Okay ladies,
it's been a while since my last post. But in my defense, next to Christmas, this is a busy time of year. With summer break comes out-of-town guests, especially if you live in beautiful San Diego, and a whole hosts of other distractions, which leads me to my topic for this entry.
I have just come from weighing in with my doctor and I am happy to report 1 lb. of fat loss and 8 lbs. of muscle gained. And while I am ready to celebrate publicly, I know in my heart that I am cheating myself because I have not been faithful to my diet plan.
I still succumb to the sweet-tooth cravings in the evening and have not been watching what I eat. I will admit that I usually start my day with healthy choices, but as it goes on and life gets busy, I skip meals, then overcompensate when I do get a moment to eat. The only saving grace for this behavior is boot camp, which is 2-3 times a week.
I am convinced that if I would have kept up with my usual exercise regime outside of boot camp, in addition to not giving in to my daily indulgences, my fat loss could have been much greater.
The fact of the matter is, I have been cheating. And while I can hide the truth from you all now, you will know my fate in the end if I don't meet my goal. It's been three weeks since my last weigh in. Normally I weigh in every two weeks. So it doesn't take a rocket scientist to do the math on this.
In three weeks time, I have only lost a pound. I need to lose a lot more than that per week if I want to meet my goal. Don't get me wrong, I am happy to have gotten the results of 1 lb. lost because I still believe that something is better than nothing. I am certainly happy to be going in the right direction. But I can do better.
As a mother of a Cub Scout and a Girl Scout, I am always reminding them that integrity means, "Doing the right thing even when no one is looking." My boy genius reminded me of this fact when he called me out in front of the entire boot camp class for "cheating," according to him.
Technically, I was not doing the exercise properly. But in his eyes, I was cheating. The boy genius, who normally hits the park's play area and does not come within 20 feet of where I am, unless he is tattling on his sister, just happened to be watching the final leg of our grueling ab workout.
We were doing bicycles, bringing the elbow in to meet the knee on the opposite side. In addition, my shoulders were to be off the ground. Apparently, my shoulders were not.
Unbeknownst to me, the boy genius was watching and made it no secret that I was doing it wrong. "Mom, you are cheating! You are doing it wrong," he yelled across the park.
Embarrassed by the chuckles from my fellow boot campers, I yell back. "You don't know what you are talking about. Go back to the park and finish playing."
"Yeah, but why does everyone else have their shoulders off the ground and you are just laying there?" he yells back. "I'm just trying to help you."
More laughter erupts from the class. I sit up to access the situation and sure enough, he was right. I was doing it wrong. At some point in our lives, everyone has done the bicycle ab workout, so it really wasn't a hard concept. You just have to concentrate on proper form.
I don't know whether I subconsciously cheated or what, but you know the old saying ... "Out of the mouth of babes ... comes the truth."
He was right. What could I do? I had to lead by example and get my butt in gear. Yes I boasted about my 1 lb. of fat loss, but as I was reminded of his words not so long ago, I had to humble myself because I know that it was grace that allowed me to achieve it. And that it could have been much better if I had not been cheating. Clearly, I have not shown integrity.
I could have chosen not to confess this to you, but I have to put my money where my mouth is. I've laid it all out on the table thus far, so there is no reason to turn back now. I know that as my family and friends, you want nothing but the best for me and that I am only cheating myself when I am not honest.
I also recognize my that downhill spiral correlates with the same time frame that I began to slack off with my daily Bible study readings. I do recall mentioning in my last blog entry that God needs to be my source of motivation or I will fail. I truly believe that.
I was reminded of my belief this week as I sat in the doctor's office to follow up on that funky skin rash that I told you about a couple of months back. Still no word on the cause of that, but it turns out, my glucose reading is perfect, which is great news.
As I was waiting in the doctor's office, I saw an article written by a Navy chaplain titled, Stepping Up. He began the article addressing the excuses I have been using not to stay on track with my daily scripture readings and healthy eating. He mentioned that with all that has been going on in the world, with fighting wars, wacky weather and destructive storms, it's no wonder people are feeling a bit overwhelmed and anxious.
The author ended his story with my favorite Bible verse, Isaiah 40:31. You know the one that I like to repeat over and over when I am running up a hill or struggling through a workout?
Basically it reads: Those who have faith in the Lord will renew their strength; they will soar on wings like eagles; run and not grow weary, walk and not faint.
The news of my husband's impending retirement, then his unretirement, family sicknesses, job search and the stress of the normal daily activities can certainly bring about a feeling of anxiety and being overwhelmed, but I know that I need to to be stubborn like the mule and continue to "Shake it off and step up."
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The Camera adds 10 lbs.
Last week we traveled to Dallas, Texas for my son's high school graduation. I am almost certain that I gained back the 5 lbs. that I lost the first month of this 40 and Fabulous Journey.
Have you ever heard the saying, "Everything is bigger in Texas?" Well it certainly couldn't be farther from the truth where my body is concerned. The entire time that I was in Texas, I felt down-right fat.
I felt sluggish and out of shape, despite keeping a regular exercise regime. I am not sure if it was the constant sweat dripping from every nook and cranny that made me feel this way, or the heat that my body is no longer accustomed to experiencing. Whatever the case may be, pictures certainly don't lie.
Seeing my oldest son graduate was a blessing, but after careful review of the family photos, I can't help but want to crop myself out of the pictures. I did not recognize myself in the photos. Part of my shock may have been the new hairdo, but most certainly the rest was seeing my body stretched to the largest I have ever seen it.
Living here in San Diego where people are always exercising and are very health conscious (not that I am saying the folks in Texas are not), I tend to think that I fall into the category of fit folks, especially since I have been pretty active with the exercising.
But after a few days in the sweltering Texas heat, I was sure that I needed to change the "I" in fit to an "A." There's nothing like seeing a few photos of yourself to slap you in the face for a reality check.
The last time that I felt this way, I had lost 12 lbs and was feeling quite proud of myself until my son, who was 3-years-old at the time, busted my bubble.
Hubby was on his first deployment and we were in a race to see who could lose the most weight. I had been working out like a maniac and the fruits of my labor were starting to show. Well, at least until I decided to take a picture of myself to send to hubby.
Because I was dressed in my Sunday best and headed to church, I thought, "What better time to take a picture?" I gave my 3-year-old son a quick lesson on how to focus the camera and snap the picture. He was obedient and did what I ask before running off to whatever he was doing before I engaged him in my self-absorbed project.
As I viewed the playback picture, I was disappointed to see that the pictured would have been perfect had it not been for the fat chick who was hogging the view of me. OK. The fat chick was me! Certainly the camera added 10 lbs., which meant technically I only lost 2 lbs.
Shocked to see a slightly skewed image from how I saw myself, I said, "This picture makes me look fat!"
My son, who had returned from gathering a few toys from his room happened to be walking past as I said this, retorted, "You are fat!"
At that moment, my mouth dropped. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. What he said was a blow to my ego. He was so nonchalant about it, that he didn't blink or even look up to face me. Clearly he had no clue of the impact his words had on me. He just kept walking and tinkering with the toys that were in his hands ... that's what made it all so funny.
I thought of the phrase, "Out of the mouth of a babe ..." comes the truth. It was a humbling experience. There was no maliciousness about it. His heart and his words were pure.
Disappointed and discouraged, I did not give up. It just meant I needed to work harder. Eventually I lost 20 lbs. total and won the contest against hubby. It was a process that I repeated with each deployment thereafter, a total of four more times. Sadly, the results just never seemed to stick once hubby returned.
Frustrated with the constant up and down pattern of my weight and motivation, I kept attacking the problem with all the weapons I could muster. But it wasn't until recently that I realized I was going about this 40 and Fabulous Journey all wrong.
This past Sunday my pastor spoke about keeping our bodies sacred by taking care of it. He mentioned the three mistakes that people make when trying to lose weight: They rely on their own power instead of God. Their motivations are wrong because they are doing it for sex appeal or longevity. Lastly, they try to change on their own without the proper support system.
Boy did he get my attention. Certainly I started this 40 and Fabulous Journey for longevity. And, of course, even a bit for vanity reasons. Who doesn't want to look and feel their best? But what I failed to do was rely on him for my strength and motivation.
The first time that I lost the weight, I spent a lot of time running on the treadmill. I did not do nearly as much cross training as I am doing now. But I did find myself quoting Bible verses and meditating on the word quite a bit. I was growing in my faith and as a result, my fears about losing my spouse in the war were put at ease.
Fast forward five years and you get today's me, who finds herself at a crossroads again. Once again struggling with weight gain and a new fear about the future as hubby retires from the Navy.
Ladies, my head is hard and my memory is short. How soon have I forgotten who to call on for help. Instead, I continue to try to fix it myself. Frustrated about the lack of results I wanted to see, I decided to dig my heels in with harder training the day after we returned from Texas. I spent the week sweating and burning calories, but to no avail.
My moment of truth came at the end of a 6-mile run last Saturday morning. I was about a mile and a half away from our ending point and it was all an uphill journey. My mind and my body did not want to take another step.
My husband slowed down to wait for me and give me words of encouragement, but for a brief moment, my mind had shut down as I uttered the words, "I can't do this!" Hubby yelled at me, "Yes you can!" I ignored him and began to walk. I walked a few paces before the guilt of feeling defeated set in. Even if I wanted to continue on, my body said, "No!"
