Monday, August 17, 2009

A Dear John Letter

Dear Donna,

You mean more to me than I can say. But I can not bear the way you treat me. Everything else matters more to you than me—your work, the house, the children.

You don’t listen to me. You don’t try to understand or fulfill my needs. When was the last time you thought about what I want? When will I come first? I am overlooked and ignored every single day. Yet I continue to support you--day in and day out--in all that you do.

But I can’t go on this way. I feel more than mistreated, I am abused. If we continue down this course it will end badly for both of us.

I didn’t want to wait for some kind of crisis to occur before I said these things to you. I don’t want us to hit bottom. So I am drawing a line in the sand TODAY. If you want me to stay around, to stand by you, to care for you, you need to show me that you care. The time has come for you to learn how to love me.

Signed, Your body

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Confessions of a Saltaholic

For much of my life, it would of have been chips and dip, my last meal if given the option. My family tells stories. The toddler with the round belly in footed pajamas camped out in front of the chip and dip bowl on coffee table. Why a two-year-old would develop an affinity for sour cream, I can’t tell you. Maybe the formula I was fed had expired.

As a fourth grader I begged to be given the privilege of carrying the chip and dip bowl into the living room. The two tiered frosted glass set, which we probably purchased with S&H Greenstamps, was etched with grape leaves and gold trim. I didn’t get too far before I fell. I cried in front of the company I was serving. Not so much for the destruction of the family’s iconic serving set, but for the waste of all that onion soup mix, Breakstone sour cream, and Ruffles.

It’s not sweets that tempt me. It’s Triscuits, saltines, and pretzels. I learned to do things to Pepperidge Farm Goldfish crackers at a bar on Bourbon Street in New Orleans to take it up another notch. Sprinkle Cajun seasoning on a bowl of the smiling fish before serving. In Ocean City, Maryland, I found Old Bay and Wye River seasonings would give me the same fix. Yes, I was salting salted cracker.

I had never counted sodium before. Then my doctor diagnosed me some kind of inner ear condition that caused vertigo. As a result, I needed to reduce my fluid retention by cutting my sodium intake.

Shattered and empty, I sat at the kitchen table, my chin in my chest. “Please pass the salt,” I asked politely.

“No,” my daughter said. “Your doctor says you can’t have any.”

My food was bland. It was like attending a symphony with no sound. Where was the volume? I bought unsalted pretzels and saltines. Unsuspecting family members who dipped their hands into the boxes spit the snacks into the sink. “Uggh. What is this?” my daughter asked.

“A snack only a meal moth would enjoy,” I said.

Sodium was everywhere. It was in my diet soda, my frozen food lunch, my zero point canned soup, and microwave popcorn packet. I pouted. “I gave up fried food, dairy products, caffeine, and red meat. There’s nothing left. Just put me on an IV drip.”

“Want a slice of watermelon?” my daughter asked as she served herself a piece.

“My Uncle Ronald used to put salt on that you know. My grandfather would salt his beer too,” I replied.

“And they made dandelion wine in the same stainless steel tub they all bathed out of in middle the kitchen, Ma. It was the Great Depression. Get over it,” she said.

“I’m trying to,” I said. “I really am. But if this was my last meal, I’d go to the grave dizzy.”

Monday, August 10, 2009

You don’t make time for healthy living. You take it.

It was a typical Monday, a fresh start at tackling too much to do with too little time, something I hadn’t achieved in any prior weeks. I walked in the door later than normal following a school board meeting.

The girls were busy in the kitchen preparing dinner. “Hello Mom,” they both greeted me with actual eye contact and smiles. “We thought we’d help out by getting dinner started. We are sautéing ground Italian turkey to serve with red sauce on whole wheat noodles,” said Maggie.

“I’m chopping zucchini, red and green bell peppers, sweet onions, and mushrooms,” said Emily so we can sauté them too because I knew you’d want to have some vegetables too.

“Why don’t you take a seat on the patio and listen to some music for a few minutes,” my husband said as he came in from outside carrying an empty garbage can.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “Garbage day is Tuesday, not Monday.”

“I just wanted to get a head start,” he said. “That way we’ll have more time on Tuesday night to take a walk together after dinner. I picked up some salmon by the way. I thought we could grill it. It’s already in a marinade.”

