Things they are a changin’
By · CommentsI’m afraid my nearly three year relationship is ending and my 10 year old daughter is home from school with cramps. Both of these are sort of life changing events, so I’m not sure which to spend more time on. Okay, I’ll go with the cramps.
I am not, in any way, shape or form prepared for my daughter (my freaking 5th GRADE daughter mind you) to start her period. For so many reasons. The easy one is, um…. hello! This kid was born with enough ‘tude for an entire neighborhood of children. Layer hormonal changes on top of it, and me and Kara are going to have to vacate the premises for the duration, lest I go to prison for excessive bitch-slapping. Second, how in the hell did I get old enough to be buying tampons for two? That should be YEARS away. I mean, do I really LOOK old enough to have an adolescent daughter? Don’t answer that.
But as much as I try to deny it…it’s coming. Along with middle school orientation, a new “crush” on a neighborhood boy, and an obsession with trying to sneak mascara onto her lashes without getting busted—we are entering a whole new era here in the Poje household. It scares the hell out of me.
Where is that little girl I carried? Off with her friends running around the neighborhood. Putting wax on her braces. Shopping for bras in ever increasing sizes. And where am I? Right here, waiting for her when she gets home.
Torture machines and crappy fake beer
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It seems like information about healthy living is suddenly EVERYWHERE. Oprah and Dr. Oz are talking about diabetes, I’ve run across no less than four articles on super foods in the last two weeks, and two weekends ago I listened to my friend Cassie absolutely GUSH about how she went gluten and dairy free a few months ago, and lost two pants sizes and all her allergies, in a matter of days.. I have to say, the girl looks damn good.
So I’m back on that horse.
I actually joined a gym a week ago, and unwittingly got a small taste of what those poor bastards on The Biggest Loser go through at the hands of masochistic Jillian every week. My “trainer” for my initial consultation, Ernest, had me virtually puking in the first 10 minutes.
Apparently, people still do real, actual sit-ups (not crunches). Who knew? When your body hasn’t done a sit-up- in, oh, about 25 years, doing 20 of them in 60 seconds can reduce you a whimpering baby. Then, he introduced me to this contraption that looks deceptively like an elliptical machine, but is more like hell on earth. This nightmare of a machine somehow allows you to burn 48 CALORIES IN 3 MINUTES. No, you didn’t read that wrong, and if you understand how much effort goes into burning 48 CALORIES IN 3 MINUTES, then you know where this is going. He put me on this thing, cranked the incline up as high as it would go, cranked up the resistance as high as it would go, and instructed me to go as hard as I could for 3 minutes. Then, when I did, he yelled at me to go harder. This is where I had my near puke experience. After it was all done and I slithered out the door because my legs no longer worked, I decided to hell with cardio. Cardio sucks. Screw burning calories, I’ll just consume less!
Which brings me to 55 calorie Budweiser. Low calorie beer + a $1.00 OFF coupon taped to the package = (for me) nirvana! Until I drank one and instantly flashed back to being 9 months pregnant and sucking down O’Douls in desperation. Only this isn’t as good as O’Douls. It doesn’t taste like beer, and it definitely doesn’t feel like beer after you’ve drank a few. So if you were planning to go buy some, save your $9.99 (or $8.99 in my case BITCHES), and put it toward a gym membership. 6 minutes of hell is WELL worth drinking real beer.
So, I fell off the wagon. No, falling is much too timid a word for what I did. Basically, I egged the wagon, set it on fire, pushed it off a cliff and danced on its ashes. Ding dong the wagon is dead!
Last Friday, I had a group of 13 wonderful ladies over to my house for Happy Hour. Another one of my New Year’s Resolutions is to spend more time with people and to (gasp!) leave my house once in a while! So, I put together a lovely Happy Hour with lots of girl time and gossiping and guacamole. And then…well, let’s just say, I was happily chugging margaritas like they were Gatorade and I just finished a marathon.
On Saturday, the damage (as if the sugar and alcohol in 19 margaritas isn’t a good enough start) began. Bob kindly brought by salvation in the form of a spicy chicken sandwich, 4,000 ounce Dr. Pepper (non-diet mind you) and a frosty. Then, since I still couldn’t get out of bed at dinner time, I did the only thing I could do to keep my children fed—I called Pizza Hut. And that was just the start to a bang up week.
I was on the road four days out of five this week, and two were spent at a conference at the Argosy (hello all you can eat buffet!) And exercise? After working out like a banshee for 14 days straight, ….crickets.
