Archive for the ‘THERAPY THURSDAYS’ Category

Hey, hey, hey.

This is one of those posts…all information, no pretty pictures. Plus, it’s Thursday, so maybe some sort of theraputic ramblings. I will apologize in advance. Sorry. Heh.

So, I have seriously struggled with my weight for a long time. A LONG TIME.

A long time.

My struggles began in middle school, when I became an emotional eater.

I ate because other people were eating and I wanted to fit in. I ate because it was something to do. I ate because I liked food. I ate because I didn’t want to hurt people’s feelings. I ate what tasted good and what made me feel full, not what was (necessarily) healthy.

This continued through highschool. Maybe it even got a little worse. There are plenty of things to talk about here, but that’s for another day.

Then I went to college. I am not sure EXACTLY what started the next phase, but something did.

I replaced regular sodas with diet drinks and water, and lost about 10 pounds instantly. Or at least it felt like it. I stopped eating food with a lot of fat in it. I stopped eating food with fat in it at all. I stopped eating much food. I lost 60 pounds throughout college. Not so healthily, really. Again, another story for another day. But, I did begin to exercise, and I liked how it made me feel. So, that was something good…

Out of college, the balance was a little harder. I was eating out more often and didn’t have the time for as much exercise. I felt the weight coming back on. And those numbers just haunted me. I am about 6 feet tall, and my “numbers” on the scale have never been as low as I thought a girl’s should be. Mentally, that tormented me.

Maybe still does, a little bit.

So, the weight started coming back on. But, at this point, I needed some of it back. When I graduated from college I weighed 126 pounds. At 6 feet tall. Not so healthy, at least not on my frame. But when the numbers rose, I freaked out. Then I ate. Then more came. You see what I’m getting at, right?!?

Forty-five pounds later, I met my husband and we fell in love. I was happier because I was eating and exercising, but I was not happy with how I looked. Fast forward 2 years and I’m engaged and exercising an hour a day plus eating the “south beach” way. By the time I got married, I had lost about 25 pounds and felt good with the numbers on the scale and the size of my clothes.

Then babies. Up sixty pounds (you read it right- sixty) with the first. Down forty. Up twenty-five with the second. Down twenty-five. So, if you do the math, still up twenty from where I’d like to be.

And now the second baby is almost 2.

So, that’s a lot of numbers. And it makes me feel crazy. And it makes me feel unhappy. And it makes me feel like a failure.

But, then I think about the things that this body can do (besides weigh more than I’d like)…I can run 13.1 miles, and have done so in 2 hours and 18 minutes!! I have healthy babies! I take cool pictures. I can cook. I can grow a mini-farm in my backyard. I am healthy.

So, what I am going to do is (try to) focus on the good stuff. I am going to run races. I am going to eat healthily. I am going to do some things to help myself be as HEALTHY as I can be, and try to truly be happy with those results. I am not going to rely on a scale to tell me how I’m doing.

I can’t promise that I won’t be happy if my pants are looser, though.

And I will not give up diet drinks or beer, so don’t try to make me 🙂

But, you’ll see some changes…

and you’ll see me set and achieve some awesome physical goals.

I am looking forward to sharing…and thanks for listening.


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Hey, hey.

When I was little, one of my favorite sammiches was peanut butter and pickles. That’s right. Pickles. At the time, it was (to be specific) Mt. Olive Kosher Dill Spears. But, yes, pickles. Where would someone get this idea, you might ask? Well, from t.v., of course. Webster. Remember him? He taught me all about getting rich via adoption AND peanut butter and pickle sammiches. One of these things I actually enjoyed for myself, and the other…well….I just enjoyed watching on t.v. Maybe I’ll try one again, soon. It sounds pretty good, honestly. And NO, I’m not pregnant. Ever again. Seriously. What a rude question.

Here ends therapy/story hours.

And here begins the actual story of….


So, I “put up” some cucumber pickles and hot peppers last week.

I never thought I could/would/should ever do such a thing.

But I did. And it was a SUCCESS!

Please, let me show-n-tell you…

First, cut up some cucumbers. In spears. In slices. However you’d like…

*these cukes were grown in my garden! MY GARDEN!!

You also should sterilize (clean real good) your lids, bands, jars, etc.

and these lids and bands were sterilized in my sink. MY SINK. ha- well, you get my drift.

(mostly, I just think that the cleaned lids, etc. make for a cool picture)

Then you cram as many spears, slices, etc. of the cukies that you can into each of however many jars of pickles you are trying to make.

Unpictured you will also be boiling some vinegar and spice mixture that you will later ladle into your jars (once they are filled with goodies) that will eventually help them to become pickled. It was yellow. And hot. And a little stinky.