At that moment, I called on God. I drew from a strength that I have with me always, but sometimes fail to use because I don't want to waste my requests on silly things. What if I need a kidney or need him to help me show my husband that he is wrong and I am right?
I began reciting Isaiah, 40:31. It's a verse that I use many times when I start to feel doubt and need a pick me up. I often used it when I ran the hills during my training for the half marathon. That, I felt was worthy of God's help because I was raising money for Cancer research.
Anyway, I used God as my strength to help me complete the run. I still wasn't sure how all of this tied in together until later that day, when I heard the pastor's sermon on Motivating Truths About My body and how I can honor Him with it. I realized only God can be my motivator to reach my goal. And not so that I can be just 40 and Fabulous, but for his will.
Last week I suffered a set back to my ego, but I needed to see the fat girl who is blocking the view of me so that I can tell her to move out of the way because God has something great planned for me.
Have you ever heard the saying, "Everything is bigger in Texas?" Well it certainly couldn't be farther from the truth where my body is concerned. The entire time that I was in Texas, I felt down-right fat.
I felt sluggish and out of shape, despite keeping a regular exercise regime. I am not sure if it was the constant sweat dripping from every nook and cranny that made me feel this way, or the heat that my body is no longer accustomed to experiencing. Whatever the case may be, pictures certainly don't lie.
Seeing my oldest son graduate was a blessing, but after careful review of the family photos, I can't help but want to crop myself out of the pictures. I did not recognize myself in the photos. Part of my shock may have been the new hairdo, but most certainly the rest was seeing my body stretched to the largest I have ever seen it.
Living here in San Diego where people are always exercising and are very health conscious (not that I am saying the folks in Texas are not), I tend to think that I fall into the category of fit folks, especially since I have been pretty active with the exercising.
But after a few days in the sweltering Texas heat, I was sure that I needed to change the "I" in fit to an "A." There's nothing like seeing a few photos of yourself to slap you in the face for a reality check.
The last time that I felt this way, I had lost 12 lbs and was feeling quite proud of myself until my son, who was 3-years-old at the time, busted my bubble.
Hubby was on his first deployment and we were in a race to see who could lose the most weight. I had been working out like a maniac and the fruits of my labor were starting to show. Well, at least until I decided to take a picture of myself to send to hubby.
Because I was dressed in my Sunday best and headed to church, I thought, "What better time to take a picture?" I gave my 3-year-old son a quick lesson on how to focus the camera and snap the picture. He was obedient and did what I ask before running off to whatever he was doing before I engaged him in my self-absorbed project.
As I viewed the playback picture, I was disappointed to see that the pictured would have been perfect had it not been for the fat chick who was hogging the view of me. OK. The fat chick was me! Certainly the camera added 10 lbs., which meant technically I only lost 2 lbs.
Shocked to see a slightly skewed image from how I saw myself, I said, "This picture makes me look fat!"
My son, who had returned from gathering a few toys from his room happened to be walking past as I said this, retorted, "You are fat!"
At that moment, my mouth dropped. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. What he said was a blow to my ego. He was so nonchalant about it, that he didn't blink or even look up to face me. Clearly he had no clue of the impact his words had on me. He just kept walking and tinkering with the toys that were in his hands ... that's what made it all so funny.
I thought of the phrase, "Out of the mouth of a babe ..." comes the truth. It was a humbling experience. There was no maliciousness about it. His heart and his words were pure.
Disappointed and discouraged, I did not give up. It just meant I needed to work harder. Eventually I lost 20 lbs. total and won the contest against hubby. It was a process that I repeated with each deployment thereafter, a total of four more times. Sadly, the results just never seemed to stick once hubby returned.
Frustrated with the constant up and down pattern of my weight and motivation, I kept attacking the problem with all the weapons I could muster. But it wasn't until recently that I realized I was going about this 40 and Fabulous Journey all wrong.
This past Sunday my pastor spoke about keeping our bodies sacred by taking care of it. He mentioned the three mistakes that people make when trying to lose weight: They rely on their own power instead of God. Their motivations are wrong because they are doing it for sex appeal or longevity. Lastly, they try to change on their own without the proper support system.
Boy did he get my attention. Certainly I started this 40 and Fabulous Journey for longevity. And, of course, even a bit for vanity reasons. Who doesn't want to look and feel their best? But what I failed to do was rely on him for my strength and motivation.
The first time that I lost the weight, I spent a lot of time running on the treadmill. I did not do nearly as much cross training as I am doing now. But I did find myself quoting Bible verses and meditating on the word quite a bit. I was growing in my faith and as a result, my fears about losing my spouse in the war were put at ease.
Fast forward five years and you get today's me, who finds herself at a crossroads again. Once again struggling with weight gain and a new fear about the future as hubby retires from the Navy.
Ladies, my head is hard and my memory is short. How soon have I forgotten who to call on for help. Instead, I continue to try to fix it myself. Frustrated about the lack of results I wanted to see, I decided to dig my heels in with harder training the day after we returned from Texas. I spent the week sweating and burning calories, but to no avail.
My moment of truth came at the end of a 6-mile run last Saturday morning. I was about a mile and a half away from our ending point and it was all an uphill journey. My mind and my body did not want to take another step.
My husband slowed down to wait for me and give me words of encouragement, but for a brief moment, my mind had shut down as I uttered the words, "I can't do this!" Hubby yelled at me, "Yes you can!" I ignored him and began to walk. I walked a few paces before the guilt of feeling defeated set in. Even if I wanted to continue on, my body said, "No!"
At that moment, I called on God. I drew from a strength that I have with me always, but sometimes fail to use because I don't want to waste my requests on silly things. What if I need a kidney or need him to help me show my husband that he is wrong and I am right?
I began reciting Isaiah, 40:31. It's a verse that I use many times when I start to feel doubt and need a pick me up. I often used it when I ran the hills during my training for the half marathon. That, I felt was worthy of God's help because I was raising money for Cancer research.
Anyway, I used God as my strength to help me complete the run. I still wasn't sure how all of this tied in together until later that day, when I heard the pastor's sermon on Motivating Truths About My body and how I can honor Him with it. I realized only God can be my motivator to reach my goal. And not so that I can be just 40 and Fabulous, but for his will.
Last week I suffered a set back to my ego, but I needed to see the fat girl who is blocking the view of me so that I can tell her to move out of the way because God has something great planned for me.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The cookie caper
Okay readers, I will have to confess that my will power has been put to the test during this week's 40 and Fabulous weight-loss journey. With so many end-of-year school activities that consists of goodies of all sorts, it's been difficult staying on track to say the least.
However, I followed what I ate and was true to recording the good and the bad stuff. What saved me from myself was staying on track with my exercise regime.
As I type these words, a pack of Costco's gigantic chocolate chip cookies sit on my counter. They are left over from a Girl Scout Ceremony held at my house few days ago. I have no problem eating a healthy and balanced meal at every sitting, but sweets are my weakness.
However, the Costco cookies were no match for the Girl Scouts' Samoas, which I thought I was rid of thanks to my son, who pulled off the most successful cookie caper of all times a few months back.
Many of you, who have been on the receiving end of my daughter's sales pitch know that she participates in the annual Girl Scout cookie fundraiser, which always results in me purchasing a case or two to send to her dad and other deployed friends.
And for past three or four years he has been deployed during this time. So we mail some, because it is always a moral booster for the troops. We freeze some, because you can only get them once a year. And of course, we eat some. Here lies my problem.
Remember that weight-loss program through my doctor's office that I told you about? I did not have to follow a strict diet, but it required me eat specific servings of fat, protein, carbs and so on at every meal while staying within my caloric intake.
Every two weeks I go for a weigh in at my doctor's office. They have this special equipment that breaks down how much muscle I have gained and how much fat I lost. It gives me a computer printout with a chart that shows my progress from start to finish.
I dropped 11 lbs. the first month of doing this. It was so easy. I even lost during Christmas time. Who loses weight during Christmas? Me!!
I was on a losing streak until Girl Scout cookie season began. The print out did not lie. I recall explaining how the system worked to hubby after he returned from deployment last year. He noticed the peaks on the chart and asked "What happened here in this January/February time frame," where clearly there was a dramatic rise in fat gain? I could only respond with "It was Girl Scout cookie season." He laughed and understood.
This year I didn't even get opportunity to claim my fat gain from Girl Scout cookies because the boy genius beat me to it. He single-handily pulled off the most successful cookie caper of all time. Over a two-month period, he sneaked and consumed 10 boxes of Girl Scout cookies; eight boxes of Samoas and two Tagalongs. He was just two boxes shy of completing a case. He was well on his way to doing so had he not gotten caught.
The boy genius is not a big junk food eater, so what would possessed him to resort to sneaking and hiding the cookies? I can only chalk it up to a variety of things.
About a year ago, he was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The ADHD I have always suspected, but the OCD threw me for a loop. From the time he was three I would ask his doctors, childcare providers and even school teachers about his behavior, but the frequent responses were "He's a boy," and "he's acting out because his dad is deployed."
After a while, I questioned my own sanity and whether or not I was one of those parents who was determined to find something wrong with my child. Imagine the relief I felt when someone finally listened. I also felt sad for my son because he had suffered for so long without getting the support he needed.
After much agony on how to proceed with this information, his father and I decided to medicate and change his diet to gluten-free. After a series of trial and error medications, we found one that we liked because this particular one did not suppress his appetite. One of the side effects to ADHD stimulant medicine is the loss of appetite, which was not a good thing for my barely 40-lb. eight year old.
