Let's Try This Again, Shall We?

Hello blog lovers. Welcome to the beginning of the rest of my life. I hope.

Weight management. I hate that term. It's always been a struggle for me, ever since I hit puberty some thirty years ago. Did I say "struggle"? Try "epic battle". I've never been a rail, but I have been in shape, somewhat thin, ridiculously large, and everything in between, at some point in my life.

You know how it goes. Lose a little weight, gain it back twice over. Well, do this for thirty years and you can collect some significant poundage. That's where I am right now. I'm at the largest I've ever been, which is a very scary thought, because I've been pretty big in the past.

So, why is it bothering me now? Other than the obvious "can't climb a flight of stairs without wheezing, washing dishes tires me out" reasons, that is. Well, in an attempt to become slightly more active after spending hours and hours at one computer or another in my house for a variety of reasons, I have re-enrolled in dog agility classes with Wile E. They're lots of fun ... or, at least, they were until hubby came to last class with a video camera. What a sobering sight! Especially since all of his shots were taken from the back while I was bending over to treat the dog or pick up her leash. Yowsa.

So, I've taken some initial steps towards self improvement.

Step 1: Make a montage of the agility video and post it on Facebook. A lot of these people haven't seen me since high school, so this will probably be a bit of a shock for them. It might make a few of them feel better about themselves, which is great. Glad I could help. I feel that a big part of my problem is that I've distanced myself from people. I've taken to hiding behind my computer screen, where I can be as thin as I want with very little effort. This is my first piece of self-imposed therapy to help me come out of my shell a little.

Step 2: Throw away the scale. I hate it. It hates me. When I was about twenty-four or twenty-five years old, my best friend was getting married and asked me to be a bridesmaid. I was in a "heavy" stage at that point, so I accepted reluctantly. Then she showed me the dress she had in mind and I just about threw up. I had a year to get myself into some semblance of shape so I could pour myself into this dress without turning stomachs. Don't get me wrong, it was a lovely dress. Very simple, ankle length, deep green, clean lines. Very flattering, as long as you weren't built like a killer whale, which I was. So, I joined Jazzercise, an hour long class three nights a week. What a blast that class was! I've never had so much fun working out in my life, and if there was a class nearer to me now I would join it in a heartbeat. At that time, Jazzercise was also offering their "Know More Diet" diet. Kind of like Weight Watchers, but a little more permissive. It worked wonders. I got into what I feel is the best shape of my life, I looked fantastic in the dress, everyone was happy. So, back to my point about scales. At this point, when I looked my best, felt my best, everyone thought I looked fantastic, I weighed a whopping 175lbs. You'd never know it to look at me. So, I've decided that weight in itself is very deceptive and completely useless as far as physical well-being goes. I'm going to ignore it entirely.

Step 3: Set a goal. My goal at this point is to be able to dress in regular clothing sizes. I hate having to go to the "plus size" stores or sections. I'm embarrassed. I don't try anything on, because I'm afraid to take it off the hanger. You see, the people who work at these stores know how to fold and tuck things on the hanger so that it looks somewhat normal. When you take it off the hanger and hold it up to take a better look at it, the garment then resumes it's actual proportions. I feel like I'm blocking out the sun when I unfold a pair of pants and hold them up for perusal. So, I avoid it. And I hate it. I don't want to do it anymore.

Step 4: Record my benchmark. I threw together a quick spreadsheet with columns for the date and the measurements of my various body part. I started this morning, and will continue measuring myself each week at the same time. It was a little sobering, writing all those numbers down, seeing them laid out in front of me in black and white. But, it will be good to have the numbers recorded from the beginning. That way, when someone I haven't seen in a while says, "Wow, have you lost weight?" I can either say "Yes, thank you for noticing," or "I haven't lost anything, you liar," and I know I'll have the proof to back it up.

Step 5: Get a grip. I have a pretty good idea of what works for me and what doesn't at this point. Diets don't work. We all know that. Healthy eating plans, like Weight Watchers and Know Your Diet, work to a certain extent. My biggest problem is when I fall off the wagon, I fall HARD. I know I won't stick to the program forever. I know I will fail. It's inevitable. And when I do fail, I'll gain back all the poundage and then some, and I'll wind up even bigger than I am now, which scares the bejeesus out of me. So, I'm going to try doing this without a wagon this time.