Then you place your jars (lids on, bands “finger tip tight”, aka not too tight) into boiling water for about 15 minutes. I have a basket thingy that holds 3 jars, so I was doing this for a while.

Then you get the hot jars out (they are hot- be careful! I was not so careful. I was burned. Oh well.) and place them on a towel or a wooden cutting board or whatever somewhere that they can cool completely (preferably overnight).

Then, if you’re me, you cut up your hot peppers.

Cram as many of these babies into jars as you can (and don’t take the seeds out unless you are afraid of some hotness- we are hot/spicy eating freakazoids around here, so the seeds stayed in/on/around the peppers)

Then you ladle some vinegar and whatnot all over the peppers as well. Different mixture than the pickles. But also stinky.

You do the boiling thing all over again (this time for 10 minutes, for whatever reason- probably just to make sure you’re paying attention) and get the hot jars out (they’re HOT!!) to cool overnight.

Then, you take a picture of your new, hot baby jars that you are hoping and praying will all get sealed overnight. Because, really folks. This isn’t jelly we’re talking about. If your pickles don’t seal, they won’t be able to wait around long enough to really become tasty pickles. They’ll be “almost pickles” that you have to eat in a week or two. Who wants that? This was a lot of work.

But, please don’t be like me and have a hard time sleeping because you are just wondering if your jars are sealing.

And don’t dream about how excited you are to press on the top of the lid and NOT hear a pop so that you know they are sealed.

Because that might be pathetic.

PRESTO! All TWELVE of my jars sealed. The excitement in the kitchen was overwhelming. I am not even being sarcastic.

And now I have a stash of pickles in my laundry room cupboard. So, if you break in and are looking for the pickles, that’s where they are.

But don’t eat them until after September 1st.

Because I worked really hard on them and I really would like them to taste right.

Even to your theiving little tastebuds.


So. That’s that.

And here’s this:

Tomorrow there will be a beach eats and fun update. Also, I am re-evaluating my “fitness” and the plan to keep it in my life. It’s a struggle and I have to make it more manageable.

Then I have to train for a marathon. Whatevs. Just keep up.

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My Nana (pronounced Nah-nee) once told me that I would never be able to show people how much I love them if I didn’t know how to cook.

I have to say, I’m starting to see what she meant.

See ya tomorrow.

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I have an unnatural and unexplainable fear of birds.

For real.

It’s almost crippling. I really wish I knew where it came/comes from. A fear with no real reason is kinda freaky.

In any case, I have been like this for as long as I can remember.

And, yes…I’ve seen The Birds. It didn’t do it. I have never been attacked by birds. I did live in NYC, but the pigeons mostly left me alone. I’ve been to Trafalger Square, but that visit was long after my fear was quite concrete…I grew up at the beach, but the seagulls didn’t really bother me (physically, at least). I made sure to not leave crumbs at my feet. My grandmother used to take us to the duck pond when we were little, with old bread crumbs, but I just threw them as far as I could and went back to the car.

So! No real “episode” to speak of. But a few stories of “the fear”…

Once I was in a local (read: small) zoo, where they allowed their peacocks to roam free. I got “caught” on a walkway- prancing peacocks on both sides. I COULD NOT move. COULD NOT get away. I was so close to getting down on the ground and recreating the tornado drill crouch that my husband (then boyfriend) saved me by somehow getting the birdies to flee.

Another time I was in some castle ruins in Ireland. Awesome. Roaming from what used to be room to what used to be room. Excellent for the history buff in me. Suddenly, the flutter of feathers. The beat of wings. Holy Shit. For real. I think I was down on the ground. I am not sure. I know that I shut down and waited for it to be over. Somehow, it was over and I survived.

Just this past weekend at the beach, my youngest son wanted to take walks to “find birdies”. He really doesn’t actually ASK for much, so off we went. I mean, seagulls don’t just sit and wait for you to get up to them, right? Well, these almost did. And every step we took caused me to feel more and more sick and dizzy. Also, I wondered if (when the time came) I would gain superwoman strength and be able to save my son from the crazy birds. Because that is how I think….

Oh! And each year two things happen at our house that totally freak me out. One- some sort of bird makes a temporary home in our garage, causing me to not actually go to my car (in the garage) or to the refridgerator holding all of my diet drinks and beers (shocking, I know) until it moves out. Two- a bird makes a nest and lays (at least an) egg on our front porch, causing me to not ever use the front door. Ever. Not only is there a bird out there, there is a MOMMY BIRD who wants to PROTECT HER EGG. No thank you.