I’m figuring out that my problem is balance. When I’m working out, I’m not cleaning the house. So, then, the laundry gets so piled up that I have to drop everything and do 15 loads of laundry in a weekend—at the exclusion of anything else. And then, I get behind on work, and all housework, socializing, exercise, sleep and anything else that involves being more than 2 feet away from my computer at all times goes by the wayside. So I start grabbing the leftover Doritos and guacamole for lunch because I haven’t had time to get to the store to purchase, cut up and organize healthy meals. The next thing I know, it’s 2 weeks later, I’m 5 pounds heavier, I haven’t moved my body except to walk between my computer and my bed, and, there’s so many clothes piled in the middle of the bedroom floor that even a sherpa would look at it in fear.
So Monday, as on so many Mondays, I will climb back on the wagon and settle in for the ride. Because I guess that’s just how life is. You fall down, you get back up. Tomorrow is another day.
‘Dotte Girl’s Friday Tip of the Day: 100 calorie packin’
By · CommentsI’m a single mom with sole financial responsibility for two mini fashionistas. Kara, in all her side-parted hair, skirts over leggings, knee high boots and orange nail polished glory, is basically the living version of a Bratz doll. Kelsey is more into side ponytails and ”tomboy chic.” In any case, I have a lot of pressure to keep the money flowing so I can keep them in Club Penguin memberships and body glitter.
If you don’t know me, I’m a pretty frugal chick (okay, that’s probably the understatement of the century). In fact, I could write a book right now on creative ways to save money. Two of my all time favorites are renting RedBox movies (they are $1. One. freaking. dollar. How is this even possible? Last week I saw The Hangover and Revolutionary Road for $2 measly bucks! Joy!) and SwapTree.com. I could practically be a spokesperson for SwapTree at this point. Basically, you take all the books (and CDs, DVDs and games) you don’t want anymore,and swap them for stuff that other people don’t want anymore. Say I had Duma Key by Stephen King that I already read (true story) and you have A Million Little Pieces by James Frey that you alredy read (also true). Let’s swap! You list your stuff on SwapTree, they hook you up with people who have what you want, and you just pay to ship the stuff to them. A few months ago, I got three books and the *School of Rock DVD for my cost of shipping four books, which was $9.00. I LOVE this web site!
So anyway, since I’m trying to stick to this 1,500 calorie a day thing, it essentially means that I can eat 100 calories every hour that I’m awake. Now there are a lot of things you can eat for 100 calories. For example: a cup of watermelon, a baked potato, 4 grams of lean chicken breast. But what I really want is Nacho Cheese Doritos and Mini Oreos. So, basically, 50% of my grocery bill every week has been going to 100 calorie packs–those wonderful little packets of heaven that let you be bad, while still being good. But DAMN those things are expensive! You get about 5 chocolate graham crackers in a pack, and 5 packs are about $3.00. So I’m spending like 12 cents per cracker, which is CUH-RAY-ZEE! So this week, I’ve been doing what I call “100 calorie packin’.”
Am I packin’ heat? Nah, baby. I’m 100 calorie packin’. If I was in a gang, we could be called the Hundred Calorie Pack. Our gang sign could be a stick figure. But I digress…
So I’ve been buying regular boxes of such delights as Parmesan & Garlic Cheez-Its, Cheddar and Sour Cream Baked Lays, and Mini Oreos, and dividing them up into baggies that equal 100 calories. Let me tell you, when you 1) have to get out your calculator to figure out that a 100 calorie serving of Oreos is 9.75 oreos and 2) you’re seriously contemplating getting out the knife to chop off 25% of a one millimeter cookie, you might have a problem. So now my cupboards are filled with tiny little baggies of happiness, the kids are brushing up on their math skills and I have saved at least $10 this week. Huzzah!
*If you haven’t seen School of Rock, go to Amazon.com right this minute and buy it. Seriously, Jack Black is GENIUS, and if his facial experessions alone don’t make you pee your pants, there’s really no hope for you. This movie inspired me to have regular “school of rock” sessions with Kelsey and Kara, so they are both now educated on the finer points of Dark Side of the Moon, and can sing “Black Dog” by Zepplin in its entirety.
My family is one of those families that talks about bodily functions at the dinner table. To give you an idea of exactly how free we are, Kara, my 2nd grader, was telling me a few days ago how she was standing in line to go get her backpack at the end of the school day, when she apparently ripped a big one. Mortified, I ran over, hugged her and said, ”Oh no, honey! Was everybody laughing at you?” Kara looks at me weird. “Yeah mom, it was really, really funny!” Hugging her tighter, I put on my best concerned mom face, ”I’m so sorry! You must have been really embarassed!” Kara pulls back, looks at me quizzically without even a hint of understanding. To her, ripping farts is as natural as breathing and if anyone thinks it’s uncouth, well, that’s their own damn problem.
