I LOVE MAXs...suck it McDonald's

So every Thursday night after the little man's swimming lesson with Dad, we hit McDonald's. I loathe McDonald's but it's always fun for the little guy so we go. I loathe it because here in Sweden (not the case back home), they have a real crappy salad selection. Feels like I'm eating plastic.

Well a few weeks ago we decided to stop-in to Sweden's own hamburger joint called Max. I ordered a salad with chicken. It was freakn' delicious. Plus, they have a little playpark for Joe, which he gets to enjoy AFTER he eats.

I noticed, a little too late, that they had a low-carb option on their menu. Meh. I bet it's a hamburger pattie with some cut up veggies. I was happy with my salad. But last night hubby returned from a 3-day trip to Barcelona for a conference and so we decided to go to Max's for a quick bite. I decided to give the low-carb menu option a try. And buddy says, "Would you like fries with that?" Oh yes, please. Can you give me like 100 grams of carbs with my low-carb meal. Idiot. Though I imagine some ppl do this anyway.

It was indeed a hamburger pattie but wrapped up in a huge leaf of lettuce and dressed exactly as a hamburger should be!!!!!!! I was over the moon! It was freakn' delicious and the portion size was large enough that I didn't even do my usual, eat most of the little man's fries and steal half the onion rings. Ok, I had 1 onion ring and then peeled the breadedness of the rest and just ate the onion.

I love you Max, whoever you are. You made my day. Your low-carb hamburger made me feel like I was eating an actual hamburger. You fooled me. I love you.

Oh and fyi...already down 2 pounds..woot, woot.
Keep it up ME! Challenges ahead include: having to go the grocery store today and likely get a few treats for the little guy, moving over the next 5 days, etc.

Oh and we managed to win against Switzerland last night in a shoot-out..thank you Sydney Crosby!

We're losing it...together

I had to write a separate post as a follow-up to Weigh-In Wednesday because, well, I was just so thrilled and humbled that all of you (some new!) decided to join in with encouragement, support and your stories.

Den, I saw some recent pics of you (and then saw your current weight) and uhmmmm...I immediately thought to myself, "What is SHE doing here?" But as you pointed out and very rightfully so, it's about how you feel about you, not how others perceive you. It's about health and feeling and being "fit".

And I sooooooo get you about eating slower. My Dad grew up in a family of 15 and he literally had to fight for his food, wolfing it down so he could get seconds. You should SEE that man polish off a plate. If there was an Olympic sport in speed eating, he'd take home the Gold. I too, have inherited this from him and you just reminded me that I really need to watch the speed too. My Dad has actually been forced to slow down as he has developed a problem with his esophogus where he literally gets into these almost choking fits with food getting stuck. Undergoing tests right now for it.

I find social gatherings extremely challenging where sticking to a diet is concerned. For two reasons: 1. You feel so shitty if you don't touch what the host has so laboriously (sp?) prepared, especially in some of the old world countries where the hostess will literally stand by you and do everything but shovel it into your mouth 2. Food is always a reason for a celebration. Standing by the snack table with a glass of wine is the best place to make friends and eat and eat and eat...

Soooo...I am trying (again) to treat all social gatherings as an excuse to socialize. I will not wonder what's on the menu. I will not scope out the food table as I'm taking off my shoes. I will not stealthily make my way over. I will not eat mindlessly and chat between mouthfuls.

Whether we're a Den and trying to transform ourselves from horse to bird (with some crunches thrown in for good measure), using Game On! to get our weight off like YoungMama, implementing a combination of cardio and strength training a la Hyacynth or starting off by banning bad carbs like me, we all have a common thread in our journey: We want to feel great about ourselves. And WEIGHT/BODY IMAGE is NOT the end-all-be-all but it's a big part of it, for us anyway.

For me personally, I've been there. I loved it there. And this time, I want to be more than just a tourist. I want permanent citizenship.

Weigh-in Wednesdays: Week 1 of many...

Alright ladies (and any gents that dare stop in),

Let's recap: Two years ago or so, I was blissfully slender for just about 2 years. The smallest I had ever been in my life. I achieved this through Atkins (the bacon is cooking on the stove right now, so hold on while I flip it) and some moderate exercise. I was a size 8, just the right size for me...my healthy weight. Ok, so I lost my boobs and my butt, but I had a waist and could wear whatever I pleased without worrying about whether it made me look fat. See my original post if you want to hear me really vent.

Two years later: I'm back up again by 18 lbs..6 more than before Christmas even. DAMN IT. I can barely fit into the jeans i bought just before Christmas. I'm living in sweat pants! How did this happen? Well I believe it first started when I surprised my husband with a long weekend trip to Rome in August 2008. I gained 3 kilos in 4-5 days, seriously. I ate everything in sight because well, "When in Rome, eat like a pig". The food was seriously delicious: Pasta, gelato and REPEAT. But instead of moderately enjoying, I went hog wild. Sooo...I went back down again eventually but the trigger was pulled. And then I thought I was invincible and started eating little bits of this and of that and then bigger bits and well, you get the picture. Anyway: This.cannot.go.on.