For a short while, things were good. He was doing well in school and there was little to no behavioral problems. He was not too happy with the gluten-free diet at first, but he finally adjusted without much complaint.
His diagnosis affected the entire family. It made us think a lot about what we ate, where we ate and how to incorporate these changes into our daily lives without too much disruption. It was difficult and expensive. I stocked up on coupons for gluten-free products and switched to soy milk.
At first the boy genius felt left out whenever there was a party at school and he was not allowed to eat the same treats. I learned to coordinate with his teacher ahead of time to find a gluten-free brownie or chocolate chip cookie mix to make sure he had the same as the other kids.
Just as we had this diet thing down pat, the meds started to go off kilter. His body absorbed the stimulant so quickly that it wore off within a few weeks time. The doctor kept increasing the dosage, despite my protests.
Another side effect was not being able to sleep at night. It was like having an infant in the house again. Long story short, during his many nights of being awake and wondering around the house, he would finally get hungry. I started keeping little things like crackers and cheese, granola bars and peanut butter crackers in a snack jar for him to munch on.
But unbeknownst to me, he had graduated into something much bigger like the secret stash of Girl Scout cookies I had hidden in the deep freezer for hubby and his coworkers.
The time to mail them off had come and gone by the time cookie season kicked off. Samoas and Tagalongs are hubby's favorites, so I loaded up on those with plans to hand deliver them and the kids to Hawaii myself. The kids were riding the ship back home with hubby and I stayed a few extra days for some much needed R&R. He, the kids and his coworkers could enjoy them on their way back to home port.
During my stay in Hawaii, I made the decision to take him off the meds because of the drastic changes in his behavior. I was awaiting the arrival of hubby to provide support to overrule the doctor's decision, to yet again increase the dosage even higher. There were a host of strange behaviors, which I will save for another post.
At night, long after dinner was put away and I was fast asleep, boy genius would help himself to a pack of Girl Scout cookies. One Sunday morning I woke up to the smell of Samoas on his breath, but he denied, denied, denied that he had eaten cookies for breakfast. This stretched out over a period of six weeks.
Because there was so much trading going on between myself and the other moms, I didn't notice that the stash of only the Samoas and Tags drastically disappearing. I just figured I didn't buy as much as I thought and would trade out for more.
I never suspected boy genius of eating them because he never showed an interest in the chocolate cookies. His favorite are the lemon because "No one wants the lemon cookies," he said, whenever we would make our door-to-door cookie sale rounds.
It wasn't until two days after hubby returned from deployment, with the kids in tow, that we discovered the remnants of his cookie caper - empty boxes strategically hidden under his bed. It was a wake up call for us all on just how serious the situation had gotten.
I didn't know whether to be mad that he had cleaned me out of all of the chocolate cookies and that I didn't discover it until one week after cookie season ended. There was no way to replace what he had eaten.
Or, be mad at the fact that he ate them all by his lonesome and didn't gain a pound. Had it been me, it would have certainly showed on the chart. With my luck, it would have gone off the paper and broke the computer.
For weeks, just the mention of Girl Scout cookies left me bitter and brought of memories of a difficult time in our journey with his diagnosis. Although the medicine was the catalyst for his strange behavior, we still had to teach him that there are consequences for his actions. He had to pay for the cookies that he ate; $40 bucks worth. Lucky for him it was his birthday month, so he had the money to cover his expenses.
The other day hubby and I were cleaning out the garage and an unopened box of Samoas fell from a box of items I had set aside for a garage sale. We couldn't believe what we were seeing. It was a blast from the past. The Costco cookies sitting on my counter paled in comparison to the Samoas that literally fell into my lap.
Instead of getting angry, we both laughed at the irony of it all. I had just committed myself to backing off the sweets and losing 40 lbs. and out falls a box of Samoas. If that wasn't a test of my will power, I don't know what is. I tossed it in the deep freezer and continued with the cleanup.
Being able to laugh about the Great Cookie Caper showed just how far we had come in the three short months since this all happened. Experts say laughter is great medicine during times of stress. I would agree with that assessment.
I ended this week's journey without a pound loss, but at least a pound gained in life's lessons and healing. Remember, my Journey to 40 and Fabulous is not just about losing weight, but about the mind, body and spirit. I realized I have to let go of the past in order to move forward in the future. Happy following and God Bless!
However, I followed what I ate and was true to recording the good and the bad stuff. What saved me from myself was staying on track with my exercise regime.
As I type these words, a pack of Costco's gigantic chocolate chip cookies sit on my counter. They are left over from a Girl Scout Ceremony held at my house few days ago. I have no problem eating a healthy and balanced meal at every sitting, but sweets are my weakness.
However, the Costco cookies were no match for the Girl Scouts' Samoas, which I thought I was rid of thanks to my son, who pulled off the most successful cookie caper of all times a few months back.
Many of you, who have been on the receiving end of my daughter's sales pitch know that she participates in the annual Girl Scout cookie fundraiser, which always results in me purchasing a case or two to send to her dad and other deployed friends.
And for past three or four years he has been deployed during this time. So we mail some, because it is always a moral booster for the troops. We freeze some, because you can only get them once a year. And of course, we eat some. Here lies my problem.
Remember that weight-loss program through my doctor's office that I told you about? I did not have to follow a strict diet, but it required me eat specific servings of fat, protein, carbs and so on at every meal while staying within my caloric intake.
Every two weeks I go for a weigh in at my doctor's office. They have this special equipment that breaks down how much muscle I have gained and how much fat I lost. It gives me a computer printout with a chart that shows my progress from start to finish.
I dropped 11 lbs. the first month of doing this. It was so easy. I even lost during Christmas time. Who loses weight during Christmas? Me!!
I was on a losing streak until Girl Scout cookie season began. The print out did not lie. I recall explaining how the system worked to hubby after he returned from deployment last year. He noticed the peaks on the chart and asked "What happened here in this January/February time frame," where clearly there was a dramatic rise in fat gain? I could only respond with "It was Girl Scout cookie season." He laughed and understood.
This year I didn't even get opportunity to claim my fat gain from Girl Scout cookies because the boy genius beat me to it. He single-handily pulled off the most successful cookie caper of all time. Over a two-month period, he sneaked and consumed 10 boxes of Girl Scout cookies; eight boxes of Samoas and two Tagalongs. He was just two boxes shy of completing a case. He was well on his way to doing so had he not gotten caught.
The boy genius is not a big junk food eater, so what would possessed him to resort to sneaking and hiding the cookies? I can only chalk it up to a variety of things.
About a year ago, he was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The ADHD I have always suspected, but the OCD threw me for a loop. From the time he was three I would ask his doctors, childcare providers and even school teachers about his behavior, but the frequent responses were "He's a boy," and "he's acting out because his dad is deployed."
After a while, I questioned my own sanity and whether or not I was one of those parents who was determined to find something wrong with my child. Imagine the relief I felt when someone finally listened. I also felt sad for my son because he had suffered for so long without getting the support he needed.
After much agony on how to proceed with this information, his father and I decided to medicate and change his diet to gluten-free. After a series of trial and error medications, we found one that we liked because this particular one did not suppress his appetite. One of the side effects to ADHD stimulant medicine is the loss of appetite, which was not a good thing for my barely 40-lb. eight year old.
For a short while, things were good. He was doing well in school and there was little to no behavioral problems. He was not too happy with the gluten-free diet at first, but he finally adjusted without much complaint.
His diagnosis affected the entire family. It made us think a lot about what we ate, where we ate and how to incorporate these changes into our daily lives without too much disruption. It was difficult and expensive. I stocked up on coupons for gluten-free products and switched to soy milk.
At first the boy genius felt left out whenever there was a party at school and he was not allowed to eat the same treats. I learned to coordinate with his teacher ahead of time to find a gluten-free brownie or chocolate chip cookie mix to make sure he had the same as the other kids.
Just as we had this diet thing down pat, the meds started to go off kilter. His body absorbed the stimulant so quickly that it wore off within a few weeks time. The doctor kept increasing the dosage, despite my protests.
Another side effect was not being able to sleep at night. It was like having an infant in the house again. Long story short, during his many nights of being awake and wondering around the house, he would finally get hungry. I started keeping little things like crackers and cheese, granola bars and peanut butter crackers in a snack jar for him to munch on.
But unbeknownst to me, he had graduated into something much bigger like the secret stash of Girl Scout cookies I had hidden in the deep freezer for hubby and his coworkers.
The time to mail them off had come and gone by the time cookie season kicked off. Samoas and Tagalongs are hubby's favorites, so I loaded up on those with plans to hand deliver them and the kids to Hawaii myself. The kids were riding the ship back home with hubby and I stayed a few extra days for some much needed R&R. He, the kids and his coworkers could enjoy them on their way back to home port.
During my stay in Hawaii, I made the decision to take him off the meds because of the drastic changes in his behavior. I was awaiting the arrival of hubby to provide support to overrule the doctor's decision, to yet again increase the dosage even higher. There were a host of strange behaviors, which I will save for another post.
At night, long after dinner was put away and I was fast asleep, boy genius would help himself to a pack of Girl Scout cookies. One Sunday morning I woke up to the smell of Samoas on his breath, but he denied, denied, denied that he had eaten cookies for breakfast. This stretched out over a period of six weeks.
Because there was so much trading going on between myself and the other moms, I didn't notice that the stash of only the Samoas and Tags drastically disappearing. I just figured I didn't buy as much as I thought and would trade out for more.
