Family is my kryptonite

Well, suck. I all up and gave myself a great big pat on the back last week for my stellar dieting, and then disaster struck.

A family get-together.

This week, we had family in town one night, and then traveled to Houston for a big family weekend with the in-laws (shout-out to Oakley for his baptism this week from a proud Aunt and godmother). That is a total of FOUR out of seven days spent with people who aren't dieting -- and for anyone who has ever counted calories or something similar, you KNOW that spells F.A.I.L.

I did the best I could, but there were definitely cheat days. Nearly as many cheat days as good days. The good news however is that I STILL was able to maintain my new weight. The bad news, I am no closer to my goal.

On a happy note, I had a great time with my family. I also discovered and cooked some pretty amazing meals over the last two weeks that are going to be regulars around my house. A to-die for low-fat crustless quiche, baked pesto chicken, cauliflower "mashed potatoes" and no tortilla fajitas with black beans. Yum!

My family, my kryptonite. We are one good-looking bunch, no? 

The spoken word

When Kate was  younger, I read somewhere that to help your infant's verbal development, you should talk to your baby. Like, all the time. Which wasn't natural to me. I mean, I'm not an extremely talkative person to begin with (no, seriously) but to talk without hope of response? Not really my cup of tea.

However, since I was staying home with Kate, and there weren't any caretakers trained in early childhood education around to make up for my short comings, I decided that I needed to leap outside my comfort zone, and begin a very lonely monologue during the day.

So I started talking to Kate about washing dishes. Doing laundry. How Top Chef Masters is never as good as the real thing (I don't want to watch a bunch of master chefs cook awesome things -- I want to watch hopefuls create food disasters of EPIC PROPORTIONS). Politics. The disaster in the gulf. How jeans go with anything, and a woman can never have too many shoes, no matter her age.

Over the last fourteen months it has become something of a second nature. I don't really realize I'm doing it anymore.Which is all fine and dandy, except that I realized recently that I DON'T STOP DOING IT WHEN KATE ISN'T AROUND. It has become such a subconscious practice that I do it even when I'm alone, like some stark raving lunatic who forgot her meds or escaped some high-security sanitarium a la "Shutter Island" (great movie, but I digress).

I realized this at the most inopportune time, i.e. while doing it in public. I was grocery shopping by myself (a rare occasion) and while picking out fresh produce I chatted merrily about the ripeness of this, the limited selection of that, new produce for the season, and so on. It wasn't until I caught a few people giving me sidelong glances (DON'T MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH THE LOONEY!) that I realized I was having a very inspired and detailed conversation. With MYSELF.

I froze like a deer in the headlights. My brain was scrambling about how to get out of this one with at least a shred of pride. I had a few options -- make a joke about my invisible friend, take the time to explain to random people that I was used to having my baby around or maybe just start throwing fruit to create a distraction and run for it. And in that instant, for some UNGODLY reason, my brain made the rational decision to just act like I MEANT to carry on a conversation with myself. So I just KEPT TALKING as I made a fairly leisurely getaway to the canned goods section.

It was like farting in public and then blaming it on the dog that isn't there. It was fooling NOBODY.

I walked away from the grocery store without an ounce of pride. A sensation that I am starting to become familiar with and believe intrinsically accompanies motherhood. Straight from the mortification that arises with screaming babies, bodily fluids in public and now, acts of insanity.

But its okay. Because every time Kate says a new word, points to something when I say it out loud or makes a connection between an object and a spoken word, it pays off. And once in awhile, like last week when a gentleman stopped me mid-sentence with Kate and told me I was being a "wonderful mom" for talking to her, it feels good to hear other people agree that what I do matters. And though I constantly feel like I'm bumbling around, trying to figure out this whole parenting thing... sometimes I know I'm not doing half bad.

Summer stylin'

Our new style for the summer season? Bohemian hippy baby. Or as I like to call it, throw whatever is clean on and call it a really hip and trendy outfit. You know, the kind that says "I don't match, and that was on purpose, because I'm too cool to really care about my matching clothes, but how about recycling? I could totally get into some recycling, because that is COOL MAN."

Sheesh. Kate already has a point of view about EVERYTHING. I bet she will have us composting in no time.

Mommy lesson #9

Your baby does NOT want to wear the latest in fashion. So when the saleslady at Baby Gap is telling you that those white skinny leg jeans would just look ADORABLE on your toddler, look her straight in the eye and call her a dirty, rotten liar. Because once you purchase said jeans (on final sale no-less) and bring them home, your kiddo will want to backhand you as you stuff her precious little chubbster legs into teeny tiny leg holes. And then, once she stands up in said sausage casings, her big ol' diapered tushy will become the laughing stock of the jungle gym, because, yes -- you guessed it -- a toddler looks ridiculous in white skinny-legged jeans.

I'm just sayin'.

(I would post photos of Kate in her sassy pants, but as soon as I got them on and started laughing at her, she promptly threw a fit and refused to let me take a picture. Smart girl).

Are you going to eat that?

Today marks the end of week one for my public humiliation diet. And while my guess is that you aren't sitting with baited breath to find out how the week went, you going to hear about it.

So I mentioned that I'm a carb addict, right? If you aren't positive of what that is, imagine a person who will sit down with a box of croutons and eat the ENTIRE box if allowed, because -- ummmm, they are garlicky, and bready and crunchy and OH MY GOD WHERE ARE SOME CROUTONS?!?!?!

