Mamavation Monday: A Fairy Tale Told in Asterisks

 7 Responses »
Jan 172011
 

Once upon a time:

*I had a baby

*Gained 45 pounds

*On top of the 15 pounds I was so close to losing before I got pregnant

*Which is technically on top of the 35 I gained after college when my thyroid dumped me

*And blindly believed I would work it off after baby

*I may have peed off about 15 pounds

*Then I ate 10 of that back

*It could have been the Poly-cystic Ovarian Syndrome, the insulin resistance or the hypo-active thyroid…

*But then I would just be pointing fingers because

*Bottom line? I had a major mama muffin top

*And?

*It wasn’t pretty

*So I tried

*Weight Watchers

*Nutri-system

*South Beach

*Counting calories

*Working out till I was blue in the face

*Getting on the scale to check my progress and

*Looking for the nearest pint of Ben & Jerry’s to drown my sorrows in

*Life went on

*Buttercup turned one

*Then two

*And I realized I was still holding on to 35 pounds of pregnancy weight

*So I wrote a book

*And tried

*Weight Watchers

*Nutri-system

*South Beach

*Counting Calories

*Working out till I was blue in the face

*And?

*Looking for the nearest int of Ben & Jerry’s to drown my sorrows in

*Obviously

*Something wasn’t working

*Or maybe all of it wasn’t working

*Then again, the more accurate statement would be that

*My Body wasn’t working

*So

*I

*Tried

*Something Different

*Gluten-free

*Dairy-free

*Low-carb but

*Healthy grains

*Eating clean

*Which means bu-bye sugar!

*(I miss you Ben & Jerry’s)

*And even though I had

*An occasional run in with a bag of Doritos

*And walked into a Snicker’s Bar

*My scale and I made up

*Mainly because it stopped calling me a fat ass when I stepped on it

*But that also could be because

*I have lost 15 pounds since November

*And

*35 in the last year

*Which means

*I am five pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight

*12 pounds from weighing the same as The Husband

*13 pounds from weighing less than The Husband

*And?

*25 pounds from my wedding weight

*Which means?

*I am halfway to passing go and collecting my MILF card.

*And?

*Halfway to my very own version of

*Happily Mother After.

The End

Announcer’s voice: Don’t miss the next book in the Happily Mother After series in which Pauline throws the scale out the window after peeing on a stick.

Pauline’s voice: Can we clarify for the audience, please?

Announcer voice: Hmm? Oh Right. (Clears voice) No sticks were peed on in the making of this blog post.

Pauline’s voice: Thank you.

Announcer’s voice: You’re welcome.

Mamavation Monday: When Nothing is Good

 13 Responses »
Jan 032011
 

“It’s the Incredible Shrinking Pauline!” The Husband reaches to hug me as I lean over him in bed.

“Oh shut up,” I say, as I get out of bed and start to wiggle off my jogging pants. He called me Skinny last week, and well, after years of looking in a mirror and cursing my cellulite camouflaged waist, I’m still not sure what to do with comments like these yet. “I probably gained a bazillion pounds over the holiday.”

“You probably did great,” he says.

“Maybe.” I reach over my head and pull my tank top off. The Husband raises an eyebrow. His lips curl into a smirk. “Well, good morning to me….”

“Sorry, sweeter. But the scale’s getting lucky this morning, not you.”

“Well, shit,” he says, rolling back over to fall asleep again. “Only the third day into the New Year and you’re already breaking your resolutions. Typical.”

“Oh shut up,” I say as I walk into the bathroom. “I haven’t had a chance to make my To-Do list for the day. Keep it up and I won’t put you on it for the next week.”

“TRUCE!”

I turn on the scale, take a deep breath, and close my eyes. After two weeks of holiday indulgences…stolen bites of apple pie, a glass of wine or champagne to ring in the New Year, that cheesy crab dip that I made with all organic and clean ingredients that was still a calorie-laden plate of dippable goodness…after all that I fully expect to find out I’ve gained the average Holiday Five. I used to gain weight just looking at food,

“Wait a minute. It’s time for the moment of truth.” I step onto the scale.

“Well?”

“Nothing,” I say disappointed. “I didn’t lose a thing.”

“Hey, Jackass,” The Husband calls out from bed,”isn’t that a good thing?”

Blink, blink.

“Oh, right. Nothing kicks ass right about now, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does, Skinny. Sure does.”

Mamavation Monday: Tripping Down Memory Lane

 2 Responses »
Dec 272010
 

Call it a New Year’s cop-out. Call it a self-imdulgant trip down memory lane. Or just call it funny and laugh it up. I’ve come a long way since starting my blogging/writing/weight loss (attempt) journey, but my outlook (or snark output) hasn’t changed.

And 2011? I’m ready. Bring it.

From the Bookieboo archives….

