I’ve walked a long and windy road when it comes to health and fitness in my life. I spent the first twenty-four years of my life as a Big Girl, save for a stint in high school (and another when I was twenty-one) where I would go for days at a time without eating anything and would exist off of water and tea. I wanted so desperately to be skinny and it was the only way I knew how to get there.
I finally learned about healthy eating and exercise in my mid-twenties, and apart from carrying three babies to term, I have managed to stay in a healthy BMI range. However. Spending over two decades being uncomfortable in my own skin left its scars. I used to pine for pencil-thin thighs instead of the tree-trunks I was born with. I wanted the tiny, almost boyish frame some of my friends had instead of the wide shoulders and ample hips I inherited from my family’s gene pool. Even after I got fit and healthy I wished I could be just a little bit smaller.
Nearly three years ago I came down with a stomach flu that was so violent and thorough that by the end of the weekend I had lost the last five pounds of baby weight from having Miss Emily…plus an additional five more. I was skinny. Everyone commented on how thin I was, that I was so skinny and of how I “disappeared when I turned sideways.” I ate it up (Pun intended).
Having three small kids close together meant that I simply did not have the time nor the energy for exercise in my life. I wish I could say that I kept my skinny frame by eating well but it simply was not the case. Breakfast would consist of my regular oatmeal and a coffee, though I cut the portion size of the oatmeal down. Lunch would consist of a salad, unless I had done some baking with the kids. If that were the case, I would count my few spoonfuls of cookie dough as “lunch” and carry on with my day. Dinner would be one of our regular meals but my portion size was so small that it hardly counted. I would fill the rumbles in my stomach with copious amounts of water and Diet Coke.
I kept this up for over a year.
Nearly two years ago I got frustrated with my lack of body strength and missed the adrenaline rush that I would get from a good workout. I signed up for a local fitness class and being the body type that I am, soon saw muscles where there used to be just skin and bone. While I loved that I could help to move a couch if needed, I hated seen my pencil-thighs get thicker. And while it was nice to actually have an arse for the first time in my life (instead of the flat expanse it used to be), I hated that my skinny jeans no longer looked good on me.
I now sit at five to seven pounds heavier than the weight I was when I was my skinniest. I don’t know the exact weight I am, as I gave up stepping on the scale a few months ago. If I saw I had lost a few pounds I would be so elated that it was ridiculous. I would then eat a bit more junk because I had the “room.” I would of course gain it back and then be bummed out because I gained two pounds. TWO POUNDS. I got tired of the cycle and vowed to keep away from the scale.
This has helped immensely in the body image department because I’m not so fixated on a number. The only downside is that if I am having a “fat day” I cannot use the scale to tell me to just shut up already. This past week I had been feeling especially uncomfortable in my skin due to certain female hormones. I also spend the bulk of my days working from home in my favorite pair of yoga pants. Whenever I run into town I will throw on a pair of jeans and think that they’re getting tight. They’re not getting tight; they just don’t give the way yoga pants do. I know this in my head and yet, still battle feelings that I’m getting thicker.
I am thankful that I have a husband and good friends who I can talk to about my body image struggles with. They remind me that the bony look, complete with hip and breastbones jutting out iss not attractive in any way. Friends have told me that they worried about me during that year and when we look back on those photos I just look harsh and…old. Matthew likes the fact that his wife is now fit, has a firm tush and that her chest is no longer deflated. What? He’s a boob man.
This past Friday we had a fancy Christmas party to attend. After spending the week feeling bloated I had been worried that my little black dress would somehow not fit. I pulled it out and what do you know? It fits the same as it always does.
I’m thinking that it’s time I learned to embrace my curves. And maybe only wear my yoga pants to the gym.
Speaking Pointedly
Date: Thursday December 3, 2009Posted in: Emily, Photography, Random thoughts, diesel, me
I keep thinking that I want (need) to keep writing in this here space, regardless of external commitments. Yet I spend many late nights working on both the boring accounting stuff and the fun freelance stuff. Before I know it my eyes glaze over, my body starts shutting down and I have nothing left in me to spend on writing a post. I then get frustrated because I have so! Many! Ideas! but cannot eke out any time in a day to purge my brain of all that’s bouncing around in there. My brain is about ready to burst and so here I sit, ready to dump it out and start tomorrow with only the usual five hundred (or so) things that I spin on each and every day.