In the here and now: So I'm making a renewed commitment to myself and to you, dear blog readers to lose these dreaded 18 pounds in 10 weeks. See? I'm not being completely unrealistic, that's roughly 2 pounds a week. That seems fair enough doesn't it? I've been trying and failing for the last 2 months and I figured, why not try a new tactic and hold myself publicly accountable? Yup, I'm even posting before and after and hopefully and after that looks like the before photo. Go big to get small! Let it all HANG OUT! no matter how humiliating.

Will you join me? Heck, even if you don't, will you cheer me on? I need to feel like I'm running a marathon (which I most certainly will NOT be running), so anyone with towels, cups of water, huge signs that say "Go Jenn. You can do it!" are more than welcome to line the roadway to the finish line. And any tips, keeping in mind my dedication and belief in Atkins (for me) are welcome.

Weight in my blissful days: 68 kilos, 149 pounds


Weight before Christmas: 73.5 kilos, 162 pounds


Weight now (hold off on the drum roll, don't know if I can take it): 76.4 kilos, 168.4 pounds. Yes I realize you feel jipped with no photo but I haven't let hubby near me with the camera really and I was also looking for pics that showed the full enchilada, not just my face cuz that wouldn't be fair.



Weight by mid Aprilish: 68 kilos, 149 pounds (oooo, maybe I could recreate that photo of my up on the mountain this summer?!)


Cue Rocky music...

Mommies throw me a discipline bone please!

What the heck happened? Where did my pleasant little man go? I would like him back please. But I have a feeling it will take a lot more than praying to St. Theresa (Catholic thing) to get him back.

We skipped the Terrible Twos. I sat back and watched with pity and perhaps a smidge of envy as my friends went through it with their kids. For some reason, my little guy was an angel. Not sure what we were doing right or wrong at the time. But that time has officially passed.

Cases in point:
1. The other day: In the park, little boy his age standing on some wobbly beam thing. My little guy makes a move (though not quick enough) to stealthily push him off. The horror! Same park, the kid's father standing on said beam. "Get off!" exclaims my little man while trying to push him off.
2. Parent's Tea at School: Having to leave. Him not wanting to leave. Making a big show of not wanting to leave. Me being utterly embarassed while trying to NOT get angry and exercise patience. I somehow managed to do both, but damn it was hard.
3. Friend's daughter's basketball game: Repeatedly running out onto the court DURING THE GAME. Me mortified. Him, couldn't care less. I even had this "We can't go over the red line" thing going. Not denying him totally but setting a boundary. It worked for awhile and then he broke away and made the mad dash (me with too tight jeans and a sweatshirt riding up my back exposing my flesh scrambling after him...what a sight).
4. Today: Pick up the little man from school. He doesn't want to leave. "Jag vill inte gå!!!" (I don't want to go). I manage to distract him with whatever I was saying to have him trudge alongside me towards the car. We run into a mother. I stop to chat. He keeps going. I yell after him, "Slutta nu Joseph!" (Stop now!). He looks back in defiance and smiling and makes a beeline for the road WITH CARS! I cut the conversation and start sprinting. I was pretty scared to be honest. He scared the shit out of me. A car could have easily come around the cul-de-sac and beened right into him. I was mad. No, not angry. I was MAD and frightened. The exchange went something like this:
"When Mama tells you to stop, you stop. This is dangerous. A car could have come and hit you and then we would have to call the ambulance and go to the hospital and bye-bye YOU. Mama is very angry right now. blah, blah, blah. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? (scowling face for effect and well, because I meant it)." Raised voice but not screaming because I am, after all, in Sweden. He says, "Ok Mama". He realizes I'm quite serious. We get into the car. My monologue continues and then I fall silent, unable to get the vision of my son getting hit by a moving vehicle out of my mind. He is silent, waiting for the storm to pass. Insert "cut-the-tension-with-a-knife" analogy. I told him not to bother asking for candy today because he behaved badly and boys who behave badly do not get candy (yup, I realize that whole bribing or rewarding with sweets was likely not the best move).

There's a lot of challenging going on right now. Him defying us, the establishment. I remember when I did that. There was a slap on the ass. It worked. But, I don't want to take that route. I also don't want to be one of those soft Mommies who either gives in or tries to "soothingly discipline" or whatever it is when you see Mothers, whose kids soooo deserve a swift kick in the arse, say and do things you KNOW have NO EFFECT WHATSOEVER.

So please, please Mommy blogger communities, HELP ME. I need some techniques and FAST. I need something consistent because right now, I'm all over the place. Anything with a touch of "fear of God" and a smattering of "serious reasoning" sounds great!

I.AM.CANADIAN

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:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BRI-A3vakVg

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 life...like 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

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!"