I can’t look at a Twinkie without tripping over a blog post or a tweet about New Year’s resolutions, and with the holiday right around the proverbial corner, it’s very appropriate. But since most of the online mentions I am seeing about said resolutions are about weight loss and getting into shape and healthy, healthy, healthy…well…let’s just say me and my Oreo Cheesequake Dairy Queen Blizzard are just gonna sit this one out tonight. Now don’t get your yoga pants in a bunch. I haven’t fallen off the wagon. I’ve just got it parked in my garage for a few days and stepped off with all of my faculties intact. I knew that the stress of family holiday drama, combined with the stuffing and birthday cake, was going to take a toll on my weight loss efforts. And that bodybugg I just bought? Yeah…it’s sitting in my purse waiting for me to put it back to work.
I know what you are going to say: “But Pauline…there are so many healthy options for holiday meals…”
Or “Pauline, why not get rid of some of that stress by taking a turbo-kick class?”
Or “Seriously? You just consumed 820 calories and 35 grams of fat in one sitting and you’re bitching about your thighs?”
So let’s address the points one by one, shall we?
1) Yes, there are plenty of options for healthy holiday meals. I just chose (and that’s they key word here, people) not to make any. The trick is moderation and maybe next week I’ll post about how I should’ve employed a little more that tactic…
2) Yes, I could have gone to the gym more while said Family Stress was visiting, but well…I basically screwed the pooch on this one. Call me a masochist, but I figured missing three days at the gym was well worth spending time with relatives I’d rather not see on a daily basis who live some 2,000 miles away. We had some laughs, I had plenty of arguments in my head, and everyone survived Christmas. Yay for no prison time!
3) Yep…I did, in fact, just consume a blizzard and am still going to bitch about the size of my thighs, the rolls on my stomach, and the cellulite craters on my ass. And you know why? Because it’s human. Because I know I’m not the only one who wakes up each morning with the best of intentions and the ass-end of follow-through. Because tomorrow *is* another day. And well, damn it, because the day I stop bitching is the day I’ve officially given up and accepted that this is me and Dairy Queen becomes a daily staple in my diet.
News Flash: that ain’t happening any time soon. Sound your battle horns, ladies…I haven’t given up yet.
So call me your “Every Woman” in this weight loss battle. The “Wanna-be.” The “Real Mom of Calorie County.” Whatever you want. If you can relate, we should do lunch.
If I can’t be honest with you, I’m sure as hell not going to be honest with myself. And I’d say honesty is a key component with all this food and calorie tracking that I’m going to be doing again next week when I dust that wagon off and pull it out of the garage.

Mamavation Monday: Muffin Top Monopoly

 3 Responses »
Dec 132010
 

I lost two pounds. Which takes me to nine pounds away from my pre-Buttercup weight. (Also important? I gained 45 when baking the cute little bun in my oven.)

And?

I celebrated with a brownie.

It might seem counter-productive, but I would like to blame The Husband. He is the one who offered it, after all. And because the brownie was eaten under the guise of peer pressure (read: he offered it. I said yes. End of story.) I believe the calories actually helped give me a leg up on next week’s little ego-dump on the scale.

Yes?

I should probably explain because it really wasn’t as bad as it all sounds. The story started when The Husband and I drove out to Costco today. Since we only go when we run our of toilet paper, we like to make a traditional stop at Ecelctic Cafe. They have a to-die for gluten-free menu and because it’s all real ingredients, I get to get all Bring IT when I see the menu. My favorites are the black bean tostada and the avocado salad. I get them every time.

We ate. And? It. Was. Good. I’ve been gluten-free and eating almost no grains for months now (except for the Dorito incident, but we’ve all forgotten about that, right? Good.) And of course, honey and maple syrup have taken over for sugar in my sweetening arsenal.

After 3.5 years of busting my ass at the gym and trying failing at every diet known to cellulite and muffin tops (see? I actually wrote muffin this time!) I was pretty much open to anything when The Husband came to me with online research showing connections between PCOS and gluten free diets. Then my twitter pal @vdemetros (also gluten free) suggested I give up the grains and sugar habit as well. I was already eating clean. And Buttercup and the Husband are Celiac, which means I only got to gorge on All Things Gluten like pizza and bread and pizza and bread and did I mention BREAD? when I was out and about on my own. And really? We all know how often that happens. So really, when the Grain-free, Gluten-free, Sugar-free change-over happened, the actual difference in my diet wasn’t as big a shock to the system as the mental I WANT IT for all the crap I couldn’t eat anymore.

But ya know what? I’ve been eating clean for a while now. Dropping the gluten was a piece of cake. And the inches on my waist (which I am not counting but trust me…I have a WAISTLINE now) and the slowly disapperaing Ass-Tau (kind of like a plateau, but much less attractive on a map) means I can’t boast about my ability to serve a five-course meal on the shelf I used to hide on my backside. And we all know that is a very. good. thing.