I never suspected boy genius of eating them because he never showed an interest in the chocolate cookies. His favorite are the lemon because "No one wants the lemon cookies," he said, whenever we would make our door-to-door cookie sale rounds.
It wasn't until two days after hubby returned from deployment, with the kids in tow, that we discovered the remnants of his cookie caper - empty boxes strategically hidden under his bed. It was a wake up call for us all on just how serious the situation had gotten.
I didn't know whether to be mad that he had cleaned me out of all of the chocolate cookies and that I didn't discover it until one week after cookie season ended. There was no way to replace what he had eaten.
Or, be mad at the fact that he ate them all by his lonesome and didn't gain a pound. Had it been me, it would have certainly showed on the chart. With my luck, it would have gone off the paper and broke the computer.
For weeks, just the mention of Girl Scout cookies left me bitter and brought of memories of a difficult time in our journey with his diagnosis. Although the medicine was the catalyst for his strange behavior, we still had to teach him that there are consequences for his actions. He had to pay for the cookies that he ate; $40 bucks worth. Lucky for him it was his birthday month, so he had the money to cover his expenses.
The other day hubby and I were cleaning out the garage and an unopened box of Samoas fell from a box of items I had set aside for a garage sale. We couldn't believe what we were seeing. It was a blast from the past. The Costco cookies sitting on my counter paled in comparison to the Samoas that literally fell into my lap.
Instead of getting angry, we both laughed at the irony of it all. I had just committed myself to backing off the sweets and losing 40 lbs. and out falls a box of Samoas. If that wasn't a test of my will power, I don't know what is. I tossed it in the deep freezer and continued with the cleanup.
Being able to laugh about the Great Cookie Caper showed just how far we had come in the three short months since this all happened. Experts say laughter is great medicine during times of stress. I would agree with that assessment.
I ended this week's journey without a pound loss, but at least a pound gained in life's lessons and healing. Remember, my Journey to 40 and Fabulous is not just about losing weight, but about the mind, body and spirit. I realized I have to let go of the past in order to move forward in the future. Happy following and God Bless!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
The Family that runs together ...
I realize I am a bit behind on my blog entries, but life has been crazy. I ended week one of my 40 and Fabulous journey with a 4-mile run that stretched across the Coronado Bay Bridge. How's that for ending on a high note? No pun intended.
Every year for the past 25 years the Morale, Welfare and Recreation Department has hosted the Coronado Bay Bridge Run. MWR provides quality of life programs for military families, such as on-base movies and activities, and access discounted tickets to local attractions.
Although the run itself was tough (only because I hadn't trained in months), the view from up top was remarkable. What's even better is that I got to share it with my family.
Last year I did this run by myself. I signed up because I needed something to keep me focused on running and staying healthy. I signed up while hubby was deployed. And while this race would be a physical no-brainer because I had already ran a half marathon, the thought of doing it alone was terrifying.
You see, when I ran the half marathon, I had a team of coaches, running mates and a mentor cheering me on to make sure I achieved my goal. They taught me the do's and don't of the sport ... how to breathe, run, stretch, and even how to pick out the proper running gear. They held my hand the entire time and I am grateful.
This time, it was all me. There was no one to hold my hand or teach me anything because I had learned what I needed to know; that I can do anything that I put my mind to do. However, I was still a little scared and lonely.
Last year I saw many families walking and running together, posing and taking pictures as they got to the top. Even though this was something that I needed to do for myself, I wished I had my family to share that moment with as I reached the top.
My comfort was that they were waiting for me at the finish line. They stood cheering me on and holding a sign that read, "Run, Mommy Run. You make us proud, love Curt, Ty and Mique." I promised to sign them all up next year. And so I did.
This year's run was a great family bonding experience despite the silent competition between hubby and myself. Neither of us wanted to be the first to give up and walk, especially as we reached the bridge. The view from up top was worth the sweat. We stopped briefly to take pictures. The opportunity to do this only happens once a year during the Bay Bridge run.
Unless someone is jumping off or there is an accident, the bridge is never closed to traffic. And certainly there is never a time to stop at the top long enough to get that million-dollar shot of the view.
Hubby and I ran at a much slower pace for the sake of the kids, who had to run/walk it. That part was bittersweet because I thought of all of the "old people" comments my son often makes. Both he and my daughter were exhausted on the walk back to the car. Even though they didn't say it, I knew they had a newfound respect for me.
Every day for the past year or so, I would put them on the school bus in the morning and set off on a 5-mile run. They would get to school and wait for me to pass by the playground so that they can give one last wave goodbye before they started their day. Running along the bridge with my husband and children showed me just how far I had come, not just as a runner, but as a person.
There was a time when running brought about the worst in me. Hubby can attest to this because my shameful behavior was at his expense. I behaved like a complete two-year old in front of his coworkers and his chief, which means "boss" in civilian language.
What's crazy is, he married me anyway. Imagine that! He knew what he was getting into and he did it anyway. He's just as stubborn as I am. The story goes as such: We were engaged to be married and with only three months to go, I found this wedding dress that I could not live without.
The problem is that wedding dresses don't exactly go by your normal dress size. It's as if they make them three sizes smaller and slap a size eight on the tag. So to further bruise my ego, I could not fit the largest size that they had in the store. I had to special order the largest size made for the dress out of a store in San Diego (This is a whole other story for another blog entry). Mind you, I was not overweight. I just wasn't a stick.
My option was to find another dress or lose weight to fit into the dress. Well, I chose the latter. Didn't I tell you I was stubborn? Again, with no plan in sight on how to do this, I was invited to run with my fiancee and his PT (physical training) crew after work.
Having never done any running outside of relay races in physical education and that dreadful basketball fiasco I told you about, I was a little scared. But I was sure I would do well. After all, I had attended track races during my time at Arizona State University. A couple of my sorority sisters were track athletes. One of them even competed in the '92 Olympics.
Let's just say that I watched enough track races and knew enough runners to become a great runner, right? In hindsight, I can only laugh at my naiveness
On the day of my first PT session, I showed up straight from the hair salon. That was mistake number one (Here we go with the hair thing again). I was looking too cute. Of all the days to run, it was windy and we were running in the middle of the Arizona desert dodging tumbleweed and rattlesnakes. The combination was a perfect setup for me to make a donkey out of myself.
I will spare you the details. Let's just say that when swearing and being outright belligerent did not work, I subccomed to throwing a tantrum. There I sat in the dirt with my hair looking like Sho' Nuff from the movie The Last Dragon, sand and dirt stuck to my face with my teardrops, refusing to take another step because there was sand in my shoe and my shinsplints were killing me. His coworkers even gave me words of encouragement.
Hubby had every right to disown me and maybe even stop the wedding. But instead, he kneeled down and picked me up. He brushed the sand off of my face, kissed me and told me that he would do whatever it takes to help me fit into the dress, as long as I never attended another PT session. I had been officially banned from any and all PT sessions, per his chief. LOL!
We spent the next three months running on our own. Even his best friends supported the cause and ran with me on the days he had duty in the firehouse. Now that's love!
I lost the weight for the wedding. In fact, the dress was a tad too big. Soon after, I quit running. I was told that running is not for everyone and I should move on to other things. At that moment, it became a bucket list entry.
Someday I will run a marathon, I told my husband. He laughed it off and said, I will run it with you - that was almost 13 years ago. I still have not run the marathon, but I am close. I have a half marathon under my belt, two 4-mile runs and hundreds of miles on my running shoes. Indeed I am close.
I used to say, "I am not a runner, but ..." I did this the entire time that I trained for the half marathon. Now, I can actually bring myself to say, "I am a runner."
Do you remember that sweet and sour thing that I referred to? That's what running is for me; sweet and sour. I did not particularly enjoy it, but I know that it's a sure way to keep the weight off and relieve the constant stress that I feel when hubby is deployed.
It helps that the scenery where I live is gorgeous. There are so many running paths. My favorite stretches along the reservoir and the Olympic Training Center. On any given day you can see the row teams training and rowing in unison. It's an amazing sight to see just like view from the top of the Coronado Bridge. I think I will make this a family tradition.
Although the journey to 40 and Fabulous has been a long and sometimes rough one, the roads taken to get there have taught me a lot. Whether it be the dusty roads of Yuma, Ariz., the rocky paths of Chula Vista or the scenic view from the top of the Coronado Bay Bridge, I know that I am not afraid to run. I am not quite 40, but achieving my goals (with God's help) certainly makes me fabulous!
Every year for the past 25 years the Morale, Welfare and Recreation Department has hosted the Coronado Bay Bridge Run. MWR provides quality of life programs for military families, such as on-base movies and activities, and access discounted tickets to local attractions.
Although the run itself was tough (only because I hadn't trained in months), the view from up top was remarkable. What's even better is that I got to share it with my family.
Last year I did this run by myself. I signed up because I needed something to keep me focused on running and staying healthy. I signed up while hubby was deployed. And while this race would be a physical no-brainer because I had already ran a half marathon, the thought of doing it alone was terrifying.
You see, when I ran the half marathon, I had a team of coaches, running mates and a mentor cheering me on to make sure I achieved my goal. They taught me the do's and don't of the sport ... how to breathe, run, stretch, and even how to pick out the proper running gear. They held my hand the entire time and I am grateful.
This time, it was all me. There was no one to hold my hand or teach me anything because I had learned what I needed to know; that I can do anything that I put my mind to do. However, I was still a little scared and lonely.