Bob, however, comes from a decidedly non-farting family. In his world, people (particularly women) simply do not fart, poop, or have any other kind of unpleasant bodily functions. There were no ducks being stepped on in HIS house growing up,which makes for a very rude awakening when, at dinner the other night, Kelsey and Kara both smelt it, and dealt it (mulitiple times).
The point is, I have had a legitimately jacked up stomach for probably close to 20 years and my “issues” manifest themself in all kinds of really fun and exciting ways! For one, well, see above. Also, I never know when something I eat is going to, um, rebel. I swear the reason I don’t weigh more is because fat, greasy food never stays in my intestines long enough to be absorbed. I have always just lived with this, as unpleasant as it can be.
But, since I’ve decided to focus on my health this month, and because two years of suffering from crippling gas pain every single time I’m with Bob (which CANNOT be healthy) is more than enough, I took to the Internet in search of a cure. And I think I may have found it.
There’s a new probiotic called Align that people with IBS and other intestinal ailments are absolutely raving about. I read over 100 reviews, and people are calling it a miracle cure. There are even accolades from the Mayo Clinic. And one guy on Amazon was so excited that he said, and I quote, “…my poop smells and looks like it did 10 years ago!” and we all know that’s what we are REALLY striving for.
So I’m on day three of my Align Bifantis miracle cure, and I know you are now holding your breath (no pun intended) to see if it works. Will MY poop smell like it did 10 years ago? I can’ hardly stand the suspense! Tune in next week for details!
The winter of my discontent
By · CommentsI got divorced almost exactly three years ago. I won’t bore you with all the horrific details now (see what you have to look forward to!), but if you’ve never been through a divorce, let me tell you in no uncertain terms that I have to believe it is one of the most gut-wrenching and excruciating experiences that a human being can survive.
When I finally emerged on the other other side, bleary eyed and gasping for breath, I was amazed I was still alive. I know that sounds overly dramatic, but that’s exactly how it was. Divorce breaks you down to the core, and forces you to dig deep to examine the “dark and twisty” parts of yourself. The hope (mine, at least) is that through this journey of self-examination you’ll gain enough insight to use your knowledge for good—to become a better version of yourself.
That year, full of hope, I vowed (and meant it) that this would be the year of Missy. The year that I would make myself happy, whatever that meant. The year that I would figure things out. That was January of 2007. I was 34 then. I’ll be 38 in a few weeks. I still don’t have it figured out.
Winter makes me tired. The bitter cold, the cabin fever, the days that end at 5:00. My best friend Karen came over yesterday and we determined that we probably both have some form of SAD. Just like me, Karen said every night when she gets home from work all she wants to do is drink a glass of wine, sit on the couch and watch TV. She doesn’t want to deal with the kids, or clean the house, or do much of anything. She just wants to sit there and be left alone.
She’s been yelling at her kids, I’ve been falling asleep at 8:30 every night. SAD is probably part of it. I know other things are also part of it. Maybe THIS year will be the year of Missy. Bring on the sunshine.
In my freezer right at this moment I have: three 1 pound baggies full of browned ground beef, two ½ pound baggies of roasted, chopped chicken breast, several smaller baggies of frozen chopped onions, a freezer baggie full of twice baked potatoes, a container of meatballs and spaghetti sauce and two baggies each full of six pumpkin muffins.
I am a single mom who not only works full time, but also owns her own business. Like everybody else out there, I am freaking TIRED at the end of the day. If I haven’t planned a dinner or, if I forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer that morning, its way too easy to just go grab some Mickey D’s and call it a night.
So about every third time I cook dinner, I make a double batch of whatever I’m making and freeze it. I LOVE twice baked potatoes, but making them is a major pain in the ass and it’s just as easy to make 12 as it is to make 6. I hate browning hamburger more than just about anything in the world. Seriously? I would rather jab myself in the eye repeatedly with a sharp object rather than brown hamburger. Need your toilets cleaned after a three day bout of the stomach flu? I’m would gladly volunteer if you will brown my hamburger for me.
So whenever I absolutely HAVE to brown hamburger, I just buy several pounds, brown it all and then throw the other two pounds in individual freezer bags. That way, the next time I want spaghetti, tacos, hamburger helper (hey, don’t judge) or whatever- I just pull out a baggie, throw it in the pan, and DONE. No eye poking required!
My absolute favorite (pseudo) healthy dinner that we eat at least once a week is “Taco Rice Bowls,” which I made up in desperation about a year ago. About once every two weeks, I will bake five or six chicken breasts, chop them all up with my beloved Pampered Chef chopper, and throw on a package of taco seasoning. Then, I baggie them up into four or five freezer bags.