-Christmas is three weeks from tomorrow. Every year, we try to scale back on the plastic crap gifts our kids get. Relatives who mean well shower them with presents, some of which end up breaking within days. This year, we used Christmas money from my Mom to buy all of their fall/winter clothes when we went to the States. We’re using Christmas money from Matthew’s parents to buy them little Canon Powershot point-and-shoot cameras. They love to play with mine, and why not get them one gift that they can bring along on our adventures, instead of loading them with toys that will soon be sent to the thrift store? Matthew and I are planning on buying them one or two toys each, plus stocking stuffers (Which we’ve done since each of them was born). We’ll spend the balance of our Christmas “budget” helping those who need it more than we do. This is not a “pride” thing. This is a “reality check” thing. We have it good, and others don’t. See also: The Advent Conspiracy
-After preaching about how we want to help others, I feel a little sheepish talking about some of the other things going on. However. We really do give a lot of our time and financial resources to others. (Not gloating! Just stating facts!) We also work insanely hard, so it seems only fair that we reward ourselves a bit. We always do so within our means. (Canadian guilt here, over-justifying everything. Sorry about that.)(Canadians say sorry a lot too.) (Um, sorry about that.)
-I ordered a new camera this week: the Canon 7D. Matthew told me to just order it already, yet I hesitated for over a week on submitting the order. (Canadian guilt!) After many (Many!) talks about it, I think I made a wise choice. I have been pretty busy with photography and photography-related gigs. My photography/freelance income more than covered the cost of the camera. Added bonus: Within an hour of telling Twitter and Facebook that my Canon 40D was for sale, I had a buyer for it (My niece, no less). Hooray for the Internet.
-The firm that I’m returning to in January is hosting their Christmas party on Friday and we’ve been invited to join them. I’m ridiculously excited about the opportunity to dress up and go to a fancy party. I bought some pretty new black pumps and jewelry to glam up my Little Black Dress. I’m also planning on wrangling my hair into an up-do for the first time in two years. There will be cursing involved, but it will be worth it. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
-I’ve had my fair share of meltdowns this week. (Tears! Snot! Heaving chest!) I’m still generally happy, but really do have too much on my plate. Nothing out of the norm, but throw in that “thing” that turns even the most rational woman into a hormonal fireball of CRAZY and I may or may not have lost it. More than once. On the worst day, I threw Miss Emily (gently) into the stroller, clipped Diesel onto his leash and went for a power walk. It’s amazing what sunshine, fresh air and exercise can do for your psyche.
-Speaking of the dog, he no longer fits in the palm of your hand.
He has the same pea-sized brain that he had when we got him, but it is now housed in a huge, awkward body. He trips over his own two (four) feet and has a tongue that cannot help but lick you from chin to forehead. I keep venting about what a stupid dog he is, but my cold heart is melting. A little. It’s our secret, ‘mmkay?
-We haven’t had more than the occasional slight dusting of snow, which is par for the course around here. We get snow, but not like those crazy prairie-dwellers do. However. The temperatures have dropped and the walk to and from the kids’ school is enough to make me question why on Earth we don’t live in a tropical climate. These frigid temperatures have made it necessary for us all to bundle up as much as we can. The toque we bought Emily while on our trip to the States has mysteriously disappeared. I blame the dog. He likes to eat cotton (Socks, face cloths, underwear (Mine, especially)) which makes me think that he ate her toque and shat it out in the woods behind our house. Silver lining: I got to buy her a new one, complete with a matching scarf:
I would maim people in order to get one of those sets in my size. I’m kidding! But only a little bit.
The word “toque” caused quite the kerfuffle on Twitter and Facebook. Apparently Americans call them…hats. Or, winter hats. Which seems pretty nondescript and also, a little bit boring. I tried to share the pronunciation through typed responses, but was asked to share a video of how to say, “toque.” I can’t believe that I’m doing this (as I state in the video), but here you go:
I think I should stop here, because really. What more is there to add? I hope you all are well and are ready for the crazy that is December. The Holiday Event Fairy has thrown up all over my December calendar and I’m wading through her mess. She owes me one. Or five.