And did I mention that because my life is always 16 different kinds of crazy I haven’t had a chance to workout except for walking my dogs. Which is important, people, because it proves to me that working out until I was blue in the face wasn’t doing me a damn bit of good until I also figured out the right diet for my body. Now, if I can just hire a maid, a nanny, an accountant, a personal chef, and a driver so I can have the necessary time I need to devote to a good 60 minutes of cardio every day, I’m sure I’ll be passing GO! and collecting my MILF card before we run out of toilet paper again and The Husband offers me another brownie.

Mamavation Monday: Classified Information

 10 Responses »
Dec 062010
 

Shhhhh.

*Glances about furtively*

I have to be careful with what I say here.

It has recently come to my attention that you are not the only person reading my words. There has been, it seems, a very large leak in security.

For those that are unaware, Pauline’s Public Blog Privacy Policy reads something like this:

Strangers, come on in: My innermost thoughts about writing and motherhood are your playground. Point. Laugh. Call me a jackass. Relate to my cellulite and cry with me as we both step on the scale. For you, my life is an open book.

People I Knew Before I Started Blogging: Unless given express permission to even acknowledge the blog exists, stay the hell out of my head. And if you do happen to stop by? You are to pretend you didn’t just learn how fat my ass actually is.

Fine Print: Friends made through social media and BFF Mel are included in the Strangers clause of this policy. The Husband, however, is totally not allowed to get all psychic just because he can log onto my blog like the rest of the world. Which might make him believe it’s slightly unfair that the people in front and behind him in line at the grocery store might know about my current search for that wagon I am not supposed to have fallen off of–or what I actually weigh–but I’m totally good with this.

Turns out, it’s entirely possible that when I post things like this and this that inquiring minds have taken advantage of this free speech and open internet by logging on without my express permission. And? The Husband is currently in major touble.

We were out and about yesterday, as we we are prone to do on his days off before he decides he needs to go to bed at 4 p.m. because he works midnights, and I took a minute to check my blog stats from my Droid X. I am querying right now and the only thing I can do to keep my friends from killing me with the constant verbal obsessing is the self-stalking kind that involves me, my blog, and no one else telling me to shut the hell up. But something was glitchy when I tried logging in and I got an error message.

“What the hell? My blog is down?” Instant panic grabbed at my soul. I have a zillion queries out right now and the last thing I need right now is an agent logging on to see NADA.

“Lemme look on mine,” The Husband said as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket. “You might have just entered it wrong.”

Sure enough, a quick goggle search brought Aspiring Mama right up onto his screen.

“Operation Google Stalk, huh?” he said, a smile in his voice.

I sped read the post in my head and nodded my approval. “Yeah, you can read that one.”

“I can read that one? Whatever…” He reads off the blog post titles on the first page.”

Mamavation Monday: Ams and Am Nots

The Stars Say

The Typo queen Strikes Again

On Looking into the Light

I didn’t recall one of them mentioning anything I didn’t want to hear about at home, except for maybe for last week’s Mamavation post with the Dorito mention and all.

“Okay, you can read it all except for last Monday’s.”

The Husband laughed. “I can, huh? I’ll have you know I log on from time to time.”

“Without my permission?” My eyes are wide. My voice is shrill. I am imagining his eyes scanning over classified information like this and this. “Are you insane? People who know me aren’t supposed to read this! That’s like peeking into my diary without permission! I write that shit for strangers!”

The Husband laughed. Loud and hard. And the rational part of me didn’t blame him.

“You’re joking, right?”

I thought about every pre-natal visit he tagged along on only to turn his back, plug his ears, and whistle a happy tune when it came time for me to step on the scale because he knew that I didn’t want my 200 pound , 6-foot hottie to know his formerly curvy wife had ballooned to 245. Or how he knows what I’ve lost…but not what I weigh.

My life is a need to know basis, people. And I? Like to pretend that people I know…don’t actually know about anything going on inside of my head.

But you?

And you?

And you, too….

Come on in. Pull up a chair. Let’s talk motherhood. Let’s talk evil scales. Let’s talk muffin tops and cellulite and assmoflauge and falling off the wagon and temptation and whether or not treadmills should just be re-branded as overpriced closets. Let’s get into whether sleep is more important than working out or how exactly you manage to get it all done and make time for yourself versus me looking at the end of the day wondering how exactly I ran out of time for yoga but found the time to coordinate my cute workout gear before attacking the pile of laundry.

But if you said I DO? To ME?

If you know the color scheme at my wedding? Or the song I walked down the aisle to?

We need to talk about you pretending you have no clue what is going on over on this little blog o’ mine.

As long as I don’t know that you know? It’s all good.

Move along, people. There’s nothing to see here…

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