Wednesday, February 24, 2010

The back-handed compliment

Oh where to begin? Let's just say that after a night of binging on pepperoni pizza and onion rings, I found myself at a Weight Watchers meeting last Saturday. I had a real taste as to what it would be like to be an addict. OK, let's get real. I am an addict...a food addict. And the only support group I rely on is Weight Watchers. So that's exactly where I headed first thing in the morning after my saturated fat and carb bender to get control of my out-of-control eating.

I have joined Weight Watchers approximately 17.45 million times. I try to nod my head politely as the "mentors" go through counting points, weighing food, making good choices,etc. I try not to point out how much has changed since I first joined way back in 1988...and honestly, not that much has changed, not even my weight.

So, as I stepped up to the counter to make my enrollment official, the sweet lady behind the counter asked me sincerely, "Are you sure that you weigh 138 pounds? If you don't you can't join today."

I should probably add here that I am 5'11" and not "small boned" AT ALL. 138 would make me look like Heidi Klum...and let's be really clear, I don't.

This sweet little, and probably senile, lady was worried that I didn't weigh enough to join Weight Watchers. HA!

"uhhh...yes I am sure." I said, trying not to laugh in her face at her obvious sight problems. Blindness maybe?

I then proceeded to step on the scale.

As the lovely, senile, blind, and now suffering from turrets woman behind the counter looked at my weight (only seen by her) she then gasps, stands on her tip toes to peer over the counter and looks me up and down about 10 times.

"Yes you do." she says. "I should have looked closer. If I had looked closer I can definitely tell you weigh enough. You certainly do."

Uh, thanks. I think?

Friday, February 12, 2010

SnOMG. I can't take this anymore.

This blizzard is killing me.

And for the first time in 12 days, I am not talking about my children. They aren't driving me crazy, I don't feel like locking them outside in the sub-zero weather, and I am no longer running away from them and hiding in the basement closet with the furnace just to get a minute alone. (this may because they are both currently napping)

If life doesn't get back to normal soon, I am going to be a contestant on next season's Biggest Loser. And while I love a good before and after, I'm not much for public weigh-ins.

I was so prepared for round one of this blizzard. I hit the HT, recipes in hand, stocked up on healthy fare, fresh fruit and veggies, prepared well-rounded meals, and was so proud of my preparation and follow through of my menu planning. I was a regular June Cleaver. I even donned an apron once or twice.

But you know what? These kids demand to be fed THREE times a day PLUS snacks. That's a lot of food, people. And they can't seem to do anything for themselves. "mommy can I have a snack?" "mommy, I'm hungry" "mommy, I'm thirsty" "mommy, is it dinner time?" THREE times a day PLUS snacks.

So when round two rolled around, I had had enough. No more Julia Childs for was all Little Debbie. So this week we have had orange fingers from the doritos, chocolate in the corner of our mouths from the tollhouse cookies, and dishes caked with old queso strewn throughout the house. It is getting SO old.

I realized this morning that the situation was getting dire as I was being lapped at the gym by the senior sneakers. I recommit to a healthy life for me and my family...right after I finish this tube of Pringles. Yummmm.

Tuesday, February 09, 2010


Please, let us not address the more than 2 months since I last logged on. I lost my Mommystar mojo. I don't know what happened. Well, actually, nothing happened. Nothing that I could spin into a funny little tale, a witty little story, or a minor little exaggeration.

But seriously, if I can't find something to write about while locked in the house for what feels like the 14th day in a row, dreaming of the days when I could go to work to change diapers on 10 kids who ALL poop daily, then I really should just abandon my blog all together.

Tonight we're entering our 2nd major snowstorm in less than 5 days. And coming from a girl who went to school in Maine, these are major storms. 30" last Friday and another 12-18" tonight. I love a good snow storm, but this is getting ridiculous. The streets aren't plowed, schools are closed, and my kids won't leave me alone.

The cabin fever got so bad yesterday that a friend and I rejoiced that Target AND Chic-Fil-A were both open. We made a date to meet there with the kids and wander the aisles browsing the pool supplies, bathing suits, and patio furniture. (really, you should go to a Target and ask for a gets a GREAT reaction!). When I got home 3 hours later my husband asked where we had gone. "to Target and Chi-fil-a" I replied. "The WHOLE time?" "Yes, for 3.5 hours, you got a problem with that?"

Tonight, that same friend came over because supposedly her dryer is broken and she needed to dry some pajamas and underwear. I wasn't fooled, she just needed to get out of the house. I don't blame her, tomorrow I'm going out for bird feed, I'm afraid the birds will be hungry in this snowstorm.

I know this storm is monumental, we'll remember it for the rest of our lives, talk about Snowmageddon 2010, Snowtorious B.I.G., and snOMG every winter when they forecast snowfall. But what I'm really hoping we don't remember is that this was the winter that I drank myself blotto and passed out in a snowbank, let my kids go sledding into the stream without supervision, or hid in the closet and cried until March.

The sun will come out tomorrow right?