Last year I saw many families walking and running together, posing and taking pictures as they got to the top. Even though this was something that I needed to do for myself, I wished I had my family to share that moment with as I reached the top.
My comfort was that they were waiting for me at the finish line. They stood cheering me on and holding a sign that read, "Run, Mommy Run. You make us proud, love Curt, Ty and Mique." I promised to sign them all up next year. And so I did.
This year's run was a great family bonding experience despite the silent competition between hubby and myself. Neither of us wanted to be the first to give up and walk, especially as we reached the bridge. The view from up top was worth the sweat. We stopped briefly to take pictures. The opportunity to do this only happens once a year during the Bay Bridge run.
Unless someone is jumping off or there is an accident, the bridge is never closed to traffic. And certainly there is never a time to stop at the top long enough to get that million-dollar shot of the view.
Hubby and I ran at a much slower pace for the sake of the kids, who had to run/walk it. That part was bittersweet because I thought of all of the "old people" comments my son often makes. Both he and my daughter were exhausted on the walk back to the car. Even though they didn't say it, I knew they had a newfound respect for me.
Every day for the past year or so, I would put them on the school bus in the morning and set off on a 5-mile run. They would get to school and wait for me to pass by the playground so that they can give one last wave goodbye before they started their day. Running along the bridge with my husband and children showed me just how far I had come, not just as a runner, but as a person.
There was a time when running brought about the worst in me. Hubby can attest to this because my shameful behavior was at his expense. I behaved like a complete two-year old in front of his coworkers and his chief, which means "boss" in civilian language.
What's crazy is, he married me anyway. Imagine that! He knew what he was getting into and he did it anyway. He's just as stubborn as I am. The story goes as such: We were engaged to be married and with only three months to go, I found this wedding dress that I could not live without.
The problem is that wedding dresses don't exactly go by your normal dress size. It's as if they make them three sizes smaller and slap a size eight on the tag. So to further bruise my ego, I could not fit the largest size that they had in the store. I had to special order the largest size made for the dress out of a store in San Diego (This is a whole other story for another blog entry). Mind you, I was not overweight. I just wasn't a stick.
My option was to find another dress or lose weight to fit into the dress. Well, I chose the latter. Didn't I tell you I was stubborn? Again, with no plan in sight on how to do this, I was invited to run with my fiancee and his PT (physical training) crew after work.
Having never done any running outside of relay races in physical education and that dreadful basketball fiasco I told you about, I was a little scared. But I was sure I would do well. After all, I had attended track races during my time at Arizona State University. A couple of my sorority sisters were track athletes. One of them even competed in the '92 Olympics.
Let's just say that I watched enough track races and knew enough runners to become a great runner, right? In hindsight, I can only laugh at my naiveness
On the day of my first PT session, I showed up straight from the hair salon. That was mistake number one (Here we go with the hair thing again). I was looking too cute. Of all the days to run, it was windy and we were running in the middle of the Arizona desert dodging tumbleweed and rattlesnakes. The combination was a perfect setup for me to make a donkey out of myself.
I will spare you the details. Let's just say that when swearing and being outright belligerent did not work, I subccomed to throwing a tantrum. There I sat in the dirt with my hair looking like Sho' Nuff from the movie The Last Dragon, sand and dirt stuck to my face with my teardrops, refusing to take another step because there was sand in my shoe and my shinsplints were killing me. His coworkers even gave me words of encouragement.
Hubby had every right to disown me and maybe even stop the wedding. But instead, he kneeled down and picked me up. He brushed the sand off of my face, kissed me and told me that he would do whatever it takes to help me fit into the dress, as long as I never attended another PT session. I had been officially banned from any and all PT sessions, per his chief. LOL!
We spent the next three months running on our own. Even his best friends supported the cause and ran with me on the days he had duty in the firehouse. Now that's love!
I lost the weight for the wedding. In fact, the dress was a tad too big. Soon after, I quit running. I was told that running is not for everyone and I should move on to other things. At that moment, it became a bucket list entry.
Someday I will run a marathon, I told my husband. He laughed it off and said, I will run it with you - that was almost 13 years ago. I still have not run the marathon, but I am close. I have a half marathon under my belt, two 4-mile runs and hundreds of miles on my running shoes. Indeed I am close.
I used to say, "I am not a runner, but ..." I did this the entire time that I trained for the half marathon. Now, I can actually bring myself to say, "I am a runner."
Do you remember that sweet and sour thing that I referred to? That's what running is for me; sweet and sour. I did not particularly enjoy it, but I know that it's a sure way to keep the weight off and relieve the constant stress that I feel when hubby is deployed.
It helps that the scenery where I live is gorgeous. There are so many running paths. My favorite stretches along the reservoir and the Olympic Training Center. On any given day you can see the row teams training and rowing in unison. It's an amazing sight to see just like view from the top of the Coronado Bridge. I think I will make this a family tradition.
Although the journey to 40 and Fabulous has been a long and sometimes rough one, the roads taken to get there have taught me a lot. Whether it be the dusty roads of Yuma, Ariz., the rocky paths of Chula Vista or the scenic view from the top of the Coronado Bay Bridge, I know that I am not afraid to run. I am not quite 40, but achieving my goals (with God's help) certainly makes me fabulous!
Friday, May 13, 2011
Boot Camp Baby!!
So it's day three and I am still on my 40 and Fab high, but I was starting to doubt the course in which I would get there. After reading the outpour of emails from supporting friends, the general consensus was that I needed to challenge myself and the usual suspects of cardio would not do. I needed something hardcore like cross fit.
As with any one-income family that lives on a budget, financing such a program can be problematic. Even if I cancelled our gym membership to the Y, we could not afford such a luxury. I was all set to give up, but God had my back.
Oh yeah! You heard me. I said, "FREE!" Anyone who knows me, know that my favorite words are "free," and "I have a coupon for that ..."
But after several scheduling conflicts with the kids' activities, I flaked on her and never made it. She told me I could come out whenever I was ready. Didn't I tell you God had my back?
As faith would have it, she meant what she said. Hubby and I arrived for our first session ready to burn some calories, but my enthusiasm sank with each step that I took towards the bootcampers. As we surveyed our teammates silently, I knew he was thinking what I was thinking. There was not a chunky person in the group. They were all thin and looked quite fit. But I guess that was to be expected if they were on-going boot campers. I'm not really sure what I expected.
Aside from the group leader, no one had bulging muscles or anything, but they looked confident in what they were about to do. What's worse is they were welcoming and supportive.
Angel was as nice as can be and so were her teammates. They all introduced themselves and kept reiterating to "go at my own pace or stop if I need to." I couldn't even use the excuse that they were a bunch of "skinny snobs" as a reason for not coming back after we embarrassed ourselves.
Nope, I just had to keep silently reciting my mantra "40 and fat, err, I mean, 40 and fabulous." We started with a quick warm-up lap around the track. Now you're talking, I thought. Easy breezy. This is my weapon of choice and I am the BOMB!!!!!
It's funny how we can be humbled when we start to get cocky. The run quickly turned into one of my least favorite exercises, "suicides."
Suicides requires a lot of running, except you pinpoint a specific number of spots on the floor, say point A to point B and so on. You run from point A to point B, then back to A.
Then you run from point A to point C, then back to A - that is one full set. You do however many sets the person in charge requires of you or until you pass out (JK).
Our instructor, who was as calm as they come, but yet, motivating, kept telling us, “stop if you need to or lose your breath.” All I could think is “does the same go for if we lose our lunch.”
I can see where this little ditty got its name. You'd have to be on the verge committing such an act if you are trying this out just for kicks.
Just hearing the name of the exercise brought me back to my freshman year of high school when I attempted to try out for girls basketball. I was a bit of a Tomboy and played every sport that you could think of with the neighborhood boys.
Not only did I play kickball, baseball and basketball, I even played many rounds of kick butt basketball, which was sort of like playing horse except the loser got kicked in the butt by all of the players, as many times as there were letters in the word kick butt.
Stubborn and stupid, I'd show up everyday to my neighbor’s backyard determined to win and show the village idiots that girls can do anything boys can do. I never got to ask the question “whose the idiot now?” But I certainly earned the respect of the boys in the neighborhood.
Needless to say, I became very good at basketball and making the team would have been a no brainer for me had they not required us to do suicides. I quit after the first day and never looked back.
Imagine my reaction when I heard the boot camp instructor say we were going to start off with suicides. "Surely God was trying to tell me something - or maybe he just has a great sense of humor."
Here was my chance walk the talk on my journey to 40 and Fabulous -- and redeem my quitting self from years past.
Did I mention that my aunt was the basketball coach? If only she could see me now. I made it through three sets of suicides before jumping into a whole host of other “just-kill-me now” calisthenics.
It was what I like to call sweet and sour. It was sweet to know that I was well on my way to being 40 and Fab because I was challenging myself to do something I never thought I could do. As for the sour - it needs no explanation.
You will be happy to know that I survived my first boot camp workout. I only had to stop once or twice to catch my breath. I didn’t even embarrass my 9-year-old son anytime I finished last in an exercise.
As with any one-income family that lives on a budget, financing such a program can be problematic. Even if I cancelled our gym membership to the Y, we could not afford such a luxury. I was all set to give up, but God had my back.
"I remembered meeting a friend of a friend about four months ago - let's call her Angel because that what she was to me - who invited me to join an informal boot camp."
