Precision is Key

Precision is key. I’m pouring the fluid into a measuring cup, my concentration absolute. Slowly the liquid reaches the 2 ounce mark…then the 4 ounce mark…then the 8 ounce mark. Perfect. I transfer the cup’s contents into a cup. Now I know that that vessel holds exactly 8 ounces.




Is the liquid medicine? Is it a highly-concentrated explosive? Nope. It’s a $5 bottle of wine. But I’m on Weight Watchers. And every thing I put in my body counts.



On the current Weight Watchers program, nourishment is given a point value based on calories, fat, and fiber. Anything I eat and drink needs to be accounted for (basically, “if I nibble, I’ve got to scribble”). I’ve been told that if I eat a certain amount of points per day, I’ll lose weight. So for me to have this 8 ounce glass of wine, I’ve had to allocate 4 of my very precious points toward this moment. It would be the same if it was fruit or cake or a tiny piece of chocolate. All things are allowed and all things must be counted.



It is anal? Yes. Is it a royal pain? Completely. But it works.



Years ago I lost 80 pounds on Weight Watchers. 80! Granted I was much younger and that was before I had give birth to a child. Also, I’ve been on this program five times since and after losing maybe ten pounds, just didn’t have the desire to stay on it. But this time I am. I have to. My life depends on it.



My 50th birthday is coming up and I know that if I’m going to live long enough to see my youngest child grow up (she’s five), I have to lose weight. I’ve been unhealthy long enough. Doritos and cheesecake are divine, but eating them will rob me of the precious time I have left.



Weight Watchers doesn’t deny me anything. Again, it’s all about accountability and being responsible for what I put into my body. It’s about breaking the mindless eating habit. And it’s giving me power over the child in my head who wants to eat everything in sight because of stress, or boredom, or both.



I’m really mad that I’m on the program…again. I wish I could eat like a “normal” person (or what I perceive as a “normal” person) and not gain weight. I wish I didn’t have to think about fat and calories and portion control. I wish I hadn’t let myself get this heavy in the first place. I wish I wasn’t turning 50. Reality says otherwise.



Interestingly enough, now that food has a limit, I savor it. I’m eating more fruits and vegetables and, shockingly, liking them. Because I can’t rely on fast pre-processed food (unless I buy the Weight Watchers frozen stuff which, although perhaps lower in calories, is still chock full of salt) I’m having to cook more and it’s kind of fun. I’ve become addicted to sautéed mushrooms with a small sprinkle of seasoned whole wheat breadcrumbs. And red peppers! Who knew that roasted red peppers were so amazing! My husband says I’m more fun to eat with because I take such pleasure in what’s before me.



How has this affected the kids? Well outside of the first week or two when Mom was… especially ornery (I don’t change habits gracefully), the kids are now used to my being on the program. They’ll ask “Mom, how many points are…” before they grab a snack after school. My daughter has become adept at making fruit salads and reminding me of the veggies we need. Tonight’s drawing of a cardboard cake was “two Weight Watchers points, Mommy.” And my son (age 10), because he’s being exposed to healthier foods, actually tried his first piece vegetable EVER (thanks Birds Eye Asian Medley) and liked it. I guess I didn’t have to wait for Hades to freeze over to get the kid to eat broccoli. I just had to get more of it in the house.



So sure, I’ll keep measuring and counting. As tedious as Weight Watchers is, if it saves my life and makes my family healthier, it’s completely worth it.





Note:  This article first appeared on the website http://technorati.com/lifestyle/family/article/precision-is-key/

A Nice Thought

So, as I previously blogged about, I did, indeed, follow the Inner Mean Girl Cleanse.  I was aware of my inner voices and how biased they are.  I am cognizant of how damaging they are.  And I'll give the Cleanse credit for that awareness.  I'll also give the founders the benefit of the doubt that their intentions are to help women.  But I kept looking for the bottom line and I found it.

Apparently there are tapes you can buy and all kinds of self-help stuff you can pay for.  And I'm sorry, but money's tight and commercial self-awareness is just too expensive right now.

On the other hand, I did glance through my library's copy of Debra Norville's book on gratitude.  It seems that research is proving that having an "attitude of gratitude" or counting your blessings every day is healthy not only emotionally, but physically.  Studies are showing that those individuals who are grateful for what they have tend to have lower blood pressure, better moods, and better relationships than those who don't give thanks.

The book was FAR longer than it needed to be, but, once again, it made me aware of something I already knew.  Banishing the "mean girl" is hard and, if I were to buy into the merchandise, expensive.  Gratitude?  Hell, I can do that every day on the cheap.  And it's easy. 