I sat on the porch with an iced diet soda and slice of lime. Finally, after all these years, my family has realized how hard I work and decided to pitch in and help out. I guess all that begging, pleading, and complaining finally paid off. It only took 12 years.

“It’s 6:04 on Monday morning. WKNE staff meteorologist Pat Pagano is calling for a scorcher: hazy, hot and humid with temperatures in the `90s. Sounds like a day for the beach, not for the office,” the radio rattled me awake. I reached for the snooze button.

It’s Monday morning. I have to approve payroll, distribute the minutes, and book the board room.

What a silly dream. Yet for so long that’s exactly what I was hoping would happen. One day my family would recognize all I did for them and start to chip in more around the house so I could have more time for me. That is not how it happened.

I used to think my husband would step over my limp, lifeless body on the floor to get to the remote control after I had, like an obedient mare, worked myself to death.

I tried chore charts, cleaning nights, and smiley stickers. But I still owned all the tasks that way. No one else ever took responsibility for them. I was desperately trying to charm others into doing “my” work. Instead, I just walked away from it all to do what I wanted to do for me. I spend time picking out recipes, shopping for fresh foods, cooking healthy meals, and exercising everyday. I put these as priorities for me, pushing doing other people’s laundry lower on my to-do list.

Messes are patient. They will wait for me to come back. But an amazing thing happened. My husband found where we keep the toilet brush after all those years. My daughters learned how to operate a washer and dryer. And I learned how to accept and appreciate the ways in which they do these things. They aren’t on my timeframe. They aren’t up to my standards. It is hard to even tell the difference before and after a teenager cleans the bathroom. The broom doesn’t seem to reach into corners of the kitchen. The recycling bin spills over before it helps save the planet. But they are finally doing what I always wanted because I didn’t do it for them.

How do I find the time to exercise, eat right, work full time, and lead Weight Watchers groups? I don’t make the time. I take the time. I simply claim it for me before someone else snatches it up.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Never too old to go out and play

It took my husband and I fifteen minutes to get to Goose Pond on our bikes, but I was much farther away than that from dirty laundry, unreconcilled bank accounts, and toothpaste splattered sinks.

I passed through a door when I entered the forested trail around the edge of a round pound. I was no longer a middle aged woman with a to-do list that could occupy a team of six.

I was seven years old. I pranced over exposed tree roots, jumped over puddles, hopped rock to rock across streams.

I was clever. I stalled to contemplate crossing wet, mucky stretches of trail, certain I had found a better route than all who had passed before me.

I was a goddess. I stepped out onto a slanted rock that overlooked the sparkling pond. I was on stage before the reflective water framed in blue sky and green trees. I stretched my arms out to the sky feeling the sun’s warmth on my face. Not tired, burdened, or stressed, I felt alive.

I was brave. I ventured into unchartered ways along the shoreline, discovering a fallen tree across a section of pond. I took a deep breath and stepped on board, placing one foot in front of the other. One-third of the way across, I called out to my husband, “I don’t know if I can do this. I shouldn’t be carrying my new cell phone.”

“It probably wasn’t such a good idea,” he replied. “You do have vertigo.”

“That was not the right answer,” I said. “I can do this. I will do this,” I said. I safely crossed to the other side.

I was an artist. On one of the few wooden bridges over bubbling brooks, I stopped to employ all my senses. My eyes scanned the many shades of green: vibrant glowing mosses, saturated warm maple leaves, and cool blue spruce needles. My skin felt the cool refreshing air rising from the brook. I could even taste the damp, dewy cool. My ears took in the rushing of water over rocks as it hurried past itself to the pond. I wanted to memorize it.

I was a naturalist. Stopping sharply mid-bounce, I landed softly and crouched slowly. A beaver was about a yard away from me chewing a green branch in the water. His big warm brown eyes and wide cheeks made me smile inside and out. His wide flat tail floating behind him, never rising to slap the water in warning, as I slowly passed him.

I was defiant. When we got to the cement damn where water runs across a wide flat stretch, I crossed the shallow flow in a march, purposely splashing as I went.

I was fulfilled. I got back on my bike muddier, sweatier, and wetter than before. The next door I crossed was into my house.

“Emily dropped the big bottle of brand new dishwashing liquid and the top broke off and it is all over the kitchen floor,” Maggie announced. In the same breath, without pausing a millisecond, “Can I go downtown with Min then to Hoffies with her and Grace so we can all go to the movies and sleep over Kelsey’s? Will you give us rides right now?” she asked.