I met Angel through a play date at the park during the school's winter break. She heard me talk about being bored with my same old running regime and invited me to try it out. The group met three times a week at various parks in my neighborhood. The best part was that it was free.
Oh yeah! You heard me. I said, "FREE!" Anyone who knows me, know that my favorite words are "free," and "I have a coupon for that ..."
But after several scheduling conflicts with the kids' activities, I flaked on her and never made it. She told me I could come out whenever I was ready. Didn't I tell you God had my back?
As faith would have it, she meant what she said. Hubby and I arrived for our first session ready to burn some calories, but my enthusiasm sank with each step that I took towards the bootcampers. As we surveyed our teammates silently, I knew he was thinking what I was thinking. There was not a chunky person in the group. They were all thin and looked quite fit. But I guess that was to be expected if they were on-going boot campers. I'm not really sure what I expected.
Aside from the group leader, no one had bulging muscles or anything, but they looked confident in what they were about to do. What's worse is they were welcoming and supportive.
Angel was as nice as can be and so were her teammates. They all introduced themselves and kept reiterating to "go at my own pace or stop if I need to." I couldn't even use the excuse that they were a bunch of "skinny snobs" as a reason for not coming back after we embarrassed ourselves.
Nope, I just had to keep silently reciting my mantra "40 and fat, err, I mean, 40 and fabulous." We started with a quick warm-up lap around the track. Now you're talking, I thought. Easy breezy. This is my weapon of choice and I am the BOMB!!!!!
It's funny how we can be humbled when we start to get cocky. The run quickly turned into one of my least favorite exercises, "suicides."
Suicides requires a lot of running, except you pinpoint a specific number of spots on the floor, say point A to point B and so on. You run from point A to point B, then back to A.
Then you run from point A to point C, then back to A - that is one full set. You do however many sets the person in charge requires of you or until you pass out (JK).
Our instructor, who was as calm as they come, but yet, motivating, kept telling us, “stop if you need to or lose your breath.” All I could think is “does the same go for if we lose our lunch.”
I can see where this little ditty got its name. You'd have to be on the verge committing such an act if you are trying this out just for kicks.
Just hearing the name of the exercise brought me back to my freshman year of high school when I attempted to try out for girls basketball. I was a bit of a Tomboy and played every sport that you could think of with the neighborhood boys.
Not only did I play kickball, baseball and basketball, I even played many rounds of kick butt basketball, which was sort of like playing horse except the loser got kicked in the butt by all of the players, as many times as there were letters in the word kick butt.
"I can recall my neighbor Charlie drawing his leg back all the way back to what seemed like downtown to kick me."
Stubborn and stupid, I'd show up everyday to my neighbor’s backyard determined to win and show the village idiots that girls can do anything boys can do. I never got to ask the question “whose the idiot now?” But I certainly earned the respect of the boys in the neighborhood.
Needless to say, I became very good at basketball and making the team would have been a no brainer for me had they not required us to do suicides. I quit after the first day and never looked back.
Imagine my reaction when I heard the boot camp instructor say we were going to start off with suicides. "Surely God was trying to tell me something - or maybe he just has a great sense of humor."
Here was my chance walk the talk on my journey to 40 and Fabulous -- and redeem my quitting self from years past.
Did I mention that my aunt was the basketball coach? If only she could see me now. I made it through three sets of suicides before jumping into a whole host of other “just-kill-me now” calisthenics.
It was what I like to call sweet and sour. It was sweet to know that I was well on my way to being 40 and Fab because I was challenging myself to do something I never thought I could do. As for the sour - it needs no explanation.
You will be happy to know that I survived my first boot camp workout. I only had to stop once or twice to catch my breath. I didn’t even embarrass my 9-year-old son anytime I finished last in an exercise.
Winter of Wine
This blog for your mental health and child rearing, just in case you don’t get what this post is about by the second paragraph. I want to back up a few months to help you see how I arrived at my 40 and Fabulous-mind-body-and-spirit mantra.
We were on our fifth deployment in five years and our second consecutive Christmas without hubby. Given the information, there's no question my patience with both children had been running low. I was struggling with a weight-loss program through my doctor’s office and recalled hearing her say, “A glass of red wine a night is good for you.”
So I bought myself a bottle of red wine. It was nothing fancy. It was the $2 buck chuck from Trader Joe’s. Red wine is an acquired taste in my social gathering because most of my friends go for the sweet and fruity wine. This stuff was dry and bitter, but I liked the way it warmed my throat. It definitely had its benefits, like a calming effect to keep me from making verbal threats to the little people that live in my house and try to take over my mind; or worse, make me lose it.
I took up the habit of drinking a glass of red wine as a way to relax and unwind. But, soon I noticed a pattern. It was always followed by a stressful day of helping Tyler with his homework. The average homework workload could be completed in 40 minutes to an hour’s time, but that’s not the case with my son, who was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
ADHD, which basically means not only does he struggle to sit still for long periods of time, he also has trouble keeping his focus. OCD needs no explanation. Does this make my kid some sort of freak? No way!
We all have some sort of disorder. Some people are clean freaks and others obsess about washing their hands. As long as it does not stop the flow of their daily activities, it’s normal. At least, that’s how it was explained to me by a medical professional.
Raising children is challenging. But raising a boy is challenging in a much different way than girls. Trust me! I should know. I have one of each. Believe me, it’s no picnic to deal with those challenges when you mix the two disorders with an intelligent eight-year-old, who has a mind like a 40 year old; minus one spouse who is out on a six-month deployment. It truly wears on your patience. Hence the reason God made wine.
A glass of red wine after a loss of patience with my boy genius seemed quite fitting. Frankly, there are not enough bottles of wine to keep me calm and relaxed for all of the antics my son comes up with. One of which occurred at Christmas and this time I had witnesses.
If it had not been for the presence of my mom and my stepson, who witnessed firsthand what I have been dealing with, no one would ever believe the stories. I am sure they both thought I had exaggerated a bit or was being over dramatic.
After only a week’s stay, I am convinced my mom was starting to worry about my “like clock-work” nightly glass of wine.
Although Ty’s outbursts of inappropriate, but funny comments were nothing out of the ordinary, I am sure mom was thinking I had turned into an alcoholic - and for no good reason!
My mom is from the old school and did not spare the rod on me, so I am sure she was thinking “Give the boy a spanking and call it a day.” I could see the worry on her face as I would pour a glass (just one) each night, per my doctor’s orders.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t at all concerned with what she thought. I was thinking, "Wait for it. Wait for it." Then it finally happened.
The other shoe dropped and the “real Slim Shady” stood up (those of you who’ll admit to listening to the Rapper Emenim will get that pun).
It was Christmas Eve and we were having a terrific family day. The kids and mom were playing the Wii as I prepared dinner. We collectively decided to celebrate a day early so that we could lay around on Christmas day eating leftovers and enjoying each other’s company.
We were getting ready to set the dinner table when the boy genius started complaining about having to turn off the Wii and help out.
Instead of ordering him to do what I asked, I used my top-notch parenting skill that I picked up from various sources, and redirected him. I sent him upstairs to wash his hands. It sounded easy enough and should only take a minute. Heck, I’ll even throw in an extra two.
Hooray! I was shocked when he came downstairs in less than five minutes. Usually, a simple task such as that would warrant 15 minutes easily because he’d get sidetracked by something in his room or the bathroom.
But no, he was back in no time. He quietly sat at the table. His facial expression looked like the cat who killed the canary and knew that he’d be next once I found out what he had done.
I asked him, “What was wrong?” He put his head down to avoid eye contact. That’s when I saw it. It was a tiny drop of blood oozing from his head and three huge patches of missing hair.
He had gotten into his brother’s razor and tried to do some personal grooming. It looked as if he tried to make one clean cut on the right side from front to back, but he skidded along the way and left some patches.
I guess he gave up and tried again from another angle, taking off more hair on the front left side of his head. That didn’t go as smooth as he would have liked, so he decided to try his right eyebrow.
I screamed at him, “What did you do to yourself?”
He tried to pull one of his Jedi mind tricks and deny what I was seeing, but thought better of it. He knew there was no getting out of this one. Instead, he said nothing.
My oldest son Curtis III, who was just about to sit down on the other side of the table, leaped up from his chair and came around to the boy genius’s side of the table. He closely inspected the handy work and repeated my sentiments.
He ran upstairs and returned a few seconds later with the razor he had used earlier that day to shave.
Did you use my razor?” he yelled.
C3 didn’t even wait for a reply. “It still has your skin in it,” he shouted. His hands were shaking as he held the razor up to inspect it.
My mom and daughter sat quietly. I guess they were in shock at what he had done. Then, my mother joined in on the chaos, asking the same questions, but losing her calmness with each unanswered question. “What did you do? Why did you do this? What were you thinking?”
Pretty soon everyone was yelling and trying to understand what had just happened? The whole scene was tragic. Okay, so now I am being over dramatic. But in our minds, it was a tragedy. He shaved off his hair and there was no way to fix the damage.
C3 just kept yelling at him. He was just as upset as I was. I could tell that he felt guilty because it was his razor that aided and abetted his brother in his curiosity.
I don’t think he was trying to physically harm himself. Maybe he was just curious about how it worked? I am sure that’s how all the scientists and engineers got their start - trial and error.
Then I felt guilty about not doing more boy-related things. Instead of teaching him to catch a football, I took him along with me to the nail spa, exposing him to eyebrow waxing and mani-pedis. Where else would he get such a notion to shave off his hair and eyebrows?