Thank you for reading this. 

Inner Mean Girl Cleanse

I have a mean little girl inside my head.  She whispers things like:  You're fat!  You're A fake!  You're a lousy mom!  You're a rotten person, so no wonder you don't have more friends!  You yell/eat/watch TV/loaf around too much!  I HATE THAT LITTLE BITCH!

So when I was invited to participate in the Inner Mean Girl Cleanse, I was intrigued.  They claim they can help me "stop feeding (my) inner critic and start nourishing (my) inner wisdom."  Right on!  I'm ready for change.  I just started Weight Watchers a little over a week ago and I'm ready to tackle more personal goals, mainly because I've had the same frigging' goals for the past 40+ years.

The cleanse, which takes place for 40 days, means taking 6 toxic habits and replacing them with 6 healthy ones.  Sounds good so far.  I'm in a "wait and see mode."  But they say, "It's never too late to stop being so darn hard on yourself."  I couldn't agree more.  Let the cleansing begin!!!

Lisa Quinn You're Right...Mostly

When Lisa Quinn’s publicist sent me a copy of the book Life’s Too Short To Fold Fitted Sheets, it was with the understanding that I needn’t feel obligated to review or even like it. Not a problem, since I’m not a “tit for tat” person anyway.

Now, the book claims to be “Your Ultimate Guide To Domestic Liberation” and although it wasn’t the “ultimate” guide, it was certainly helpful. Ms. Quinn has a no bullshit approach to domestic chores, explaining that trying to be Martha Stewart-like is a waste of time. Hey, I’m on board! The first two chapters of the book, “The Lackadaisical Lifestyle” and “Not So Good Housekeeping” had me dog-earring pages and underlining especially pertinent sections.

I especially enjoyed the tips on “Rediscovering Your Self-Esteem” which I’ve heard a gazillion times but probably need to hear a gazillion times more. Her “Just Say No” piece detailing how to get out of saying “yes” should be mandatory for every mom of school-age children about to encounter the local PTA. But I really loved her idea of donning a tiara to show the family that you’re taking some time to yourself and going “off duty.” “Tiara Time” is great concept with the list of suggested activities for that time a nice resource. Sometimes, when I have a rare moment to myself, I forget what non-domestic, non-child-related things I actually enjoy doing.

It was after the “Housekeeping” chapter that Ms. Quinn lost me.

The chapter entitled “Slacker Chic” was cute and had some useful information, but nothing I hadn’t heard before. “Good enough” shortcuts and cheats are tactics we’ve all discovered on our own because we need them to get through life without being deemed slobs by our friends and family. And “The Half-Assed Hostess”, again, didn’t present anything earth-shattering to me.

Overall, the book is a quick, easy read. And it’s something I’ll probably refer back to…I’m just not sure when. It may, ultimately, be tossed, in a fit of domestic liberation.

Skipping Started The Clock

I was one of those rare women who never wanted children. Didn’t know a thing about kids. Didn’t want to. Honestly, didn’t see what the big deal was about kids. Everyone looked at them as if they were miracles. They subjected themselves to the tyranny of these little megalomaniacs who wanted everything NOW. I mean, adults who wielded power over millions of dollars, doctors who saved lives, allowed themselves to be at the beck and call of two-feet tall midgets. Why? How stupid were they?

My husband and I got married with the understanding that we would have a dog. He wanted kids, I did not, but we agreed on the beagle. For nine years, the man told me I would change my mind while I adamantly refused. He said I was the “type” to have kids. I assumed he meant warm and loving, not insane. Once, I broke down and almost agreed while on a trip to Bermuda, but I REALLY wasn’t ready (translation: I cried a lot).

Then, one day on my way to work, I saw a little girl…skipping. It was like one of those scenes you see in a movie. Something about the kid just hit me. She must have been 6 or 7 and I never did see her face. I just saw her…skipping.

For the rest of the day, I couldn’t get her out of my head. I never saw her again, or if I did, I didn’t know it was her. There was nothing special about her. It was just the site of her and what she was doing. I still get chills thinking about her because she literally changed the course of so many lives.

My husband and I went off the birth control (really I went off birth control) saying, “if it’s God’s will” and two months later it was. I was pregnant.

I love motherhood. I love kids. And now the woman who “didn’t want kids” has two. One biological (“the will of God”) and one adopted from China (another “will of God” just carried out in a non-biological way – and EVERY BIT a miracle).

