The Correlation Between Broken Tea Cups and Diet Breaking

I'm BA-AAAACK!  I've enjoyed my blogging hiatus with my sister, who came to visit for the summer.  She was absolutely fabulous and amazing, and... of course... for quite a bit of her visit, the diet was out the window.

This summer, I was busy immersing myself in what my friend, Bridget, calls "blessed monotony".  You know... time where you just don't plan parties or visits or writing blogs or... plan much of anything.  Just be.  Wherever that takes you.

So... why broken tea cups?  What does that have to do with anything?  The other day, hubby was helping clean the kitchen (Yes... he helps do that domestic sort of schtuff... Thank GOD! :)  When he picked up one of my fav tea cups that had broken... and had then been repaired, he said, "You know what?  Your diet is just like a tea cup that has a little chip in it."  

"Seriously?"  (Couldn't wait to see just where he was going with that one.)  

"Imagine this tea cup is your diet.  You get one tiny chip in it.  You pick it up.  And then... you smash it against the wall and break it into a million pieces to finish the job!"

"You're diet is exactly the same!  You break your diet with one small thing during the day and say... 'To hell with it!  Might as well go all the way.' And then you spend the rest of the day 'enjoying' what you'll most certainly regret later."

You know what I realized?  He was absolutely RIGHT!  My diet IS like a tea cup.  Who knew?  What a great analogy.  For me, all it takes is one little slip, and then it's all over.

Let me give you an example.  And, oh yeah... today was a GREAT one!

Today was a rough day.  It's Monday.  (Gotta love Mondays.)  The house was a wreck.  I had paperwork backed up and covering the entire table.  The baby has a molar coming in and was screaming like a pterodactyl every other second.  Whiny four-year-old.  You get it.  

After taking the kiddos to the nursing home to see our lady friends, picking up another friend and then hitting the library with six kiddos, I made it back home utterly exhausted and tired, immersed in the tears of my 4-year-old, who was, unbeknownst to herself, REALLY missing her nap.  

I'd been good... so good... all day.  But... as good as I can be... the day called for one small piece of chocolate that I knew was hiding in the fridge.  So... I indulged.  Guilt free, chocotherapy.  

You know... If it had ended there, it wouldn't have been so bad.  But one piece of chocolate turned into an entire Hershey bar.  Which turned into eating pasta for dinner.  Which turned into chocolate chip cookies for desert.  Sigh.

All things said and done... I have a wedding to go to on Saturday, and a half marathon to train for, so I'm going to try to get back on the wagon.  Try to drag myself to the gym, and try to avoid all things chocolate.  At least until this weekend, when one of my best girlfriends is finally tying the knot.  

Now THAT'S a reason to celebrate :)

How Thin is "Thin Enough?"

It's no secret by now that I have some issues with my own body image.  For me, it is not "okay" to be overweight.  When I have extra fat on my body, I am not beautiful... well... at least when looking through my own 'beer goggles' (as they say)... that's what I think.

Right now, I'll be honest, I weigh pretty close to what I weighed when I was in high school.  I've never been ultra thin.  Only a couple of times have I even fit into a traditional size 6 and had room to spare.  I remember looking at girls in high school and being so jealous at how thin they were.  To me, they were beautiful because of their size. 

I grew up in a large family and have nine sisters.  Yes, you heard it right... my parents had ten girls... NO BOYS!!! (Talk about an ABUNDANCE of 'horror'-mones!)  The majority of my sisters and my mother are what many would call overweight.  It's been that way since childhood, which is where I know issues with my own body image began.

I do have a couple of sisters that are much more petite than I am, and when they would step on the scale, they would be 115 or 125 pounds.  Me?  When I hit 131 pounds a couple years ago, I had several people ask if I was becoming anorexic.  But, confusingly enough (and yes... I just made up that word), the number is what I focused on.  Young me in high school heard girls complaining about being 125, and all I could think of is... I'm 142.  I must be FAT!