Whew. Close one. Good thing I through those damn croutons away. Anyways, because of said addiction, I knew the best way to get myself back on the healthy eating wagon was to get rid of all those carbs in my life. So I started doing South Beach. I know everyone has a feeling one way or another about carbs (and frankly, I don't want to hear them), but the point is, I needed to do something to get that craving out of my system so I could make healthier choices. I'll eventually add back in more healthy carbs but right now, I'm sticking to the straight and narrow and consuming all my carbs through veggies, beans, etc. and not through delicious chips, bread and pasta.

And while it hasn't been easy (ummmm, Kate? You left a nice big helping of cheesy potatoes on your plate. You don't want those? Drool.) I stuck to it most of the week. You can even see my very high-tech tracker to PROVE I did it.

I know it may be a bit difficult to read-- but each day I weighed myself, and wrote down a notation for when I didn't eat carbs, and when I didn't drink wine (another vice I am missing like the devil, but think of all that SUGAR!!) You'll also notice on Friday I gave myself a big FAIL grade. That is because I went to a friends house and promptly drank two bottles of wine and ate a bag of potato chips because OH MY GOD FOOOOOOOOOD and BOOOOOOOZE.

But, despite my cheat day I am down SIX pounds this week. Can I get a WOOT, a WOO HOO, a HOLLA or any combination of the three? What a great motivator, to see that number on the scale go down. But my other big motivator? Pampering myself.

I don't often take the time to relax and spend money pampering myself. Manis, pedis, massages, waxes -- all part of my pre-baby existence.  But it is something I dearly miss. So I devised a system for keeping myself on track. Each time I make a notation for no wine or no carbs I get a point. I have to get eight points a week for FOUR consecutive weeks (confusing yet? Yes, I make things difficult, so what, its MY system) and then I get a reward of a spa service. And momma NEEDS a spa service. Specifically a facial that can make me look 5 years younger.

So, that was week one. It already is becoming a long post so I'll post later about some of the recipes and stuff that helped me stay on track this week. But admit it, you are impressed. I am an impressive dieter. HOLLA!

Weight: 152

Baby its hot outside... FREAKING HOT

Each and every year, I can't wait for summer to get here. And then each and every year I remember that summer in Texas is akin to the fiery pits of HELL and I realize that maybe I should just quit spending my fall, winter and spring hoping for a few months in Hades.

But we are here, and its only getting hotter. Kate spends hours a day pounding at the front door to go outside and play, yet about three minutes after getting outside, she promptly turns around, climbs up the front step and faces the front door while pointing at the handle. Toddler for, "Dude, are you serious? Its 95 degrees out here and I'm a FREAKING baby. Have you lost your mind? Get me in the air conditioning you failure of a mother."

And yet, her favorite activity in the world is playing outside. So starting this week, I've tried to force some outside play times first thing in the morning and then again after 5. Which hasn't exactly been going gangbusters. I'm cranky and crabby in the mornings because I haven't had my coffee and I have to wave to my neighbors while looking a hot mess with bed head and wearing my sock monkey PJs, and Kate is cranky in the afternoon, because she won't nap more than once a day, and it PISSES HER OFF that I turn off Sesame Street after half an hour because I just can't take any more of that crap.

But, we've got to figure something out. This girl LOVES being outside. My vote is moving somewhere up north. Or fixing global warming. Whichever can happen, like TOMORROW.

The public humiliation diet

Recently, my husband shared with me a new diet he wanted to try, courtesy of Drew Magary over at DeadSpin. It was accurately titled The Public Humiliation Diet. And it was awesome.

If you've been following my exploits since pregnancy, you may remember my upward climb into the LBS during pregnancy. You may also have noticed a lack of discussion regarding a downward descent of said weight since Kate was born 14 months ago. That is because I have simply not lost the weight. I'm chubby. None of my pre-pregnancy clothes fit, and I haven't taken a picture of myself that I've liked since week 20 of pregnancy. It SUCKS.

And the worst part is, its my fault. I know it. I quit going to the gym early on because I was uncomfortable with the daycare there. I don't take Kate on a ton of walks because she basically loses her shit every time she has to sit in a stroller for more than five minutes and her screaming and thrashing around makes me feel like I'm about to have a stroke. I eat crap because my toddler likes mac and cheese and I'm just supposed to, like, WASTE GOOD CARBS AND CHEESE? No, you suck it up and take one for the team by finishing what is on her plate. Well, you do if you are an overweight carb addict.

Yeah, its my fault, but I don't have to like it.

So the other day, Ben is reading me this post about shaming yourself into losing weight, and I'm all -- yes, YES! I DO respond to shame! I CARE what others think about me! This diet freaking HAS MY NAME ON IT! So today, in front of all of you, I begin my humiliation diet. Now, to be frank, I'm doing my own version, because, like, this article was written by a dude and every woman worth her salt knows a dude can go about losing weight in a MUCH different way. Like, all he has to do is LOOK at a turkey sandwich instead of a meatball sub for lunch and he is down 5 pounds. Which is, by the way, a total load of... you know what. But I digress.

Each week, I will be posting my current weight and details about how my diet is going. Little tips that have worked for me, etc. Some weeks I may slip, and I'm charging all of you to hold me accountable. Call me names, degrade me, whatever works for you. My goal is to get down to at least 140 pounds, so keep it coming until I get there.

Week 1: 158 lbs.

Wish me luck!