I know that it wasn’t Thanksgiving weekend up here in the Great White North, but reading so many thankful sentiments from my American friends put me into the thankful mood. Anyone who is a regular around these parts knows that I had about a month (OK, two) where I was having a rough go of it. I tried my best to pray my way out of it, to talk my way out of it, to write my way out of it. Some of it was season related, some of it was work related, some of it was not-for-posting-on-the-Internet related. I walked around with a dark cloud around my head and a heavy weight on my heart. Nothing I did seemed to shake whatever it was that had grabbed a hold of me.
I cried. A lot.
I also laughed a lot, which helped me make it through each day.
I’m in a far better place that I was in such a short while ago and I am thankful for that. The work-related stress has been downgraded from a code red to a code whatever-the-code-is-that-means-busy-but-will-not-induce-cardiac-arrest. Other issues have been dealt with and put to bed, some with restraints. I’ve been able to step away from my computer and soak in some of the good that comes from being a part of this family (OF AWESOME) that I belong to. This past weekend was no exception.
Our small town (Population: 11,443)(Yes, really) hosts a Festival of Lights on the last Friday of November. Main Street is closed to vehicle traffic, all of the merchants stay open late and there are vendors selling their wares in booths that are set up on the street. We always beeline it to the Mini donuts because, well, why wouldn’t you? The family sat on the curb to enjoy said donuts and I thought I should capture them in action.
Thanks, Honey. Just for that, I’m posting this on the Internet.
I snapped a photo of the kids in their winter gear before we left and got this.
I asked them to turn the cheese down a notch and got this.
Much better.
The premise of the Festival of Lights (Or Light Up, as us locals call it) is that there is a countdown to 7pm. All of the Christmas lights are turned on, the crowd ooh’s and ahh’s and then I head for home with my family in tow because my fingertips have turned blue. I’m not even kidding – I hate to run my hands under hot water for a few minutes when we got home in order to thaw them out. I should probably get that looked at.
Saturday morning is when Emily has ballet class. Saturdays are also my heaviest workload. Rock? Hard place? You know each other intimately, don’t you? Matthew has been taking Emily quite frequently, but on Saturday she said that she wanted me to take her. I am pretty much never the first choice for our kids (Matthew is the favorite, complete with angels singing and a choir in the background) so I simply could not say no to her request. Besides, I get to see her dance (She’s awesome) and I get to take photos of my little ballerina.
No complaints, really.
Saturday night the dudes went to a hockey game for boys’ club and after Emily went to bed I decided to quit working for the day and help my husband out a bit. You see, he refuses to allow me to put up Christmas decorations until after Light Up. With ballet and the hockey game (And everything else we have going on) the chances of him stringing the lights on the tree this weekend were pretty much non-existent. I thought would spend a bit of time on Saturday night stringing lights and then sit down with a good book.
Except it took me almost THREE HOURS to string the lights and I wasn’t even finished when they got home. I wasn’t too worked up about it as I had the old school Amy Grant “Home For Christmas” album on repeat and some time to myself surrounded by pretty white lights. It could have been much worse.
The dudes could not be bothered, but Emily helped me finish decorating the tree on Sunday evening.
While I’ve been decorating our tree the exact same way for nine years now, it still makes me happy every time I plug in the lights and look at it.
However. I may have to change my surname to Griswold.
Back to Emily. You may not see it so much in the full shot, but she had her own technique of “decoration placement.”
As a woman who spends an inordinate amount of time making sure that her decorations are placed just so, this would normally cause a lot of internal turmoil. Three kids and a dose of perspective later, I found it quite cute. I even left it that way after she went to bed. Go me.
So, yeah. I’m happy and I’m drenched in the love of family and friends (including many of you who smothered me with the affection I so needed).
It feels good to be out of the fog.
I know that it’s Thanksgiving in the States which means that instead of being on the Internet (or so they say), my American friends are watching football and stuffing their pie-holes with (Well, pie and) turkey with all of the trimmings. I, on the other hand, am serving up chicken chow mein. At least it’s poultry, right? Regardless of the holiday, something momentous happened yesterday that needs to be documented (Since I never got a baby book for Emily). Besides, about half of my readers are Canadian. (Hi!)