I think most women and yes... even men... have a number on how thin is "thin enough."  For me?  Now that I'm out of High School and I've had five children, my number is 135.  My ideal weight?  131.  That's the perfect number.  If I get to 131 pounds, then I don't have to worry about which pose to make for the camera, because nothing is exaggerated so much that I think I look 'fat.'

Talking with some friends this week, I've seen that we all seem to have our own 'beer goggles' or should I say 'body goggles', where we look at ourselves with a distorted vision and assume that we're never 'thin enough.'  At least... that's what the world thinks... right?  We fall out of touch with reality.  Essentially, it comes back to that magic number.  The perfect number... the perfect size that we are aiming for.  

You know what's really funny?  In the past, I've been larger than I am now (especially after having babies) and couldn't wait to get back to my current size (which is 145).  Before, 145 was definitely 'thin enough.'  But now that I'm here... it's not good enough.  I still need to get back to that perfect number.  Nothing above it will suffice... at least that's what my 'body goggles' tell me.

So, really... how thin is 'thin enough'???  Honestly?  The answer is simple.  It all comes back down to body image.  (Doesn't everything???  Ugh...)  Being thin will never be good enough if I can't accept the body I've been given and realize that I'm loved and beautiful regardless of my size.  Skinny doesn't equal pretty.  It's soooo easy to therapatize myself on this issue. (Yes... I LOVE this new made-up word ;)

In all seriousness... I actually love who I am.  (A first for me in many regards.)  Now I just need to focus on learning how to love the body I'm blessed with.  Then maybe I'll finally reach the point where numbers won't matter. 

They say that the 'furthest distance a man has to travel is the eighteen inches from his head to his heart.'  I get this, and am eager for the day when my heart will finally come to realize that I am beautiful because of it's size... not the number on the scale.

On the subject of Morality & Diet Breaking

Last night was a BLAST!  Hubby and I made a great escape and took off on our own for a hot date.  And let me tell ya... last night, he was definitely my arm candy ;)  He looked good, smelled good and... well... he had the money.  No worrying about how much things cost tonight... I was a girl again on a date with my hot boyfriend!  (It's so funny how cheesy that word sounds when you've been married for almost 12 years... but that's how it felt :)

We drove out to a really nice local countryside bar & grill that just happened to have a karaoke DJ running tunes.  If you know me, then you know that I love to sing karaoke.  I don't care if there's one person or a hundred in the house.  I sing because... well... in addition to eating chocolate... it's a HUGE stress reliever for me.

Hubby and I bellied up to the bar (tunes from The Unsinkable Molly Brown skipping through my head now...), and immediate honed in on the smell of hot wings.  Oh gosh... I REALLY enjoy me some hot wings.  And while hot wings are totally on my diet, beer... however... isn't.  And... when you're at your local bar... and you order hot wings.  It's the hot wings code of ethics that you absolutely HAVE to order beer to go with them.  And thanks to my morality, because I am a women of ethics, I was strongly compelled to comply with the code!

We had an absolute blast just sitting there people-watching and met some pretty darn cool people... of whom you will be hearing a little more about in another article :)

Right before we took off, I did my own rendition of the old classic, "Makin' Whoopie," and this mother of 5 had a BLAST as the whole place stopped, and I had the floor.  Oh yeah... I was Rosemary Clooney at one of those classic swanky joints in a black and white setting... crooning out the tune in my husky alto... "I guess I'll keep her.  Man, it's cheaper... than makin'..... Whoooooopie."

The 'standing ovation' following the last note that slid off my tongue was sa-weet!  And yes... I'm sure that some probably had their beer goggles on, but... nonetheless... hubby was there admiring me like crazy (which I absolutely, positively LOVE)... I got out of the house and had a blast, and even got to enjoy a little 'diva' moment.  (Yay!)

The result of this amazing, craziful night?  I'm now carrying much less stress on my shoulders and ready for a soccer-free weekend, gearing up to avoid all the temptations that will surely be coming my way for the Memorial Day celebrations.

In the meantime,  I'll keep up that mantra... I think I can.  I think I can.  I think I can... and just hope that it does it's trick for me.

