Weighty Matters

Li'l Sis posted a Facebook preview of the head shots she did for my birthday. From what I've seen so far, this is the hands down winner - it's the only one that doesn't make it obvious just how much weight I've gained. Holy cheese and crackers, you guys, I can't believe how big I've gotten. I saw the numbers on the scale when I got weighed every week during my pregnancy, but it just didn't register. I mean, I look in the mirror, and I just don't see it.

Over all, the pictures are lovely, and Liz did a fabulous job making me look good. But they're also the wake-up call I need to get me to lay off the fast food and start taking care of myself again. As much as I've made peace with the fact that I'll never have the body of a supermodel and am content with just being able to walk up a couple flights of stairs without getting winded (which, right now I've got a ways to go before I get there again) and shop for clothes in non-specialty stores, it hit me that this, my weight, is one pregnancy risk factor that I have control over, and I have the ability to eliminate it.

While I don't plan to diet myself down to an unrealistic weight that I can neither achieve nor maintain without making myself and everybody around me completely miserable, I am going to take steps to get my BMI back into the healthy range -- which means I need to lose a minimum of 30 pounds. I think I've already lost a little since these were taken, since I've been walking regularly again. I have a feeling that between that and just preparing my own meals instead of heading for the drive-thru, the first few pounds will come off fairly easily.

***

Needless to say I won't be running a 5K anytime soon, so I'll leave that to Li'l Sis and her son Ash, who are gearing up for Tulsa's 4th annual Ready, Set, Run event to raise funds for the Autism Center of Tulsa. If you'd like, you can click here to sponsor them. Go team Ashton!

Food & Body: The Motivational Power of New Shoes

Unlike most folks this time of year, I've been putting off going to the gym. This was a conscious decision, made before January even got here, mainly because I hate lines. I barely squeeze out enough time to get in a good workout as it is, without having to wait in line for a locker, for a treadmill, for an empty lane in the pool, for a shower... you get the picture. In January, all of these things have lines.

The trouble with putting off your quest to get back in shape and eliminate the evidence of eggnog and Christmas fudge from your derriere until February, when most New Year's Resolution-makers are losing their resolve ...is that it's February, and resolutions are losing their resolve. The year is already losing that New Year smell, and with it it's clean slate and all of the shiny new motivation it carried.

This is why it's a good thing I didn't wait to buy new gym shoes. Between a Kohl's Christmas gift card burning a hole in my wallet and a perfectly-timed super-sale on athletic shoes, I got myself a brand new pair of running shoes for Christmas (thanks, Mom!). Of course, with the $0.99 shipping option they took forever to get here, but here they are, all pristine and serious-looking and just begging for their first date with a treadmill. A recent trip to the thrift store also scored me several cute new (to me) workout outfits, and now suddenly I can't wait to haul my butt to the gym.

Of course, I wouldn't need any of that if I stuck with my preferred workout of last year, which was swimming. But I'm not about to strip down to my bathing suit in front of actual people until I've done a few weeks on the treadmill. Not really--at least, I like to think that I have more self-confidence than that, and that the real reason is, well, have you ever tried swimming laps after weeks and weeks of not working out at all? Two. That's the number of laps I can swim before I feel like I'm going to die. Wheezing while your face is in the water? Really not fun. And it's not even that big of a pool, y'all.

So my new serious running shoes and my cute workout clothes will be sticking to the treadmill, and the weights, and the floor for pilates for a few weeks before I get back in the pool. Hopefully by then the water aerobics folks will have dwindled down enough to make room for me.

Food & Body: Common Sense Eating

It's not online yet, but the February issue of Real Simple has a fantastic article on changing your approach to food. Of course the article breaks it down into psychology and physiology and other sciency facts, but what it all boils down to is pretty fundamental: eat anything you want, in moderation, when you're hungry, and stop eating when you're not hungry anymore.