For taco rice bowls, you just make a package of taco rice, Spanish rice, or whatever rice you want. In the mood for some Uncle Bens? Knock yourself out. Then, drain and rinse a can of black beans and put it in a bowl. Grab a baggie of shredded sharp cheddar (we use Kraft 2% milk cheese). Get out a baggie of chicken from the freezer, throw it in a bowl, and microwave it until it’s warm. Then, you put some rice in everybody’s bowl, and let them add the black beans, chicken and cheese, and voila! Taco Rice Bowls. My kids love these and I can get the entire thing put together from start to finish in less than 15 minutes. Feeling nutty? Add some sour cream, or guac, or lettuce, or jalapenos and some salsa. Use pork or hamburger in place of the chicken. And always, ALWAYS people, take a Beano before attempting this at home.
I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, and look for some new, and exciting changes to ‘Dotte Girl on Monday!
You had me at 100 calorie pack
By · CommentsDear Hostess,
I have always loved you. You know your ding dongs and ho hos with their sweet chocolatey goodness and cream filling swirls hypnotize me. However, you have outdone yourself. For those of us trying to “get healthy” it seemed destined that your light sponge cakes would have no place in my life (although they would always have a place in my heart). But then, I discovered your greatest accomplishment—hostess cupcakes in 100 calorie packs. Are you freaking kidding me? How, oh Hostess, how did you fit so much chocolate deliciousness into three such tiny little cupcakes? Yes, they may be Barbie sized, but they somehow, are just enough to satisfy my needs.
XOXO
Yours forever,
Missy
Bridget Jones ain’t got nothin’ on me
By · CommentsWhen I first read Bridget Jones’s Diary, I had two immediate thoughts. First, I couldn’t believe that there was someone else out there (albeit a fictional character) who was as obsessed with counting calories, pounds lost and gained, and alcohol units as I was. The second thought was “Holy shit. This girl is a raging alcoholic!” I’ve been known to imbibe, and even get my drink on from time to time, but 14 “alcohol units” a day? Hello, Betty Ford!
My entire life, or as long as I can remember, I have kept a running tally in my head of calories consumed and how much, if any, I’ve exercised that day to burn it off. An extra 3,500 calories in = an extra pound. An extra 3,500 calories burned= one pound lost. It’s so much a part of my life that it’s become automatic. I don’t keep a food diary or actually write down calories (unless I’m “dieting,” er I mean “life style changing,” which is fairly often), but it’s there in my head every day.
I can literally tell you the calories, and approximate fat grams, in nearly every food item on the planet. Fast food? Check. Organic, vegan foods that nobody in their right mind would even want to eat? Check. I’ve even branched out to foreign foods. Half order of Pad Thai? 470 calories and 17 grams of fat. If there was a “Name that fat gram!” game show, I would be the first one on contestant’s row.
I spend hours studying fast food web sites, memorizing the nutritional values. It is because of this diligence (ODC?) that I keep my weight fairly stable. Yes, I may consume three martinis and half a pizza on Monday, but sometime in the next 7 days, somewhat subconsciously, I’ll even it out. I’ll skip breakfast a few days, or have a bowl of cereal for dinner, or run three days in a row. And you know what? It’s always worked.
So instead of going all medieval on my diet this month and swearing off wine, sour patch kids and fantastic (and FREE!) business lunches at EBT like I’m planning on tomorrow, I’m just going to set my internal calorie tracker to about 1,500 a day and see what happens. Of course this means Thursday I’ll be eating air with a side of water, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
Somebody should call TLC
By · CommentsSo the diet (er, “lifestyle change”) is going splendidly. I’m eating vegetables! I’m drinking water! I’ve managed to ingest more vitamins in the last four days than I have in my entire 37 years on earth. I’ve even managed to get to the gym 5 times in the last 8 days. Here’s where it gets a little dicey.
This “trial” gym is 20 minutes away. Of the five days this year so far: A) my mom went batshit crazy, forcing me to spend an entire day and the part of the next day at the hospital, B) I spent the better part of two days de-Christmasifying my house, which entails not only taking down the tree, the outside lights and all of the decorations, but also shopping for new storage supplies, and reorganizing the closet so I can actually fit all the Christmas crap back in, and C) The kids have been off school, and I’ve had them all to myself for the last five days solid (such are the joys of single momming).
However, throughout it all, I have been truly amazed by how easy it’s been to actually find two extra hours in my day to drive to the gym and work out five days out of eight. But do you know what nobody tells you?
That two hours is apparently the two hours a day I normally spend on things like laundry, and dishes, and stupid little things like putting trash in the damn trash can. I swear to God, If you called SRS right now, THEY WOULD COME TAKE MY CHILDREN AWAY ( if they could find them). I could do a reality show right this minute called “Yes, my ass is skinny, but apparently I’ve turned into a hoarder.”
So now my health on track, but my house is in shambles. I guess it’s back to Jillian’s 30 day shred DVD on my lunch hour, at least until I find the kids.