Beauty: Almost Perfect (But not quite!)

When my first daughter was 4 or 5, I'd be fixing her hair in front of the mirror, and I'd tell her what a pretty girl she was.  Right after, I'd look her in the eyes and say... "Honey, where are you the most beautiful?"  To which she'd reply in her cute little baby voice, "In my heart!"

Wouldn't it be awesome if we could all have that mentality?  Beauty is in the heart... not in the body... not in the hourglass, toned figures that are constantly staring out at us from the checkout counters at the store..

I'm a country girl, and I LOVE country music.  When I see Faith Hill's picture in the magazines, I'm instantly thinking how beautiful she is, often followed by a thought on how imperfect I am.  She's so thin, doesn't even look like she's a day over 25... 30 at most.  Her skin and body are... well.. perfect!

Then I saw this picture of her on my facebook feed.  Faith Hill truly IS a beautiful woman, but her body is not perfect.  I mean... whose is?  Okay... I'm sure you could start naming a few people here, but when you look at the average person out there, you don't find perfection.  It's like looking at a bouquet of flowers.  On their own, some flowers might be too dull or too yellow or too fluffy or too whatever.  But when you put them all together, they make a masterpiece... and the details simply don't matter.

So, what REALLY makes a person beautiful or ugly?  You see, I know the answer to this in my head.  I do.  And when I look at other people, I don't judge by those standards, because I really do know the truth of the matter.

The truth is... beauty starts in the heart.  In my opinion... those who have the most generous and least judgemental hearts are the people who shine the most and whose beauty is incomparable.  Some of the most beautiful people I know are not a size 4 or a size 6, but are actually more like between the sizes of 10 and 22.

Honestly?  It frustrates the hell out of me that our society has us so focused on size and weight that we can't see the forest for the trees.  It makes me angry that when we see these perfect magazine bodies and faces that some of our first thoughts are about how imperfect we are.  At least... that's where my mind goes.

I love that song by P!NK.  You know... the one about being perfect.  I belt that song out as I'm dancing in front of a mirror in my room (yeah... I'm crazy like that), and I sing it to my sisters and I sing it about my friends.  "You are perfect to me."  Don't change who you are.

They say that beauty is only skin deep... but they are soo wrong.  Beauty is much deeper than that.  Beauty is who you are... NOT what you look like.

Yes.  We all know this.  But do we REALLY know this?  I don't know about you, but as for me, I'm learning... it's taking time, but... I'm sloooowly learning that perfect isn't always, well... you know... perfect.

On the subject of Screaming Babies & Diet-breaking

Day:  Today

Place:  The Gym

Thank GOD for friends!  One of my 'Mom's Club' gals came over this morning and watched the kiddos for me so I could hit the gym, relieve some stress and work off some extra unwanted calories.  Wait!  Did I just say unwanted calories???  Now where the heck would I pick up some of those????  Hmmmmm....  Listen in for the gory details... If you dare!


Day:  Yesterday 
Place:  Home

Scene: 2  (I'm not even going to touch on Scene 1... just check out yesterday's post for details:)
House is clean.  Kiddos are behaving and somewhat quiet.  I'm happy and everyone's at peace.

Scene: 3
Four hours later...  Baby is screaming.  I'm scarfing down a bowl of Dutch Chocolate premium ice cream after polishing off all but one of the remaining miniature Heath bars.  (Thank GOD they're out of my house now!)

Now, why in the name of molasses did I go for the chocolate... AGAIN?  UGH!!!  Have you ever heard of letting babies "cry it out?"  I personally think that whoever invented this form of baby rearing was intentionally trying to create insufferable moments of "Mommy Hell" for those of us trying to figure out the 'right' way to raise these precious little persons. (Remember... this is traumatized me talking here....)

Baby #5 is very, very stubborn.  She already knows what she wants, and when she doesn't get it, she throws a tantrum.  And I'm not referring to a small baby tantrum.  Nooooo.... I'm talking about the arm punching, leg flailing kind, and she's only 8 MONTHS OLD! 