My biggest nemesis is chips. I'm terrible with chips. If there's a bag in the house, it'll call to me until I give in and devour the whole thing in one sitting. Sometimes, it even calls to me from the store. It's a good thing I don't have a car anymore and I'm too lazy to walk to the corner store, otherwise I'd give in to the seduction and buy a bag a day. The plan here is not to give up chips, because I know that'll never last. But, I will try to buy the smaller Halloween sized bags instead of the extra-large Costco sized bags. At least this will help keep my portions in check. And if I give in to the urge once in a while and demolish a bag of Doritos all by myself, at least I won't feel guilty about cheating on my diet, because I'm not on one.

Step 6: Move. Exercise is also a big part of any weight management plan. I don't get any.

Did I mention the computers in my house? There are four of them. I have a part-time day job which I work from home, and they've provided me with a computer for that purpose. I have a computer in my shop which is used for the engraving business, and it's where I check my e-mail. There's the "personal" laptop, which is the old machine I used to use for the business, but it crashed one day from data overload. So, after moving everything to the new computer in the shop, I formatted the laptop and reloaded it with the bare minimum Windows and McAffee Anitvirus. I now use that one at night when I'm just chillaxing, chatting on IM and playing in Facebook. Then there's hubby's MacBook, which is just too much fun not to play with. It's used for all our photo/video stuff.

So I need to get off my comfy leather chair once in a while and move. Easy enough, right? Wrong. I have Trouble at home with me. Going for walks with him is like watching paint dry. I can't get my heart rate up because we're moving at about 1/2 a mile an hour. I can't go out by myself before work because Hubby leaves for work at 5:00AM, and I'm just not motivated enough to go walking at 4:30, sorry. After work isn't good either, because there's the business to run, supper to make, homework, housework, and all the other lovely things that come with being a home-owning, child-rearing adult.

I have a treadmill. It's a big, guilty secret of mine, because I bought it about 6 or 7 years ago with the intention of using it daily. It's a good treadmill, too, because I knew that a cheapo WalMart version would never hold up to my significant weight pounding on it day after day. It has since sat and collected dust. It's been moved around the house, up and down the stairs, a few times, but that's about all the movement it's seen. So, this morning, I'm quite proud to say that I dusted it off, plugged it in and had a little walk. Nothing spectacular. I won't be running marathons any time soon. It was a slightly brisk walk for 15 minutes, that worked out to about 3 P!nk songs on Hubby's iPod. But, it's a start, right? It's my intention to do this every week-day before sitting down to work, slowly building up to half an hour a day.

I'm also toying with the idea of pulling out my old hand and ankle weights and doing a little weight training at night before bed. But that won't be for a little while yet. Baby steps, after all. ;)

The last step is to blog about it. We all need motivation. Everyone knows that it's easier to work out when you have a partner there to kick your butt when you're feeling sluggish. I don't have that partner, so I'll be using you. I'll be accountable to you, my dear readers, for my progress or lack thereof. I'll check back once a week and let you know how it's going. That's the plan, anyway. Now all I have to do is click on "Publish Post" to make it official. OK, here I go... I'm clicking... now... right... now... (geez, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be!)

Are You Smarter Than A Third Grader?

I don't get it. When I was in the third grade, I would listen to my teacher, come home, take a few minutes to do my homework, go to school the next day. That was it. My parents did not have to sit with me for hours on end to get my homework done. They did not have to pull out a thesaurus to be able to explain what was being asked of me.

So then why, pray tell, do I feel completely inadequate when doing homework with my third grader? Why do I stare blankly at the page, wondering if maybe I should go back to school in order to tackle some of these questions? Is it normal to have to peruse the entire workbook in order to make sense of one question? Why are they using terminology at this level that I have never heard before?

And what the heck is with the paragraphs required to answer a math question? As far as I'm concerned, math should be "A + B = C". That's it. One of the problems my son tackled last night ended with several blank lines, preceded by the question "Explain how you know you're right." I beg your pardon? My son's initial reaction was, "But I don't know if I'm right." Somehow, I doubt this answer would have been sufficient for the teacher.

I think we're expecting a little too much from our kids (and parents) these days. After I've been working all day, the last thing I want to do is continue working into the night. Yet, that's exactly what we expect our kids to do, and we're forcing parents to do it as well. This can't be a good habit to develop. What's going to happen when these kids become adults? They might continue in the habit of working long hours, which will destroy families or compromize their well-being. Alternatively, they'll shut down. They'll finish school and scream, "I've had enough!" Either way, we're looking at ulcers or burn-out by the age of 25. Not a happy looking future, is it?

I'm Such A Suck!

I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.

