. Gina has assured weight loss and the breaking of the sugar addiction. Apparently it only takes three days. I am lucky to get through one morning without it. But I know me. I'll cheat. And do I really want to cheat when I am paying money for food that is supposed to help me and be as easy as it can be without straight up being a pill?

I hate all this. I hate that it is something I have to think about and worry about and I am trying super duper fucking hard not to give it my all-or-nothing mentality. (Why even start something you know you won't do 100%? If you are going to fail, why even try?) Today has not exactly gone well with that, considering once I ate the pizza and drank the Coke I decided the day was shot and I've since eaten almost an entire sleeve of thin mints. And three packages of fruit snacks. And I skipped lunch.

Speaking of lunch, I am notorious (in my own mind) of not preparing for it. Not that I really prepare for any meal. But I can remember walking into the lunchroom in high school and being starving, and realizing that I had nothing to eat and no money. I would scrounge up a dollar and get fruit punch and a Little Debbie snack from the snack bar. And then I wondered why I was so tired all the time. Even now, the days where I don't bring lunch to work greatly outnumber the ones that I do. At least now I have a car and money. Panera Bread thanks me for my business with a free bagel.

Here is where I am. Sitting at home after work, starving, not really feeling all the great, kinda tired and yawning, and craving nothing in particular. It is nights like this after a day like today that remind me why I called Gina in the first place. Maybe I can make my second 35 years a little more peppy than the first.

  

   

Carrots-Charlie's Way

You know how everyone has their own way of eating a Reece cup? Or an Oreo? Or Smarties? (wait, you don't?)

Charlie has a certain way of eating carrots. It would be a disservice to the Internet if I didn't share.

Step 1: Dip the carrot into ranch.

Step 2: Suck all the ranch off of the carrot.

Step 3: Nibble at carrot like you are a bunny to get more of the ranch flavor.

Step 4: Realize that you don't like the flavor of carrots and spit out.

Repeat

Maybe I'm Old, Who Gives a Sh*t?

Life is busy. It's so busy, that you don't even realize that you are getting older. When I was in my early twenties, I remember talking to a couple in their mid-30s and thinking, "OMG, they are so old and responsible and grown-up!" News flash people...you never feel all the way grown up. That's why we continue to eat like we are in a fraternity after we have kids. (frozen pizza and Hot Pockets) That's why we always think, "Oh, I'll start working out on Monday. I'm not that old." You never feel responsible because "OH SHIT I FORGOT TO PAY THE MORTGAGE!" 

And then your nephew turns 21.

Now it wasn't the fact that one of my sister's sons was turning 21, the same thing happened to his brother a year and a half before. But this time, this particular nephew, made me realize I was old. I was actually kind of surprised how I felt about it.

The kid goes to my alma mater, Purdue. And he was PSYCHED, as any red-blooded college boy would be, to be able to go to the bars. And I was PSYCHED, because him turning 21 on a Thursday meant I finally had an excuse to go back to my favorite bar on my favorite night. Aaand then I realized I'm a mom. And I look it. I instantly started fretting over my wardrobe. I'm a mom, who works in a business casual office, who cares absolutely nothing about what her neighbors, co-workers, and strangers at Target think of me. So I had to go shopping. (of course!)

I was nervous and excited all week. OMG, there is going to be a whole bunch of 21 year old girls who are single (Because it was Valentine's Day, and who else goes out to the bars on Valentine's Day other than sad single people?) 21 year old girls are hot. They'll be dressed to the nines and do their hair and make-up in the cool new way and they will see me and think, "WTF is she doing here? Who does she think she is?"

We pre-partied at my nephew's house, and as soon as I opened the bottle of Bud Light THAT HE BOUGHT ME, I started to feel better. These were just kids. Sitting around taking shots of some disgustingly cheap blueberry flavored...vodka? They went out for a smoke and I shook my head, thinking that they have no idea that they'll wake up one day and be 35 and still smoke. (No, not me.) They talked of awesome house parties and which bars they were going to and we also talked about gluten. Yep, we sure did.

And then, then the moment came that I had been waiting for. We went to the bar. And even in the parking lot, I felt fine. I was wearing kick-ass cowboy boots, had more money in my pocket than a dozen college students combined, and I was going to see my buddy Bruce. Even if he didn't have time to sit down and chat with me, I have never had a bad time at Bruce's place. And then I got carded!! (OK, to be fair, they card everyone. Literally. I once saw a 60 year old woman get carded. She laughed, and the bouncer apologized, but seriously, they card everyone.)

We sat down and I took in the scene. Hot girls? Check. Miniskirts? Wow, check check and check. Baby-faced boys? Check. Hot 21 year old boys? CHECK. (I had kind of forgotten about that little perk.) I went to the bar and pushed my way to the bartender, because I have CASH and these kids don't! And I'm buying real beer, not that cheap ass Keystone. (And yes, if you are wondering, the real beer is Bud Light in a bottle.) I saw Bruce mingling with all of the hot chicks and the people who obviously were musical in some way, considering they were practically writing songs together. Then, of course, I had to pee.