For instance... if I set baby down on the floor for a second, she'll start to scream.  I pick her up, she stops immediately, looks at me, gives me a huge smile and says "a-heh."  This same scenario happens at dinner time when she's not fed fast enough, and other times throughout the day when she doesn't get her toy fast enough, etc and so forth.

I have 9 sisters, and some of them have advised me on how awesome it is when babies learn how to 'self-sooth'.  So, I'm thinkin'... okay...  this sounds awesome!  I'll give it a try! 

Yesterday afternoon, baby was fed and changed and happy.  I needed to work on a few things, so I placed her in her pack 'n play.  Immediately, she looks up at me and starts to scream.  I'm thinking... this is an awesome opportunity to try this out.  So, I sat where she could see me.  I could talk to her, and she wouldn't be alone.  I'd just wait it out.  I sooo had this under control.

NOT!  She screamed.  And she screamed.  And she SCREAMED!  And I'm sitting there thinking... I got this... we can do this... Then, at one point I think I recorded the sound of her screaming and sent it to my hubby exclaiming, "You DID THIS TO ME!!!"  Okay... well, maybe that's being just a little over-dramatic... but I did send the sound bite so that he could appreciate how my day was going.

An hour and a half later, with baby still screaming I was ready to pull my hair out and in desperate need of immediate triage.  I kept thinking... "I'm not going to eat junk.  I'm NOT going to eat junk.  I'm NOT GOING TO DO IT!"  I think after that last one, I flew straight to the freezer to start instant chocolate therapy.

Once I calmed down... and once the baby decided to stop for... like... one second... I scooped her out of her play pen, and she was suddenly quiet, looked over at me with a smile and said.. "a-heh".  Yeah... *sigh*

After this harrowing experience, I think... um... I mean... I KNOW that I have decided that "crying it out" might be good for baby... but it is definitely NOT good for me. 

So... if you see me walking around with a baby in the Ergo on my back, it's not because I don't believe in letting kiddos have some individual play time, or that I think kiddos shouldn't learn how to self-sooth... but it's because baby and I have reached a treaty.  It's signed, sealed and framed on our wall, now.  Our treaty is this... I hold her...  she doesn't scream... and I don't indulge in unwanted therapies.

Oh... and by the way... thanks, baby, for helping me reach a new 5k record!  I ran the 5k in 35 minutes today.  Yeah... there was still quite a bit of stress left in me, only this time it worked to my advantage.  Oh yeah.  Oh yeah... Oh... (I think you get the picture ;)

Monday, fun-day... Pushing the reset button.

You know how they have the "Easy" button at Staples?  I seriously need a "De-Stress" button just like that.  And it would have to be red, because... well... I LOVE red... but red is the color that best represents how I feel when I'm stressed beyond all stressing... (and yes... I just made that up.)

This weekend was good... but it was absolutely CRAZY.  I enjoyed seeing my in-laws, however... our schedule was absolutely jam-packed with school interviews, soccer games (Saturday and Sunday), and play practice, in addition to all of that, the baby decided to wake up every couple of hours each night and systematically pull my hair out (while laughing thinking it was soooo funny...ouch!!!)!!!!

So... not only was I sleep deprived and running around like... (yes... I'm GOING to use a cliche here...) a chicken with it's head cut off... but also trying to be a good hostess while running on empty.

It's a very frustrating truth that I am a stress eater. There... I said it. That's the first step to recovery, right? When my stress reaches the boiling point, I immediately reach for the first thing I can grab that I'm not supposed to be eating... and follow it by whatever else is lying around.  If there happens to be candy or chocolate in the house... I'm a goner... or should I say... it's a goner???  *sigh*

It's rather embarrassing to admit it, but my "stress o'meter" was off the charts last night and I went haywire crazy on the candy FIL brought to my house and the biscotti that I had just pulled fresh out of the oven.  Heck... I broke down and even had some crusty white Italian bread with my dinner.