Yesterday morning I had an appointment with my hair stylist for a color and cut. My stylist is also a good friend who runs her salon out of her house. My kids and her kids get along famously and do a smashing job of pulling out every single toy while we get caught up on each others lives. This friend of mine has been asking me if she could please give Emily’s hair the teeniest tiniest trim because the ends needed to be cleaned up at it was driving her crazy. My response has always been hell to the no. I’ve only just been able to get her hair into pigtails. Cutting her hair is a preposterous idea.
However.
In the past few weeks her hair has been a wild and frizzy mess. It has resembled a ‘do that Albert Einstein, rather than an aspiring princess would sport. The ends were definitely frayed, which makes sense as they have not been cut in the entire three years they’ve been on Earth. I don’t even want to imagine what my hair would look like if I went three years without a trim. It would probably just look like this all of the time. I conceded that my friend was probably right. We put Emily into the chair and covered her in a cape.
She was a little bit skeptical.
Then she got downright surly.
She looks the most like me when she scowls. My husband is a lucky, lucky man.
We promised her a sucker if she bucked up. She contemplated her options.
The sight of the big scissors made her leery of getting hurt.
My friend made the top of her hair into a big surf wave and Emily thought it was pretty funny.
Not as funny as she found my brushed-out hair (She pointed, laughed, then said, “Your hair is wacky and kind of curly funny”) but she was still quite amused.
Before she knew it we were all done and she was pleased with the results.
See?
Emily had also worried that she’d lose her curls, but no! It’s actually curlier than it was before her haircut. Just like mine gets. Fancy that.
My friends honestly took off so little hair that we didn’t think we’d end up with any of it to keep as a memento. We ended up with a lock that’s about one-inch long, consisting of about ten strands. It’s wee, but it’s at least something to remember her first haircut by. You know, in addition to this post.
Matthew and I entered this parenting gig with great ideas and aspirations. Not only have many of those pre-conceived notions been blown completely out of the water, there have been so many issues that have come up that weren’t in the baby books.
Apparently, you need to register your kids for school many months before they start Kindergarten. Somehow the school has absolutely no idea that your child exists, or that they may want to start their academic career. How do they not intuitively know about your precious babies? Don’t they read your blog?
It seems as though the older your kids get, the more questions that arise.
Who do you invite to your child’s birthday party? The entire class, or just his close friends? What sports should you be signing them up for? Baseball? Soccer? Hockey? Swimming? All of them? Why do kids ask so many questions? Is it because they LEARNED FROM YOU?
Heck, I’m so far behind in my parenting that Graham is *just* potty trained, and he’ll be seven next month. I’M KIDDING. Not about the turning seven (WHAT THE HECK?) but about the potty training. Though there is still the rare occasion where he will bend over to show me his sphincter and ask me if it is all clean. You are welcome for that visual.
Giving the kids an allowance is another topic that we’ve been delinquent in instituting. I know that some people are opposed, or have negative feelings toward them and, well, BULLY FOR YOU. I grew up with an allowance that was dependent upon me doing set chores. When I got to my teen years I had to use that allowance to buy personal items (Clothes, music, etc.) and I know for a fact that it taught me how to budget. I want my kids to learn the value of money and the consequences of what happens if you spend it too quickly.
I’ve been keeping my eye out for piggy banks to buy them, but when the only place you have time to shop at apart from the grocery store is a place that rhymes with “Ball Fart”, I’ve not succeeded in my quest. I want to get them something cool that they can keep for years to come. I had a globe piggy bank that looked just like this. I have no idea whatever happened to it but I kind of wish I still had it.
Not only do I want their bank to be memorable, I want it to be unbreakable. Kids are notoriously clumsy (At least mine are – they come by it honestly) and I don’t want something that can smash into a billion pieces. I threw the question out on Twitter and Facebook and had suggestions such as Target and Bed, Bath and Beyond. Not only do we not have those chains in Canada, they won’t ship to us either. Jerks. I had a few suggestions that do exist in Canada (Michael’s being one of them) but they are of porcelain banks. Yeah, no. Schmutzie sent me this Etsy link which made me laugh…but it might be more appropriate for Matthew.
I think I’ll need to spend some time browsing shops or surfing online. If you have any suggestions of cool options, I’d love to hear them.