So, that’s my issue. Or, one of them. The one that is MOST unexplanable.

Birds are gross.

Stay tuned- tomorrow I will post a beach recap (including PHOTOS- as I am about to go into delete mode from way back)! Happy Thursday!

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When I was in highschool I wrote a “novel”.

I started it during the summer after my 9th grade year, I think. I added to it for a while, but I know that I finished it before it got cold. I just remember reading it on the picnic table at my grandmother’s house (where we were living at the time) when I finished, meaning it probably wasn’t winter.

I wrote it in a notebook full of looseleaf paper. By hand. With many, many different colors (some sparkly, I’m sure) of ink. I would rewrite pages if they didn’t look right, or if I had to cross anything out.

It was a novel full of teen angst, hard choices, love….when I think about it now, though, it was really a story of a girl who wanted to change something about her life.

And I am not kidding when I say “novel” and not “short story”. If I remember correctly, this thing was well over 400 hand written pages. Perhaps over 500.

I feel as if I must mention, full disclosure and whatnot, that it was also a story of a girl who left a small town to go on tour with a band. Because one of the band members fell in love with her. But along the way, she broke his heart, of course.

I will not mention what band she was traveling with, because…well, because there may be a few of you out there who still think I’m cool. And this would just totally squash that notion. Seriously. Ha! Plus, the band is not actually MENTIONED in the novel, merely alluded to, so really, it could be ANY band.

This novel is in the attic at my mom’s house. I think I need to dig it out.

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I feel like I should start this post off by saying that my brother(s) and I are all best friends now. Really. For true. Moving on…

When I was in highschool I didn’t get along with my middle brother that well. I think that deep, deep down we loved each other, but on the surface there was a lot of yelling and name calling and occasional physical fits of hitting, etc.

Once, on a regular-old-day, my brother unfolded a paperclip, opened my bedroom door and threw it at me like a spear. Or at least that’s how I remember it.

It lodged in my eye. I kid you not. One second I was reading on my bed, the next second I blinked a paperclip out of my eye. Gross.


So, to add insult to injury (literally), my mom is not an “eye-person”. She says so herself. Like, she doesn’t like to hear about your eye issues and she will not help you get an eyelash out of your eye, etc. Needless to say, she told me I was fine and wouldn’t check it out. I understand now that all mom’s have a thing or two they can’t be bothered with/that gross them out. I keep thinking that whenever a bone gets broken around here that I’ll be no help. The thought of bone sticking out of skin makes me dry heave. I can imagine that this is what my mom feels when she thinks of eyeballs.

Was I fine? Probably. Although, I grew a small bump in my eye (I guess swelling from the “injury”) that I could feel when I blinked for about 3 weeks. And it was red. Eventually my grandmother checked it out (she would look for a second) and then sent me to an eye doctor. I think I got eye drops.

The point being? My brother is a killer shot with a paperclip.

P.S. I am dying from all of this exercise. More on that tomorrow.

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I skipped 2nd grade. I don’t think that things like this happen very much anymore, but apparently, when I was in 1st grade, my parents, teachers, etc. met up and decided that I was smart enough to move on ahead to 3rd grade. I remember being scared to death and thinking that these girls were way older than I was and that they would never really accept me. Or however a supposed-to-be-second-grader would think that thought. Luckily, I was wrong. What was the hardest was that my “old”/younger friends were not in my class anymore. And that I felt like I had something to prove. I was always very, very smart. (I probably still am, but that’s not really what’s important here.) But now I felt like I couldn’t NOT be smart.

I had to be the smartest all the time.

When I wasn’t or didn’t feel like I was, my stomach hurt and I felt super guilty. Lucky for me and my parents, I did pretty well. I remember getting an 80 on some math quiz and begging the teacher to let me take it again or not count it or not take it home. I think that she actually felt bad enough for me that she threw it away. In all reality, I am SURE it was a good move.

For one thing- I did well. Meaning that the 3rd grade work was certainly appropriate for my little brain.

For another thing- I was very tall. This seems strange to say, but really, it helped to be with some other folks over whom I did not tower.

Lastly- deep down, it made me very proud to be “so smart”. Even if it meant a lot of pressure. From who? Probably just me.

Most importantly- there are some things that I think I missed when I skipped second grade, including (but not limited to):

  1. Fractions
  2. Overcoming the fear of dodge ball
  3. Rules against using markers for math work
  4. Use of the percent key on the calculator
  5. Ability to paint the fingernails on my right hand
  6. Rules against folding down pages of books to mark your place
  7. How to sleep past 8 a.m. Ever.

At least I can say that I missed them there. Can you?

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