And waiting in line for the bathroom is where I saw this. Hint:look for rolls.

 



As it turns out, I had no reason to worry about what those 21 year old girls thought about me. Because I became Judgey McJudgerson once I actually opened my eyes. The girl in black, OK, she can pull that off. The girl in purple is toeing the line a bit, and don't even get me started on the girl in black and white. I snapped this picture and I didn't even care when the girl in black said "truuuee looooove." Oh wait, she just glared at me.

 

I remembered that I am smart. Maybe not smarter than them, but definitely wiser. I may be a frumpy mom of two, but at least I am not wearing a dress that is clearly two sizes too small for me, in a pathetic attempt to impress the boys on Valentine's Day. And while these college kids have "their whole lives in front of them", I am secure in my family and friends and, with a Bud Light in my hand, myself. I felt sorry for all those college kids who were there hunting. I was there to have a good time. Just like I always used to. I didn't have a 7:30 class the next day. I didn't have to walk 10 miles up a hill just to get home. And I certainly didn't live in some disgusting old apartment run by a slum lord. Even if they were there for a good time (like me...not like that), I knew that my bed was most definitely more comfortable than theirs. 

 

So I went back to my table, didn't even notice if anyone gave me any looks, and participated in the piano bar with my nephew. Because that is why I was there. Certainly not to impress anyone. (However, it certainly helped my case when Bruce said hi to me in the middle of song and my nephew freaked out. And a little bit later, when he got picked on by Bruce in a fantastically awesome way, it definitely helped when his friends looked at me and said, "Just how do you know him?")

 

THIS is why I went, and will go back whenever he wants.   

NO, his hand is NOT on my boob you sickos.

 

Invasion of the Fur

When I first meet people, and I am with my dogs, they invariably ask the question, "Is that a black Golden Retriever?"

The answer is no. There are many differences between the typical Golden Retriever and the typical Flat-Coat Retriever.

Besides the obvious...color (blonde vs. black), there a couple of other noteable differences.

Energy level (the flat-coat is a very high energy breed).

Size (flat-coats are taller and more slender then the typical stocky Golden)

The most noteable difference for me though is their coat. Kabo has a thick double layered coat, which means that he sheds a lot. Flat-Coats have a long single layered coat, which means that he sheds a lot. So what is the big difference, you ask?

This.

 

That's Kabo's on the right, if you didn't already know.

 

Holy double coat batman! 

How To Get Pregnant

I haven't blogged in a while, mainly because I was insanely busy at work. Workaholic didn't understand what I meant by that, because his every day is what the first 15 days of 2013 were for me. It sucked, because I had to think SO MUCH. I would get home, and yes, I would usually leave work on time because I had to go in on the weekend anyways, and it would be 5:30 and I would ask if I could go to bed. I was always told no, which is crap, but whatever, I'm totally over it. (or not)

So I am just sitting here in my basement trying to think of something awesome or random or stupid to blog about. And the only thing I can think about is how I don't understand how young girls get pregnant by accident in this day and age. I mean, seriously. With the internet, and the internet, and of yeah, the INTERNET, there is so much information available on how not to make a life changing whoops. In the past year or so, two ladies in their early 20s that I knew pretty well were incredibly shocked when they found out that they were pregnant. It was a joke in my house that we were going to offer to give lessons on exactly how to get pregnant. Not how not to get pregnant. But HOW to get pregnant.

So here goes. 

First of all, if you want to get pregnant and are on the pill, then don't take it at the same time every day. Because in order for it to be 99.5% effective, you have to take it at the same time every day. If you miss a day, or two days, or better yet three days, your chances for getting prego increase.

Secondly, if you are on birth control and want a baby, go on antibiotics. Because that little white pill is useless against the medicine meant to make you feel better.  If you don't use back-up protection, then trust me, you will be feeling a LOT worse soon.

Third, there is a rhyme and reason to your bodily functions. If Aunt Flo is reasonably predictable, then there is a good solid week where you need to be extra super duper slutty. (or careful, if you actually are trying to prevent becoming with child.) If not longer. Really, anytime between 8 and 17 days after the first day she arrives are your go days.

Condoms are for losers. At least losers who don't want to become parents.

Oh, and just as a side note, the pill and the ring and the shot are all great at preventing babies. They are not so great at preventing fun stuff like chlamydia and herpes and HIV. Just sayin'.

So yeah, there you go, a step-by-step tutorial on how to get pregnant. Remember, the younger you are, the easier it is.

***Disclaimer, I don't really want 16 year olds or anyone who isn't married and/or financially stable to have kids. Because kids are a lot of work and cost a lot of money. For other side effects, please see www.scarymommy.com.