It seems so common sense that it should earn a resounding "NO DUH!" And yet it's such a difficult concept to employ in real life. So much so that last year TLC squeezed an entire series out of the principle. My mom and aunt were fanatical about that series and preached its lessons to me constantly--and I do mean constantly. Like, every single time I spoke to either of them, and then again later in the conversation, because they're both a wee tad on the forgetful side and tend to repeat themselves. A lot. But I love them, and I digress. I listened politely and then went on my merry way ignoring every bit of it. Not because I thought the advice wouldn't work, but because I was myself (and still am, on principle if not in practice) slightly fanatical about the Zone, which has built in portion control if you do it right. It's also all about keeping your blood-sugar steady and advocates eating on a regular schedule whether you feel hungry or not. So this principle was useless to me, or so I believed.

But I'm not so much a Zone eater anymore, mainly because all that lean protein is hella expensive these days, while all those "unfavorable" grains and pastas are both affordable and delicious. And also, my husband has become quite the talented gourmet, and he doesn't want his culinary adventures to be hindered by rules about what we're allowed to eat. And also also, I'm perfectly happy to let him do all the cooking.

So suddenly, with even my fat pants feeling tight and the number on the scales creeping dangerously close to Oprah's Fail Weight, "eat when you're hungry, eat slowly, and stop eating when you're not hungry anymore" sounds like pretty good advice. And it turns out, this isn't about tricking your stomach into thinking it's not hungry anymore, as I previously suspected. It's about re-training your brain to identify and honor the signals your body gives it regarding food and hunger, an ability I'm pretty sure my brain lost before my age reached double-digits. The only thing I think these sensible eating gurus are off-base about is the idea that you keep eating to satisfy your stomach. I don't know about you, but it's my taste buds that I worry more about keeping happy. I know when I'm full. But I also know that my taste buds will be very sad if I stop putting the delicious flavor of the moment in my mouth. And my taste buds are bossy and have a lot of influence over my will to stop eating.

But I'm going to start eating this way. I already started, last night, with an incredibly tasty--and incredibly huge--enchilada de mi esposo. I ate slowly, taking the time to relish each bite, and stopping to enjoy my drink in between. When the time came to stop, my taste buds put up a mild tantrum, but the promise of getting to enjoy the rest of the enchilada later, when I felt hungry again, calmed them down pretty quickly. And today, when I ate the rest of the enchilada for lunch, they were very, very happy. I'll have to be sure to remind them about that tonight, when they start whining once the time comes to put the rest of my dinner away for later.

I now have sadness. :(

I have to add several new subscriptions to my feed reader now. And why is this? This is for the sad, sad reason that my current favorite blog, the one from which I look forward to updates more than any other, Elastic Waist, is ceasing to be. Today is its very last day, and all of its contributors are posting their goodbyes.

Thankfully, they're also posting their personal blog links, and links to their other projects. And so to help out my fellow stalkers of awesome people, here's a quick list of where these awesome gals can be found from now on.

Weetabix - outspoken champion for positive body image

♥ Personal blog: That's My Bix

♥ Collaborative blogs: Product Anarchy, Dearest Mabel, Big Fat Deal, Forkful of News

Kim - Champion for health and fitness and bringer of the funny

♥ Personal blog: The Kim Challenge

♥ Collaborative blog: Forkful of News

Anne - Sassy champion for loving yourself just as you are, because you are loveable

♥ Personal Blog: Jen Larsn (Dot Net)

♥ Collaborative blogs: Dearest Mabel, Big Fat Deal

As sad as I am to see EW come to an end, I'm also thankful and relieved that these amazing women will still be around, writing with as much honesty and poignancy and hilarity that they brought to EW. They'll probably never read this, but in case they do: Thank you, ladies, for making the last couple of years brighter, and good luck in all your future endeavors.

Personal Style

I've been thinking that it's high time I cultivated myself some personal style, fashion-wise. I mean, I've been thirty-five for a while now. I'm officially a grown-up, right? And that's what grown-ups supposedly do. They put away the eclectic tee-shirt and pajama bottoms collections, stop dressing according to "what's comfortable" and "what's on clearance," and develop a style and dress accordingly. Right?