Trouble was supposed to start Junior Kindergarten today. He turns 4 years old in a couple of weeks. The problem is that he isn't ready for it yet. Neither am I, for that matter.

Sure, the Ontario school system would gladly take him in. He's old enough by their standards. Heaven knows he's smart enough ... as witnessed by the fact that he outsmarts me on an almost daily basis. (A little side story here ... we were driving down the street yesterday, and Hubby was musing about his stress levels, indicating that he needs to re-discover his "happy place." Trouble suggested, "How about WalMart?".)

But he's just barely toilet trained. I mean, mere weeks ago, he was still flatly refusing to accept any of the many generous bribes I was offering for a short stint on the potty. He's still having accidents from time to time, as well. And, with the understandable rules in place at school stating that they can't help him with his toileting needs, that means I would have to drive out there each time he needed a little cleaning up. Kinda hard to do, since I presently am without a vehicle.

We're also still struggling with what is turning out to be an extremely tenacious umbilical cord. It's probably a by-product of me being a stay/work-at-home Mom this time around, as opposed to with Mini-Me, who was a daycare baby. Mini-Me handled the transition to JK way better than I did. He gave me a casual wave and a "See you later, Mom", while I cried my eyes out for the rest of the day (mind you, I was 8 months pregnant at the time as well, so hormones played a big factor in that incident). Trouble isn't quite so blase about our parting. I tried to leave him at my sister's house last night while I went out to meet with a prospective client. The ensuing tantrum would have had Child Services breaking down the door, if the neighbours didn't already know the whole story.

I thought about it, though. If we were still living in Quebec, he wouldn't be attending school for another 2 years. So why is it so gosh darned important for him to go right now, just because we're 600km away?

Hubby and I discussed it and made the decision to keep him home this year, let him start Senior Kindergarten next year. That gives me - I mean him - a whole year to get used to the idea...

Crackbook

(Author stands with hands clasped behind her back, shuffling her feet nervously)

"Hi, my name is Bikermomma."

(Crowd replies)

"Hi, Bikermomma!"

"It's been eighteen minutes since my last login to Facebook."

(Smattering of applause)

Hubby was recently invited to join this highly addictive on-line community. After he exchanged pleasantries with a few of my friends, I thought maybe it was time I gave it a shot.

BIG mistake.

What a fabulous way to trot out all of my old highschool insecurities! I wake up every morning and, before I even check my e-mail (because that takes waaayyy too long on my dinosaur of a laptop), I have to see what's going on with my Facebook account. Has anyone contacted me? Has anyone responded to my requests for friendship? Is anyone looking for me? Have any of my "friends" posted on my wall? Has anyone sent me a gift? A hug? A beer? Thrown sheep at me? WHY DOESN'T ANYONE LOVE ME?!?!?!

This is all my husband's fault, you know. He's the one who introduced me to Facebook (or, Crackbook, as one of my friends so appropriately nick-named it). He's the one who stays up late every night so we can search for more long-lost friends. That's OK, though. It's nice to know there's an enabler in the house if I ever wanted to - say - start smoking or take up on-line gambling. At least that's one good thing I can say about Facebook - it's free, so my children's college funds (or therapy money) won't suffer for it.

On the positive side, though, it is nice to catch up with all those old friends I haven't seen in years. So far, I've gotten in touch with old high-school buddies, a couple of long-lost cousins, the children of old neighbours I haven't seen in decades, and the guy who introduced me to my husband.

There is, of course, a dark side to all of this "re-connecting", though ... other than the addiction, I mean. It's meeting up with these "kids" whom I haven't seen in years.

"Oh, honey, look! It's Little Suzie! You remember her. She's George's daughter, they lived across the street from us in Hometown. How old was she when we first moved in? Four? Five? She was such a cute kid. Remember how she used to come over to ask if the dog could come out to play? I wonder what she's up to these days. Oh, look! She's in College now. And she has a boyfriend. Let's look at her pictures, maybe there are some pics of her dad in there..."

Bom chicka wow wow...

Suddenly, you're looking at photos of scantily clad drunken college girls in a hot tub, all flashing their various piercings at whatever lucky college guy is holding the camera.

As I try to resist the urge to burn out my retinas, I suggest to hubby that we file that one under "Too much information."

So, beware, my friends. The addiction hits hard, and it hits fast. It's damn near impossible to resist. And, when you least expect it, you'll stumble across some bit of information that you could happily have gone your whole life without knowing ... like the fact that you are getting very, very old.