As mom and C3 continued to grill him about shaving off his hair, I quietly walked away to compose myself. I locked myself in the downstairs bathroom and counted to 20 before coming out. I think I even said a little prayer to God.
As I re-entered the room, silence filled the air. They stood around the table watching and waiting for my next move. I said nothing. I walked past boy genius who sat quietly with his head down waiting to be punished.
I stopped at the curio cabinet to grab a wine glass. I headed towards the kitchen to get my bottle of wine. I poured myself a glass. Drank it down whole, then poured another before taking my seat at the table with the bottle still in tow. Okay, so I broke my one-glass a night rule.
The mood was tense as they waited for me to inflict my punishment onto the boy genius. But as the wine settled into my system, clearer thoughts prevailed. I realized how fast his hair grew. It will be punishment enough when he has to go out in public looking like a landing strip for airplanes.
In that moment, I couldn’t help but laugh. It kind of reminded me of the patches of land that you see from out the window of an airplane. The view looks like patchwork from a quilt. "Patches" was all that I could manage to get out between the laughter.
At that moment, everyone started to laugh … not so much at the boy, but the situation. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard a friend say that her daughter decided to cut her bangs. Or that their kid fell asleep with gum in his mouth and tried to cut it out after it got stuck in the hair. There comes a time in every parent's life when they have a hair cutting story or two to share.
Now I can add myself to the list of those who have gone before me. To be honest, I have to say that I may not have recovered as quickly had it been my daughter.
Truthfully, the moment of clarity came when I went into the bathroom for that few seconds to hide my tears. Okay, it was divine intervention because only the act of God, not the wine, could have stopped me from doing the opposite of what I wanted to do prior to entering the bathroom.
Now, fast forward several months and you get the story of my own hair gaff, which was the catalyst for my 40 and Fabulous mantra. Imagine what my son would have thought had I punished him for accidentally cutting his hair and then the same to my own?
He could have reminded me of the Christmas Chaos. Instead, he was the first to support my new change. This has me thinking ... Maybe my metamorphosis of change had nothing to do with my hair.
From the time Ty was five, he has bugged me for a Mohawk and Blue hair. I have begrudgingly given in to his wants, but with stipulations: Not at the same time and "It better be Halloween or crazy hair day at school!"
Maybe he was going through his own changes and fighting his own mental and physical battle with his disorders. At his age, he certainly couldn’t know what they were or how to describe them. But he knew he was different. Maybe this was his way of dealing with his feelings.
Despite the traumatic effect his initial unveiling had on us all, we made light of the situation and decided that we would call him patches until his hair grew back.
By the following week, his landing strips were no longer patches of hair. It had grown back. No one aside from the five of us ever got to see his fancy patchwork up close and personal.
He was not too happy about his new name, but I felt it was truly a fitting punishment for his crime. I know what you are thinking, it certainly isn’t a mature way for a parent to handle such a matter? Probably not, but let’s face it, most of us are just winging it anyway.
Being a parent is one of the toughest jobs in the world and there’s not one book in my many collections on parenting that include a step-by-step manual for raising my child. There are many for raising children with similar characteristics, but the buck stops there.
I have manuals for every little thing I have ever purchased stored in my garage just in case it ever breaks or I forget how to work something. I can refer to it as often as I like. And if I happened to accidentally throw one away, I could look it up online to get the information I need. But there is no manual on how to parent the boy genius.
He is something kind of special. And I mean this in a good way. My problem is, how do you parent someone who is so tiny and dependent upon me for the basic necessities of life, and yet, has the knowledge of an old man who humbles your soul?
Like I said, he’s something kind of special. So while it seems that for the moment no such manual exists, I will wait patiently. I will take detailed notes of everything the boy genius does so that when help does arrive, surely someone will know what to do.
Until then, I will drink wine - twice weekly or as often as needed.
We were on our fifth deployment in five years and our second consecutive Christmas without hubby. Given the information, there's no question my patience with both children had been running low. I was struggling with a weight-loss program through my doctor’s office and recalled hearing her say, “A glass of red wine a night is good for you.”
So I bought myself a bottle of red wine. It was nothing fancy. It was the $2 buck chuck from Trader Joe’s. Red wine is an acquired taste in my social gathering because most of my friends go for the sweet and fruity wine. This stuff was dry and bitter, but I liked the way it warmed my throat. It definitely had its benefits, like a calming effect to keep me from making verbal threats to the little people that live in my house and try to take over my mind; or worse, make me lose it.
I took up the habit of drinking a glass of red wine as a way to relax and unwind. But, soon I noticed a pattern. It was always followed by a stressful day of helping Tyler with his homework. The average homework workload could be completed in 40 minutes to an hour’s time, but that’s not the case with my son, who was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
ADHD, which basically means not only does he struggle to sit still for long periods of time, he also has trouble keeping his focus. OCD needs no explanation. Does this make my kid some sort of freak? No way!
We all have some sort of disorder. Some people are clean freaks and others obsess about washing their hands. As long as it does not stop the flow of their daily activities, it’s normal. At least, that’s how it was explained to me by a medical professional.
Raising children is challenging. But raising a boy is challenging in a much different way than girls. Trust me! I should know. I have one of each. Believe me, it’s no picnic to deal with those challenges when you mix the two disorders with an intelligent eight-year-old, who has a mind like a 40 year old; minus one spouse who is out on a six-month deployment. It truly wears on your patience. Hence the reason God made wine.
A glass of red wine after a loss of patience with my boy genius seemed quite fitting. Frankly, there are not enough bottles of wine to keep me calm and relaxed for all of the antics my son comes up with. One of which occurred at Christmas and this time I had witnesses.
If it had not been for the presence of my mom and my stepson, who witnessed firsthand what I have been dealing with, no one would ever believe the stories. I am sure they both thought I had exaggerated a bit or was being over dramatic.
After only a week’s stay, I am convinced my mom was starting to worry about my “like clock-work” nightly glass of wine.
Although Ty’s outbursts of inappropriate, but funny comments were nothing out of the ordinary, I am sure mom was thinking I had turned into an alcoholic - and for no good reason!
My mom is from the old school and did not spare the rod on me, so I am sure she was thinking “Give the boy a spanking and call it a day.” I could see the worry on her face as I would pour a glass (just one) each night, per my doctor’s orders.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t at all concerned with what she thought. I was thinking, "Wait for it. Wait for it." Then it finally happened.
The other shoe dropped and the “real Slim Shady” stood up (those of you who’ll admit to listening to the Rapper Emenim will get that pun).
It was Christmas Eve and we were having a terrific family day. The kids and mom were playing the Wii as I prepared dinner. We collectively decided to celebrate a day early so that we could lay around on Christmas day eating leftovers and enjoying each other’s company.
We were getting ready to set the dinner table when the boy genius started complaining about having to turn off the Wii and help out.
Instead of ordering him to do what I asked, I used my top-notch parenting skill that I picked up from various sources, and redirected him. I sent him upstairs to wash his hands. It sounded easy enough and should only take a minute. Heck, I’ll even throw in an extra two.
Hooray! I was shocked when he came downstairs in less than five minutes. Usually, a simple task such as that would warrant 15 minutes easily because he’d get sidetracked by something in his room or the bathroom.
But no, he was back in no time. He quietly sat at the table. His facial expression looked like the cat who killed the canary and knew that he’d be next once I found out what he had done.
I asked him, “What was wrong?” He put his head down to avoid eye contact. That’s when I saw it. It was a tiny drop of blood oozing from his head and three huge patches of missing hair.
He had gotten into his brother’s razor and tried to do some personal grooming. It looked as if he tried to make one clean cut on the right side from front to back, but he skidded along the way and left some patches.
I guess he gave up and tried again from another angle, taking off more hair on the front left side of his head. That didn’t go as smooth as he would have liked, so he decided to try his right eyebrow.
I screamed at him, “What did you do to yourself?”
He tried to pull one of his Jedi mind tricks and deny what I was seeing, but thought better of it. He knew there was no getting out of this one. Instead, he said nothing.
My oldest son Curtis III, who was just about to sit down on the other side of the table, leaped up from his chair and came around to the boy genius’s side of the table. He closely inspected the handy work and repeated my sentiments.
He ran upstairs and returned a few seconds later with the razor he had used earlier that day to shave.
Did you use my razor?” he yelled.
C3 didn’t even wait for a reply. “It still has your skin in it,” he shouted. His hands were shaking as he held the razor up to inspect it.
My mom and daughter sat quietly. I guess they were in shock at what he had done. Then, my mother joined in on the chaos, asking the same questions, but losing her calmness with each unanswered question. “What did you do? Why did you do this? What were you thinking?”
Pretty soon everyone was yelling and trying to understand what had just happened? The whole scene was tragic. Okay, so now I am being over dramatic. But in our minds, it was a tragedy. He shaved off his hair and there was no way to fix the damage.
C3 just kept yelling at him. He was just as upset as I was. I could tell that he felt guilty because it was his razor that aided and abetted his brother in his curiosity.
I don’t think he was trying to physically harm himself. Maybe he was just curious about how it worked? I am sure that’s how all the scientists and engineers got their start - trial and error.
Then I felt guilty about not doing more boy-related things. Instead of teaching him to catch a football, I took him along with me to the nail spa, exposing him to eyebrow waxing and mani-pedis. Where else would he get such a notion to shave off his hair and eyebrows?