So this morning I got a bug up my derriere that compelled me to seek out advice on building my very own personal style. The best advice I came across was on Jezebel, which amounted to, "know your decade." Brilliant! And what is my decade? What is a decade from the last century that embraced curves and made clothing to flatter hips and ample bosoms?

Why, the Fifties, of course! Which works out well, because I've recently developed a fascination with late-fifties/early-sixties style clothing and glamor and whatnot--which, as it turns out, is really big in pin-up girl circles, which I harbor super-sekrit ambitions to join someday. Mainly because I'm enamored with just how girlish and tastefully sexy the look is, pretty and provocative without showing off a lot of skin. I want to be girlish and pretty and tastefully sexy! Bingo! I've found my personal style!

And then I drop my Burt's Bees Lip Shimmer in my lap, sans cap, and stain my plain Jane khaki capris, and I think of all of the other clothes hanging in my closet that are covered with stains, and I think to myself, "Jean, dear, the only personal style to which you need to aspire is called 'clean.'" And there endeth my fantasies of dolling myself up in pinup couture. I guess for now I'm stuck with my eclectic mix of nerdy/preppy/hippy/geeky/don't-give-a-crap-y. Hey, who says I don't have a personal style?

"Well, that's a bit inappropriate, isn't it?"

Vacation's over, but I didn't get around to writing up the highlights today, so instead, here's some YouTubeage.

First, for the Whovians: David Tennant learns about Who slashfic:

Hee HEEEEEE! The look on his face is one of the best things EVER.

Second (and secondary), I think I have a new girlcrush on Joy Nash:

Sheer awesomeness.

Tomorrow, I'll regale you all with tales of thrift shop finds, old Phandoms (oh yes I did!) revisited, scones and lattes and babies and more. For now, here's a preview: that Prince Caspian is SO my new John Snow!

Seasonal Fabulosity

I went "shopping" in the back of my closet this weekend. I found things that have been back there so long that they're practically new! Or at least they're new to everybody at this job. I've been playing around with them, trying new combos and taking a few chances, so that I can get through the spring--possibly summer, too--without being completely sick of every single thing in my closet. Or at least of what's in rotation in the easy-to-reach part of my closet.

Spring (and fall, too) always inspires me to put a little more effort into my appearance. Mild weather makes me care about fashion, about accessories, about having my toenails painted and my legs shaved so that they're always ready for a cute skirt or pair of sandals. The more extreme months, not so much. In cold weather, my only fashion criteria are, "Will it keep me warm?" and "Will it get me sent home to change?" If the answers are "yes" and "no" respectively, then it becomes a winter wardrobe staple. In the summer it's pretty much the same, except replace the first question with, "Does this provide enough ventilation to let me make it from one air conditioned zone to another without dying from heat stroke?"

Of course, in the extreme seasons, I'm usually too distracted by either being so cold I want nothing more than to curl up under a mountain of blankets and never take off my warm flannel jammies, or so hot that I want nothing--NOTHING!--to touch my skin, and resenting that I have to make concessions either way. But in mild weather, I get to be girly, and wear pretty things, and feel beautiful, and have the energy to care. And today, the weather feels fabulous, and so do I.

Put down the book and pick up a sandwich

The blogosphere is abuzz today with news of what Random House has done with the bastardized "updated" re-release of Sweet Valley High, and I'll feel lonely and left out if I don't chime in with my $20 (inflation, donchaknow) on what it all means to me.

I have fond memories of trips to the library in my pre-teen years (my dad didn't believe in buying books when we could borrow them, which is why I also have sad memories of being the odd girl out at the school book fair every year, and probably also why my home is now overcrowded with books that I own and refuse to part with), hunkering down between the aisles with a SVH, the next two in the series lying in my lap waiting to be checked out, and getting lost in the Valley of Sweetness while my mom took her time trying to hunt down some books my dad hadn't already read. I also remember trying to hide them from my mom so she wouldn't open one up and accidentally land on a page where Jessica came onto Bruce until he felt her up, or Todd mistook Jessica for Elizabeth and like, totally made out with her, because, scandalous!