What brings this to mind is my daughter has been…skipping. A LOT. She skips to school. She skips from the car to the house. She skips from the den to the bathroom.

And in some way, I feel she’s paying tribute to the anonymous little girl who started it all.







Note:  This post originally appeared in June 2010 on the New Jersey Moms Blog.

What I Want For Mother's Day 2010

Every Mother’s Day for the last ten years, my husband has asked me what I want. EVERY year I’ve said the same thing: sleep. And he always tells me “that’s too expensive” and buys me something instead. The gifts are very nice and much appreciated, but I’m starting to see that I’ve got as much chance of getting sleep as I have of getting Sofia Vergara’s body (she’s the very hot mom on the TV show Modern Family).

So here, for all the world to see, is what I want for Mother’s Day 2010:

- A universal mute button that works on children, spouses, extended family, Stepford Wife PTA-moms, and anyone else I don’t feel like listening to at any given moment.

- Fat-eating chocolate.

- Dust bunnies that clean house.

- An intravenous coffee drip.

- Clothes that automatically make me look 20 pounds lighter and launder themselves.

- A block full of neighbors who can get together without drinking alcohol in public and don’t allow their children to stay out, screaming, until 10PM on school nights.

- A Woomba (see http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/woomba/229062/)

- Android playmates for my kids for those days when all I hear is “I want a playdate” and the neighbors have barricaded their doors.

- A bed that automatically regulates itself to my body temperature.

- A bed with an ejection button for those times when I want to sleep alone.

In lieu of the above, I will welcome any phone/gadget with technology that will allow me to write my blog and upload it without barricading myself in our computer room after the kids go to bed.

Thank you.

Strong Legs, But Never Quite Sure Where I Stand

As a mom, you have to be strong. Actually, just by being a mom, you are. You recover from the birth or adoption process by landing firmly on your feet and taking care of the needs of your child. When your kid is sick, no matter how severe the illness or what orifice is spewing at that particular moment, you never show how bad it is. You never show how utterly grotesque what you’re seeing makes you feel. When your kids make mistakes, you don’t show disappointed you are. When they mouth off, you temper the hurt feelings you have by saying, “Well, they’re just kids.” When they wrestle or bite you (while playing), even if you express dismay, you rarely, if ever, tell them how brutal the pain is or how many aspirin you needed to take to get on with your life. When your children have tantrums, they get over the episode much quicker than you ever will. My kids may be over the outburst; my stomach will churn for hours.

So while I need to stand strong, there are many times that I’m not quite sure that what I’m doing is correct. Sometimes I just don’t know where I stand. Two recent instances bring this to mind:

1) Junior is pitching in his baseball game for the first time. He’s on the mound, staring intently at the hitter. He’s chewing his gum as if it’s tobacco and he looks, for all the world, like he should be in the middle of a major league stadium. I’m SO proud of him I could cry. I yell out, “Go Pitcher! You can do it!” thinking I’m being supportive only to be lambasted by said baseball player later for “embarrassing” him. Ok. New rule, Mom – don’t talk to the pitcher (or him when he’s a catcher) during a game. Sorry, dear. I was just trying to encourage you.

2) Junior is running for an office on the Student Council. Once again, I’m SO proud of him for challenging himself. I’m proud of him for putting himself out in public. So little sister and I, with the candidate’s permission, make signs encouraging voters to vote for him. We attract attention hoping it’ll spill on to him, along the lines of any attention is good attention. I go to both assemblies and give him the “thumbs up” while he’s on the stage. I want to be there for him. I want to show him, as much as I tell him, that I’m proud of him no matter what. Again, I’m reprimanded for “embarrassing” him.

Now I’m not a Mrs. Benson (ask your kids about the character of Freddie’s overprotective mom on ICarly) and I try not to hover. I keep an eye on him when he’s playing with his friends – but from a respectable distance. I keep an ear out for what’s going on during playdates – again, without getting in the kids’ faces. I only videotape and photograph public things the kids are in when I can get a clear shot. The latter is an important point because I was yelled at by Junior when I failed to record his Winter Concert. Sorry, but the violin section was blocking you, kid. I give him plenty of decision-making power, provide ample opportunity for him to make choices (and live with the results of those choices), and refrain from showing his baby pictures to his peers.

I just wish I knew, specifically and on a moment-to-moment basis, where responsible parenting and healthy child independence meet. That seems to be territory that varies daily. I wish kids came with some kind of visible approval meter, like a traffic light, so that I, as a parent, would always know where I stand.