Needless to say... when I went to bed, I was NOT a happy camper (with myself... that is), and when I woke up this morning, I was still not happy with myself... especially after the baby did the pull my hair routine again last night. 

My head hurt... I felt yucky... so, what did I do?  Went straight for the irresistible biscotti sitting in a pile by the oven, dunked it into my hot black coffee (before I could stop myself) and enjoyed the one thing that was helping to glue me together as I stared at my messy house.

We said good-bye to FIL & MIL, and then I went straight for the ginger snaps.  Thankfully, my sister caught a message on Facebook and stopped me after only one cookie.... and I'm so glad she did! 

I snapped out of it, and put the junk away... got my kiddos in gear and did an hour and a half cleanup on the house.

A clean house works very much like a de-stress or reset button.  I'm happy to say that my house is clean and my kiddos are quiet, and I am slowly triaging from all the chaos.  I'm staring at the pile of mini Heath bars left by FIL and am willing myself not to touch them.  And... you know what?  I think I actually might win this time.  It is Monday, after all... right?  It's time to re-start the diet!

(Insert... *ugh* *ugh* *ugh* I shouldn't have to "restart" so many times!!!)

Impromptu Parties & Self Control

Today we had a party for the kiddos.  FIL (Father-in-law) bought some rib-eye steaks, cooked by hubby.  We even let the kiddos have some soda for dinner... for which they were THRILLED, as they are not allowed to drink soda on a regular basis.

So, what were we celebrating this time?  Remember that little post that I wrote on volunteerism?  Well... Hubby and I volunteer as soccer coaches for the local soccer league.  Today, all four of our soccer-playing kiddos had awesome games, and each kiddo scored at least one goal today.  That means that FOUR of our soccer-playing maniacs scored at least one goal.  Soooo.... the title for our party was "Every Kiddo Scored Today Party."

Honestly... I could come up with a new reason for an impromptu party every day.  It could be something as simple as "Baby's first time to sit up party." Or.. "I survived another day as mom to five party."  "The house is clean party."  "The laundry is DONE party." (That party would HAVE to be a HUGE celebration, since it's such a rare occasion...)  My point here is that there always seems to be some reason to celebrate, and some reason to lose complete control over what I choose to eat.

When I was a kid, I remember my mom being VERY specific about us only being allowed to have two cookies when we went to a party where there were cookies spread out on a table.  We would eat our two cookies and then be done with it.  So, how do we find balance when our chaotic life keeps drawing us into situations where we just don't feel like having only two cookies?  We want three, or four, or... however many it takes to get us past that desperate "I gotta have cookie satisfaction mode." into a place where we are completely satisfied?

In the strictest of confidence, I'll have to tell you... I still haven't reached a point where I always know when to stop.  But, right now... with my history... I honestly think it has to be a calculated decision.  "At the party, I will only have two cookies."  "I will only drink two beers." 

It's about setting limits before you get into the situation, and then following through with them.

Tonight, FIL bought a huge loaf of Italian bread.  I LOVE Italian bread!  (Especially when it's slathered with a thick layer of butter or dipped in olive oil... YUM!)  Tonight, however, I had a different outcome from previous "encounters of the bread kind."  LOL  Other nights I would immediately go after the bread and butter and unashamedly eat until I was stuffed.  But tonight I made a decision before I sat down to eat.  I decided that I wouldn't even touch the bread.  And you know what?  VICTORY!  Yes... I won.  I ate no bread.  I allowed myself to enjoy a glass of wine with my steak, and headed upstairs to put #5 to bed feeling good about myself.

You're probably thinking... WOW... she's not that pathetic after all... and doesn't break the diet nearly as much as you'd think she would.  But, honestly... being able to blog and write about food and my journey has been such a help!

It might seem like a small victory... but for me... it all goes back to the theme on balance.  Something I'm learning... although the journey may be somewhat arduous and long... 

But I'm realizing something rather important.  When I make good food choices during the day, instead of kicking myself at night, I go to bed happy, and as a result... I have just a little more self-respect... and it feels pretty darn good.