By taking time for me, I was better able to be me.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Last Things First

When I brought my second child home, my good friend Fiona told me, “Last things first. When the baby goes down, don’t do the dishes or vacuum. Those things will get done somehow. Instead, read, write, or call your Mom. Those are things that otherwise might not get done.”

Fiona was wise and right.

It’s Saturday morning. There are piles of laundry, mail, and DVDs. From where I sit in the living room I can see three pairs of my husbands shoes—one resting on a dryer sheet. The floor has a light dusting of microwave popcorn and pretzel crumbs, remnants of someone’s movie fest. Are those movies overdue?

I should pick up. I should sweep. I should mop. No I should walk away.

Why am I obligated to clean up after everyone else? Tragically, my husband can’t see dirt. It’s a common condition associated with the Y chromosome. He walks right by it completely unaware of smears or crumbs. He even tracks in mud, grass, and horse manure without any knowledge that his boots have left a trail of deposits. What doesn’t make sense to me is why he asked me where I had gone in the station wagon to get it so muddy. I told him the living room.

My children are like irresponsible boaters, leaving a massive wake that rocks and tosses other boats without regard. Where ever they’ve been you’ll find evidence: empty cracker boxes, cereal bowls with a quarter inch of milk, flip flops, nail polish, nail polish remover, cotton balls, hair ties, crumpled tissues, gum wrappers, lip gloss…

I’m no one’s Cinderella. My husband and children all have hands and feet. Otherwise why would I be looking at so many of his shoes? What are my teenage girls putting nail polish on?

Cleaning up after themselves isn’t their top priority. Why should it be mine? “Last things first,” I say. “But why am I always last?” I ask. “Not anymore,” I answer.

It’s a beautiful day. I’m going to ride my bike to Goose Pond and hike around it. I’m going to give the horse a bath and groom his tail. I’m going to feed my soul instead of enslaving it in housework. Then I’ll come home and leave dirty tracks across the kitchen floor to see if anyone notices.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Heading in Reverse Directions

If every time you backed out your driveway your car bottomed out, you'd take another route, right? Maybe you'd take a sharp left or go much slower. But chances are you wouldn't do the same thing twice, right? If only the same was true for weight management.

Instead of recognizing that we are on a path headed for a loud thud, we forge ahead blindly time and time again, taking the same path we did last time, somehow expecting a different outcome.

Let me paint you a picture. It's Saturday night. We've rented a movie, bought a bottle of wine, have a fridge stocked full of groceries. I know, based on history, that if I open that bottle of wine and that new stick of cheese and box of crackers and they are all placed on the coffee table that things will quickly get out of control.

Yet, I silence that inner voice. Instead, I channel a food network hostess who would always put out an ample supply of snacks and choices for her guests. I imagine parsley garnishes, decorative toothpicks, and smiling friends around a fondue pot. I search for the grapes and a paper doily. Well, it's just me and my husband. He wouldn't notice if I was slicing cheese with my toes, instead of my fingers. I am not entertaining for eight. An entire box of crackers and a brick of cheese, just for two? Who am I kidding? There's no weekly series about that on the food channel, although I think there was a place for us in Dante's Inferno. With a two-hour movie going, we'll do some serious damage to that block of cheddar, way more than we should. Much worse than if I had simply prepared small side plates for each of us.

Is it magical thinking, denial, stupidity, or, worse, self-sabotage? If I am trying to lose or maintain weight, why would I will place myself on a known path of self-destruction? Whether it's a pizza place, all-you-can-eat buffet or ice cream stand--I put myself there with little more than hope and a prayer hoping somehow it will turn out differently. Color me surprised when it doesn't.

It doesn't take but one hit to back end of my vehicle when backing out of the driveway to learn that I need to take a different path. Yet, I can bottom out time and time again in my weight management before I realize I need to bypass that bump with a different approach. Could it be I care more about my car than my own body? Or is it that I am not really ready to change what I need to to accomplish what I want? How can that be? My main carriage is my body and it is taking quite a beating. Last I knew the Cash for Clunkers program didn't apply to me. I don't get to trade this one in. I'm stuck with it.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

When Crisis Strikes

I just recently experienced the loss of my father. The first few days he was in the ICU, the rug was pulled out from underneath me. But after a day or two, I began to use what Weight Watchers taught me to get through this difficult time.