As mom and C3 continued to grill him about shaving off his hair, I quietly walked away to compose myself. I locked myself in the downstairs bathroom and counted to 20 before coming out. I think I even said a little prayer to God.
As I re-entered the room, silence filled the air. They stood around the table watching and waiting for my next move. I said nothing. I walked past boy genius who sat quietly with his head down waiting to be punished.
I stopped at the curio cabinet to grab a wine glass. I headed towards the kitchen to get my bottle of wine. I poured myself a glass. Drank it down whole, then poured another before taking my seat at the table with the bottle still in tow. Okay, so I broke my one-glass a night rule.
The mood was tense as they waited for me to inflict my punishment onto the boy genius. But as the wine settled into my system, clearer thoughts prevailed. I realized how fast his hair grew. It will be punishment enough when he has to go out in public looking like a landing strip for airplanes.
In that moment, I couldn’t help but laugh. It kind of reminded me of the patches of land that you see from out the window of an airplane. The view looks like patchwork from a quilt. "Patches" was all that I could manage to get out between the laughter.
At that moment, everyone started to laugh … not so much at the boy, but the situation. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard a friend say that her daughter decided to cut her bangs. Or that their kid fell asleep with gum in his mouth and tried to cut it out after it got stuck in the hair. There comes a time in every parent's life when they have a hair cutting story or two to share.
Now I can add myself to the list of those who have gone before me. To be honest, I have to say that I may not have recovered as quickly had it been my daughter.
Truthfully, the moment of clarity came when I went into the bathroom for that few seconds to hide my tears. Okay, it was divine intervention because only the act of God, not the wine, could have stopped me from doing the opposite of what I wanted to do prior to entering the bathroom.
Now, fast forward several months and you get the story of my own hair gaff, which was the catalyst for my 40 and Fabulous mantra. Imagine what my son would have thought had I punished him for accidentally cutting his hair and then the same to my own?
He could have reminded me of the Christmas Chaos. Instead, he was the first to support my new change. This has me thinking ... Maybe my metamorphosis of change had nothing to do with my hair.
From the time Ty was five, he has bugged me for a Mohawk and Blue hair. I have begrudgingly given in to his wants, but with stipulations: Not at the same time and "It better be Halloween or crazy hair day at school!"
Maybe he was going through his own changes and fighting his own mental and physical battle with his disorders. At his age, he certainly couldn’t know what they were or how to describe them. But he knew he was different. Maybe this was his way of dealing with his feelings.
Despite the traumatic effect his initial unveiling had on us all, we made light of the situation and decided that we would call him patches until his hair grew back.
By the following week, his landing strips were no longer patches of hair. It had grown back. No one aside from the five of us ever got to see his fancy patchwork up close and personal.
He was not too happy about his new name, but I felt it was truly a fitting punishment for his crime. I know what you are thinking, it certainly isn’t a mature way for a parent to handle such a matter? Probably not, but let’s face it, most of us are just winging it anyway.
Being a parent is one of the toughest jobs in the world and there’s not one book in my many collections on parenting that include a step-by-step manual for raising my child. There are many for raising children with similar characteristics, but the buck stops there.
I have manuals for every little thing I have ever purchased stored in my garage just in case it ever breaks or I forget how to work something. I can refer to it as often as I like. And if I happened to accidentally throw one away, I could look it up online to get the information I need. But there is no manual on how to parent the boy genius.
He is something kind of special. And I mean this in a good way. My problem is, how do you parent someone who is so tiny and dependent upon me for the basic necessities of life, and yet, has the knowledge of an old man who humbles your soul?
Like I said, he’s something kind of special. So while it seems that for the moment no such manual exists, I will wait patiently. I will take detailed notes of everything the boy genius does so that when help does arrive, surely someone will know what to do.
Until then, I will drink wine - twice weekly or as often as needed.
(Disclaimer: While the events in this story are true, no abuse of alcohol occurred. )
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Day 1 of 40 and Fab
The Morning After
It’s day one of my 40 and Fabulous journey and I woke up feeling a sense of emotional exhaustion. The panic for what I had done 24 hours earlier set in. “Why on earth did I do that?” I thought as I crawled out of bed to wake up my munchkins.
I am exhausted but I can’t even get back into bed because yesterday I was on some sort of high that provoked me to confess to the world, well, a bunch of people that I am going to lose weight, and I am going to do it by the end of the year.
I even preempted the declaration with this embarrassing story of how I came to this insane decision to put my mind, body and spirit through hell.
What was I thinking? I didn’t even have a plan on how I was going do it. I just made the plan all willy nilly like I was some sort of Jedi Knight. “Nicole, you will lose 40 lbs by Dec. 29th” in my best James Earl Jones voice.
What’s even worse, people actually responded. I got this amazing outpouring of support from my friends saying that they too were in a rut and that I had inspired them to jump on the 40 and Fab bandwagon. I even had a friend call me to ask what is my game plan because she and her husband had been motivated to get their “sexy back.”
Now I’ve gone and done it! I’ve got all of my friends encouraging and supporting me on one of the toughest journeys in my life, and it’s on public blast for all to see. This is certainly not like when I signed up to run that half marathon and sent out letters to everyone asking for their support. It didn’t even matter if I actually ran the whole way; who was going to knock me for raising money for cancer research?
People are actually going to be following my progress and holding me accountable. Some friends have even proclaimed me as their leader. What’s my goal again? Oh, wait! To win, by losing.
Well, what’s done is done now. There’s no turning back. I guess I could run or maybe hit a Zumba class today. But it’s raining outside. It don’t want to catch a cold. If I catch a cold, I will be laid up a couple of days and that will delay my program. I certainly don’t want that to happen.
That settles it! I will do Zumba in the morning and then go for a brisk walk or short run in the evening with the family
I am in the zone now. I pulled out my old weight-loss management program from my doctor and did what I needed to do. I had a cup of peach yogurt and a small red apple. This is so easy, I thought. Now on to Zumba.
The Daily Wrap Up
Zumba kicked my butt. I truly thought I was going to throw up. It must have been all of the salt and pepper chicken wings from Mandarin that I ate for dinner last night as part of my last hoorah.
Let’s be clear. This is not going to be a diet! It’s about making better choices. It’s a lifestyle change and I will not deprive myself.
Who am I kidding? If it was as easy as it sounds, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. So for now, I will say goodbye to the oh so yummy salt and pepper wings.
I am proud to say that I survived day one of my journey and I have all of you to thank. Not one of you hesitated to throw your support my way. You'll be happy to know that I ended my day not with a brisk walk, but an hour-long session of playing Just Dance 2 on the Wii.
As far as I am concerned, it was a win/win. I spent quality time with the family and I burned calories.
It’s day one of my 40 and Fabulous journey and I woke up feeling a sense of emotional exhaustion. The panic for what I had done 24 hours earlier set in. “Why on earth did I do that?” I thought as I crawled out of bed to wake up my munchkins.
I am exhausted but I can’t even get back into bed because yesterday I was on some sort of high that provoked me to confess to the world, well, a bunch of people that I am going to lose weight, and I am going to do it by the end of the year.
I even preempted the declaration with this embarrassing story of how I came to this insane decision to put my mind, body and spirit through hell.
What was I thinking? I didn’t even have a plan on how I was going do it. I just made the plan all willy nilly like I was some sort of Jedi Knight. “Nicole, you will lose 40 lbs by Dec. 29th” in my best James Earl Jones voice.
What’s even worse, people actually responded. I got this amazing outpouring of support from my friends saying that they too were in a rut and that I had inspired them to jump on the 40 and Fab bandwagon. I even had a friend call me to ask what is my game plan because she and her husband had been motivated to get their “sexy back.”
Now I’ve gone and done it! I’ve got all of my friends encouraging and supporting me on one of the toughest journeys in my life, and it’s on public blast for all to see. This is certainly not like when I signed up to run that half marathon and sent out letters to everyone asking for their support. It didn’t even matter if I actually ran the whole way; who was going to knock me for raising money for cancer research?
People are actually going to be following my progress and holding me accountable. Some friends have even proclaimed me as their leader. What’s my goal again? Oh, wait! To win, by losing.
Well, what’s done is done now. There’s no turning back. I guess I could run or maybe hit a Zumba class today. But it’s raining outside. It don’t want to catch a cold. If I catch a cold, I will be laid up a couple of days and that will delay my program. I certainly don’t want that to happen.
That settles it! I will do Zumba in the morning and then go for a brisk walk or short run in the evening with the family
I am in the zone now. I pulled out my old weight-loss management program from my doctor and did what I needed to do. I had a cup of peach yogurt and a small red apple. This is so easy, I thought. Now on to Zumba.
The Daily Wrap Up
Zumba kicked my butt. I truly thought I was going to throw up. It must have been all of the salt and pepper chicken wings from Mandarin that I ate for dinner last night as part of my last hoorah.
Let’s be clear. This is not going to be a diet! It’s about making better choices. It’s a lifestyle change and I will not deprive myself.
Who am I kidding? If it was as easy as it sounds, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. So for now, I will say goodbye to the oh so yummy salt and pepper wings.
I am proud to say that I survived day one of my journey and I have all of you to thank. Not one of you hesitated to throw your support my way. You'll be happy to know that I ended my day not with a brisk walk, but an hour-long session of playing Just Dance 2 on the Wii.
As far as I am concerned, it was a win/win. I spent quality time with the family and I burned calories.
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