These books were my 90210, my OC, my Gossip Girl, way before any of those shows were twinkles in their makers' eyes. Did they make me feel inferior as I compared myself to the "perfect size 6" twins and their sunny, drama-filled lives? Sure they did, but I had enough of being made to feel inferior by just about everybody around me at the time, anyway, so I didn't much let that part get me down. For me, it was pure escapism. I lived vicariously through those twins. I identified more with Elizabeth, naturally, because I was just that much of a goody-goody, but I wished so hard that I could be more like Jessica, until she inevitably almost got date-raped, and I'd be thankful I was more like Elizabeth again. Sweet Valley High = good times.

I don't think I'm outraged by the changes--Elizabeth's blog instead of newspaper column, a Jeep Wrangler replacing the prized Fiat Spider their daddy gave them for their Sweet 16, and, most notable/controversial, their downsizing to a "perfect size 4"--the way some fans are, but it does make me sad. I agree that it's kind of insulting, both to my generation and the younger generation these changes are aimed at, the idea that the '80s era references are so far beyond today's young readers that they won't be able to relate unless they see their own world, their own hobbies and pastimes and slang, because, ew, who wants to read something set in their parents' era? All I can say is that I'm glad they didn't pull this crap with Judy Blume--or, even worse, Anne of Green Gables--when I was a kid, and that I actually got to learn a thing or two about the people who existed before me and that the universe existed before I came to be in it.

As for the downsizing, whatever. I'm more inclined to think it's keeping up with size-inflation than making the twins' so-called perfection even skinnier. If anything, comparing today's size 4 to 1983's size six, that would mean the girls actually put on a few pounds. Which would not be a bad thing. Teen and pre-teen girls today need to have this pointed out to them, I believe, because the LAST thing that they need is more encouragement to starve themselves. Dear young girls of today: it's OK to eat a sandwich. The Wakefield twins eat, too. Or at least they would if they were, y'know, real.

Birthday Blues

It's become a tradition between my mother and me (as well as between my mother and my siblings, and between her and her grown grandchildren) to take me out to eat and then shopping for my birthday. This way we get to spend some quality time with each other, and she doesn't have to worry about what to get me ahead of time. She's on a fixed income, though, so this is never a huge splurge. Last year, she took me to Ulta and we loaded up on sale-priced makeup, and then she bought me a cute but inexpensive suit jacket at Ross. The year before that, it was the clearance sections at Old Navy and Target. The point is, I can either pick one nice thing, or find a good sale and get a lot of bang for her set number of bucks. I usually take option number two.

This year, though, I think I've decided to switch it up and go for the one nice thing; that thing being a pair of nice, figure-flattering jeans. For the last several years I've been buying the cheap discount chain store stretch versions of Levi's and Lee Jeans, refusing to spend more than $20 on a pair that I figured would just be too big by the time I finished losing weight.

Well, you know what? I think I'm finished losing weight. Not that I couldn't stand to lose another ten or twenty pounds, but I've accepted the fact that I'm most probably not going to. I like food too much, and I don't like exercise enough. I maintain enough of a balance between those two things to keep from gaining weight, but not enough so to lose weight without actively trying.

And I'm pretty much done actively trying. Sure, I've got some extra jiggle in my lower regions, but my husband has no problem with that, and tells me I don't need Carson Kressley to tell me how to look good naked. I can swim a mile, I can walk up several flights of stairs without getting winded, and my arms are toned enough that they don't jiggle. I eat healthy, most of the time. I look good in my clothes, I can wear a bathing suit in public without feeling self-conscious or having to hide under a giant tent of a tee-shirt, claiming that it's really just to prevent sunburn. I'm finally, FINALLY comfortable with my body. It only took me 35 years to get there.

I feel pretty. And gosh-darn it, I deserve a pair of nice, bum-flattering bluejeans.

And maybe some shoes, if there's anything left over.