The kids have found some change in their travels, which is why the topic came up this week. They were carrying their nickles and dimes around in plastic cups or in their pockets and that just won’t do. Until I find the Piggy Banks Of Awesome, we needed something else. I grabbed some mason jars out of my cold room, went out into Matthew’s shop, grabbed a hammer and chisel and made slots in the lid. I brought the kids up to my craft room and had them pick out ribbon that they liked so we would know which jar belonged to which kid.
These will suffice while I continue my hunt for the best! Piggy banks! Ever!
The only thing we now need to decide on is how much the allowance will be. We’re thinking of giving them one dollar a week. Is that too little? Or too much? They’re only three, five and (almost) seven (I still don’t believe that last one). I’d love to hear thoughts on it from any one who has ever given or received an allowance.
I am getting to my saturation point with the work I have going on. I took on some extra freelance projects that I love but (NEWSFLASH) there really are only twenty-four hours in a day. I was hoping that maybe it was just a conspiracy against me to limit what I can get done but, no. The twenty-four hour a day rule applies to everyone across the board. Bummer.
The biggest thing that has had to slide in my non-stop list of deadlines to meet/articles to write/photos to edit has been my time spent with friends. Back when Matthew was insanely crazy with work and I was “just” being a Mom, play dates occurred almost daily, Monday through Friday. Contrary to the popular belief of husbands everywhere, these play dates did not consists of us Moms lounging around on couches, eating bon-bons, while our children played peacefully in some distant room. The bulk of our time was spent telling the kids that they needed to share, that that ONE TOY EVERYONE WANTED had to make the rounds, that WE DON’T BITE OUR FRIENDS. (I’m referring to Emily, for the record.)
However. In the midst of the chaos, it was great to commiserate. We spent the bulk of our time asking, “What was I saying again?” but managed to eke out a few moments of connection.
With me working (more than) full-time, play dates occur every few weeks or so. Last week, a few friends called me to tell me that they were bringing me lunch so that (I would take more that a twenty-minute break, and) they could see me. The kids are all older now, which meant that biting is a non-issue. It was great to have a house full of friends and their kids, who played brilliantly with my own. There were no bite marks to be seen.
Because I’ve got so much on my plate, it is far too easy to beg out of events that I’d normally love to participate in. That big list of impending doom deadlines makes me gracefully bow out in order to keep my stress-level to an acceptably low level.
Luckily for me (and my sanity), I had booked concert tickets months ago with friends of mine to see one Jann Arden. Not only is she one of my most favorite musicians (EVER), she is a Twitter friend. As in, she follows my (lame) updates and sometimes even sends @replies my way. I KNOW. I don’t believe it either.
On Saturday afternoon I hopped into Tamara’s car with Amanda and we jettisoned to Kelowna. We did a bit of damage at the mall, stuffed our faces with some tasty, tasty food and laughed so hard that my stomach muscles literally cramped. If you are ever in search of friends that will not only support you in everything you do, but who can get you to that place where it looks like you’re laughing but there is no actual sound, then I know the girls for you.
Except, I don’t share well. Go find your own friends. I kid! Maybe.
The concert was amazing. I knew it would be, since we all went to see Jann last year. Not only was the band awesome (and the drummer kind of cute), Jann is a wickedly talented musician with a sense of humor that has us all laughing so hard that we shed tears. If you’ve never seen her live, you must. I mean it. We weren’t supposed to take photos at the concert but I couldn’t help myself. I won’t post any photos of Jann’s face, but I thought this one was kind of neat.
Us three friends were hit on as we exited the concert. We quickly clarified that not only did we have husbands, we had seven kids between us. But still, it’s nice to be noticed, you know? Even if the one dude did have a wandering eye.
So here I sit, basking in the glow of a great night out with two of my most favorite people on the planet. I really do need to get out more often, especially with those two. I’m not going to get to the end of my life and wish that I had worked more, you know?
*Cheese-tastic title for anyone of the old school set who ever listened to/sang that song back in the day. (I totally did, when my best friend moved. If there were video evidence of that event I would share it, indeed.)
Eden over at Fussy posted about a Photoshop tutorial that makes your photos look like they were taken of miniature models. I thought I’d use a few photos that I took while at the Navy Pier with Linda this summer.
Original:
Edited:
Original:
Edited:
How fun is that?