Crisis can make it easy to quit a weight management and exercise program. But with a few adjustments, you can get through and—on the other side—have maintained all you worked so hard to achieve.

A crisis can come without warning and turn your world upside down. Crises include death, serious illness, divorce, job loss, financial, and legal problems.

Here are some simple steps to manage your weight and exercise during a crisis.

First do no harm
Re-evaluate your goals for weight loss and exercise. You might need to temporarily loosen the demands on yourself. Focus on continuing with the progress you have made and not backsliding.

Care for yourself
Make sure you are getting the proper rest, hydration, and nutrition. Find daily or weekly time to recharge your batteries with baths, walks, naps, prayer, music, reading, writing, or other soulful activities.

Take kitchen shortcuts
Use your crock pot, frozen meals, plastic plates and forks for a while to minimize the burden of cooking and cleaning. Buy pre-seasoned or prepackaged meats. Use your grill. Make simple meals like subs and salads. Use canned soups as appetizers to minimize prep and clean up. Place a bowl of baby carrots as a side dish on the table. Double up recipes to use leftovers for another meal or lunches.

Multitask
When crisis strikes, we spend a lot of time on the phone with family and friends, sometimes having the same conversation with three people to update them on the latest news. Consider what you can get done while talking on the phone. With a cellular phone and an earpiece you may be able to take a walk, drive a child to a practice, or sit outside in the sun. With a cordless landline phone and earpiece you may be able to chop vegetables, sweep, or fold laundry.

Another way to multitask is to get your physical activity with others. At the hospital, walk and talk with your siblings instead of sitting in a hospital reception room. At home take a walk or bike ride with your spouse or children so your time together is active time for you.

Ask for help
Don’t try to be a superhero. Consider what someone else might be able to do to help you. Reach out to others for help with household or work responsibilities. See if your children, friends, or neighbors can pitch in with lawn work, cleaning, cooking, transporting kids, or grocery shopping.

Ask your spouse, children, family and friends to help you with your eating. Develop a “safe word” like “wagon wheel” that they can say when they see that you may be falling off the wagon.

Watch your triggers
Whatever your triggers--sweets, salt, or alcohol—they will be calling out to you. Consider setting some ground rules for yourself to manage these “hot” foods. For example, making sure you are with someone else when you are eating or drinking these foods or drinks can help you from overdoing it. Also commit yourself to enjoying only one of them portion at the dinner table (not in front of the TV). This framework makes it harder for you to overindulge.

Get the support you need
Keep coming to Weight Watchers meetings for support. It’s also a way to get a break from the crisis. Reach out for help coping with the difficulties you are having. Talk with family and friends. Ask for assistance in your house of worship from a priest, pastor, or rabbi. Visit your family doctor if you are having difficulty keeping up with daily routines. He or she may be able to recommend community resources for counseling and assistance.

Prepare an emergency kit
When crisis strikes it is easy to get caught unprepared when you are urgently called to the hospital. Have a box or bag of snacks and foods that are ready to go. Consider even keeping it in the car. Have it include healthy nonperishable foods you could enjoy just about anywhere, like tea bags, granola bars, can of three bean salad, can of soup, tuna/crackers combos, popcorn packets, protein drinks, or foil packaged heatable meals. This way you won’t be forced to visit a drive through or a hospital vending machine if the cafeteria is closed. Most hospital units can point you to a microwave oven you can use to reheat something and provide you with plastic spoons, etc. You’ll also find family and friend will benefit from your emergency kit.

Know this too shall pass
Remember that time heals all wounds. Take it a day at a time. It may seem like it will never end. But it will. Use your anchors to get you through difficult time. Breathe and take breaks when emotional eating urges set it.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Marinated Vegetable Salad

I’ve had a few requests for this. It's hard to capture because it’s different every time I make it. So consider these guidelines, not a recipe.

Marinated vegetable salad is hard crunchy veggies with a vinaigrette. I also add olives, artichokes and/or capers and legumes. It’s best to make it the night before so the flavors can settle. Some people blanch the veggies first. I’m too lazy. They probably absorb more flavor it you do.

