Friday, February 12, 2010


Vancouver 2010. The Opening Ceremonies tonight..well tomorrow morning my time. Just trying to figure out if I should stay up till 1:30am or have a little nap and wake up.

Funny how we Canadians don't seem to be all that patriotic until we move away from our "strong and native land" (line from the anthem). But have I ever noticed the patriotism from actual citizens and expats alike leading up to these games. Everyone's donning a maple leaf.

Games aside, I craved and wore with pride anything with a red flag after we became citizens of the world. And now, I feel I owe it to my country to stay up (or wake up) to watch the torch being carried in and the flame lit by whoever has the honour (everyone's speculating and putting in their two cents).

Now to find some red and encourage you all to watch this commercial, the best tribute to our wonderful nation that ever was:

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Hey Fat Arse!

That's what they should be yelling when I saunter or should I say, stomp, down the road.

I was really doing great before I left for Canada, a mere 3 kilos shy of my goal weight, partly spurred on by the pending trip and having to face the critical eyes of relatives (or at least my paranoia at them). And then, Canada. And Kraft Dinner and endless bowls of Party Mix and Nacho Dip and alcohol and well, Kraft Dinner. All of my comfort foods back to say "Hey, it's the holidays. Devour me. Worry later."

Hubby put up a snapshot of the two of us taken New Year's Eve, after spending 5 days grazing with my family, and I realized how pouffy my face looked. Great for camouflaging the wrinkes. But not so great at hiding "pleasantly plumpy". That photo, although a nice one, stares at me every day from the mirror in my bedroom.

I came back from Canada and for awhile there I was back to eating "normally", which for me includes avoiding carbs at almost all costs. I could feel the excess baggage dropping off. Week #2...Just completed the however-many-km walk to son's school and we're on the bus back home. Gotta stop at the grocery store for stuff. And those trips (about half the time, cuz I'm not THAT bad) involve filling up a small bag of candy for the little guy. "Hey, why not throw in a few for Mommy?" For two weeks, those few turned into like half the bag.

And there's something about me and sugar or nasty amounts of carbs. Once I get a taste, it's game over. Seriously. I cannot stop at one cookie. That cookie leads to 20 pringles, leads to another 2 cookies and before you know it, my spoon is in the ice cream container. DAMN IT!

I've always been a Bigger Girl, never grossly overweight, but "she could stand to lose a few pounds" (like 15-20) kinda girl. And then after the baby was born and I began working out almost daily and wasn't losing the kind of weight I felt I shoulda been for all that effort, I tried Atkins. And a few months later, I was the smallest I had ever been in my entire a size 8...right bang on my healthy weight. To my credit, I stayed that way for 2 years. I was free.

Let me explain. All my grown-up life, I had been preoccupied by weight. Trying and failing to lose pounds. Constantly focusing on camouflaging the problem areas. Always wondering what people were thinking. Always comparing. Always wishing and longing.

But in those 2 years, I was seriously free. I started to enjoy shopping for clothes. My average size meant I could wear "almost" anything without fear of "looking fat". I could even wear flat shoes. Oh and high boots actually went up my calves! I could zip them up without going sock-less or lubing my legs with oil (not that I ever did the latter). Fashion suddenly became even more interesting. I was wearing make-up more, paying more attention to my hair and personal appearance. I was having sex with the lights on, parading around in my skivvies...oh the joy (primarily my husband's!)

I spent days on the beach with hot young bodies surrounding me and I didn't have to suck anything in, nor was I self-conscious. Ok, I still had a little bit of a stomach but NOTHING to complain about really. When my husband's camera went to snap a photo, I wasn't thinking, "Hold your arms out slightly to avoid the appearance of fat arms. Stick your neck out a bit so as to avoid double-chin. Suck in. Clench, etc." No more check-list! And then there were all the compliments from those who saw me when I was pregnant and the few months after. Those were nice.

I thought about normal things. All this space to just be happy being me. I was, like I said, free. But the free-est part was not worrying about food. I knew what I could eat. I ate it. I felt full. I didn't crave the bad stuff and somehow had mentally programmed myself not to "go there". For the first time in my life, I ate for pure nourishment. Not for comfort or out of boredom or to be social.

So exercise: I was out and about a lot. I walked everywhere. Nothing crazy. Just getting up and going and moving. At one point I had decided to focus on the little gut and began my own little exercise regime. This part is the brutal part for me.

And somehow, though I can't pinpoint exactly when, I started to revert back. And now, I'm out of control again and back in my self-imposed prison. I so desperately want to escape. I thought that maybe by sharing this story, here, in public, it would give me the kickstart I really need to get back on my path to freedom once again.

I have a bloggy friend, Hyacynth, who has two small boys and also happens find the time to own a Curves and help others achieve their fitness goals. Wish we lived closer because I would soooooo lug my expanding buttocks over there and beg her to whip me into shape. But alas, exercise-avoiding, carb enjoying me is sitting on my posterior writing instead of DOING. But maybe after THIS, that will change. Love, SJ

Monday, February 8, 2010

The Not-so-imaginary ventriloquist horsy

What did I get myself into? The other day the little man and I were playing in the upstairs hallway. I was growing tired of flying our hallway airplane and watching pretend movies on the wall while constantly being disturbed by the pretend stewardess and her incessant questions about what we would like to eat/drink so I picked up a horse hand puppet and of course, got myself in deeper.

Remember Bubba from Forest Gump? "Fried shrimp, shrimp gumbo, shrimp INSERT DISH". How about Billy Bob Thornton playing that creepy slow dude in that movie, Slingblade, that's it! Well combine the two voices and you get my horsy voice. For some reason it's the only voice that will come out of my half-closed mouth when the horsy moves his mouth. Because I was obviously testing out my ventriloquist skills with said hand puppet. And with the exception of being unable to figure out how to say any words with "M" or "B" without moving my lips and giving myself away, I was pretty impressed.

The boy bought it. Three days later and he's still chasing me around the house, "Mama put it on RIGHT NOW". I think it's great my son has an imaginary friend. I don't think it's so great that it's permanently attached to my right hand. Or that it has to read books to him, watch movies with him, play Dinosaurs with him or watch him poo. In fact, the only break I get is when he's bugging my husband to play with his iPhone (they really have awesome learning games for kids in the Appstore).

The little man doesn't tear up or cry very often. But when I refuse to play horsy, he erupts. And I have to refuse. Mama has dinner to make, laundry to fold, a life that consists of me speaking in my Mama voice. My mouth is seriously sore.

So what's a cowgirl to do? This shows no signs of slowing. "WOAH Horsy!"