Choose a combination of the following hard veggies you have on hand:
• Celery
• Broccoli
• Cauliflower
• Zucchini
• Summer squash
• Green beans
• Wax beans
• Asparagus
• Red onion
• Sweet onion
• Carrots (shredded or sliced)
• Cabbage (red, green, or savoy) sliced
• Green bell pepper
• Red bell pepper
• Cherry tomatoes
• Fresh corn (removed from cobb)

Consider frozen veggies if you need to:
• Green peas
• Lima beans
• Corn

Choose one or two marinated items
• Green olives
• Black olives
• Capers

Chose one or two legumes
• Kidney beans
• Chick peas
• Canelli beans
• Fava beans


Dressing
Assemble dressing in measuring cup by mixing all ingredients together.
• 1/3 cup olive oil
• 1/3 cup of red wine vinegar
• Juice of one lemon
• Juice of one orange
• 2-3 cloves of garlic crushed
• 1 teaspoon of salt
• 1 teaspoon mustard
• Plenty of fresh ground pepper
• 2 tablespoons dried oregano
* Red pepper flakes (optional)


Combine vegetables, marinated ingredients, and legumes into a large plastic bowl. I use the huge Thatsa Bowl from Tupperware. So this is a large recipe. If you go smaller, scale back your oil. Drizzle combined veggies with dressing. (Instead of making your own dressing, you can use a bottle of store bought Italian. This is a great option to reduce fat grams). Stir to coat. Cover bowl. Shake to coat. Let marinate overnight in refrigerator.

This receipe travels well to parties. It can sit in the sun without wilting. It can be made in advance. There's rarely another one on the buffet. It's a convenient lunch for work. At dinner, it can be served on the side with any grilled items, pasta items, or even pizza. To make it a meal, consider serving on a bed of lettuce or spinach topped with feta cheese, sliced grilled chicken, or sliced chicken sausage.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Pity Party Poopers

Nothing ruins sensible, healthy eating like pity. This toxic momentum gathers you into a downward spiral like the flush of a toilet bowl.

Don't let me interrupt your pity party if you are having one. After all, it's your party you can cry if you want to. Or, if you want to ,you can consume a jar of peanuts, carton of ice cream, or box of pizza. As the guest of honor, you choose.

Pity gives us permission to overeat, indulge, and binge. It magnifies life's normal little struggles into mammoth, insurmountable obstacles faced by no other human being at any point in history.

When my kids were little, we read "Little House on the Prairie" books out loud. Pa would strap snow shoes to his feet and hike days and nights in freezing weather into town to buy bacon, flour, and thread.

But, hey, my husband came home late for work today and the scallops were cold. Plus the city is tearing up the road in front of my office and I have to leave 4 minutes earlier for work. My doctor says I have to drink decaf, which means I don't get to have real Starbucks coffee anymore...

Our foremothers had children die in their arms in canoes as they headed for a doctor's house and had to place their stiff children's bodies into the ground themselves. They lived in houses without insulation, heat, windows, air conditioning, or central vacuums. Not sure they'd buy into our explosive rant that the kitchen disposal isn't working. You'd have to first explain the whole running water and plumbing deal. After that, you'd have no case whatsoever.

Our lives are so privileged, so convenienced, so easy, we should celebrate nonstop. Yet we find reasons everyday to lament. I pout like the best of them. I will work myself up into a hormonal cocktail of female mania that sends my husband running for the first baseball game he can find on TV.

If my foremothers from 100 years ago were standing outside my window watching my pity party over exaggerated slights and minor inconveniences to justify excessive amounts of cheese, crackers, and chardonnay, how would I explain my plight to someone who has snow landing on her knees while she lays in bed with no birth control and a man who hasn't bathed since August?

"I've seen that front loading washer and dryer in your basement Dear," she'd say, "You've got nothing to complain about. So stop your bitching and shut your mouth. Maybe then you won't eat so much."

Find time today, instead of doing kegal exercises at a stop light, to summon the strength and perseverance of the enduring spirit of our foremothers. They didn't give in. They fought back. You can too.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Red Bliss Potato Salad

This is the easiest, quickest, tastiest potato salad out there.

5 pound bag of red bliss potatoes
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 tablespoons fresh chopped rosemary
1-2 teaspoons of salt
Fresh ground pepper

Boil potatoes till tender. Let cool in colander. Quarter when cool enough to handle. Add to potatoes to large storage bowl mix with remaining ingredients.