So... pregnancy. What a loaded word. It's both amazing in that it's something that I can do and be. But it fucking sucks.
When pregnant with my daughter, it was easy. I wasn't working, I wasn't actively looking for a job knowing that I'd be leaving it soon. So I was at home, lazing around, eating and watching TV. I did manage to get employed about half-way through, at a seasonal job that required me to sit on my butt and deal with the phone or computer stuff and then watch tv or play on the Internet for the other hours. So, my priorities were not many nor were they difficult.
This time? Oh God. I'm working part to 3/4 time, I've got a 2.5 year old to run around after, and it just seems like it's so much more difficult. I was nauseated this time around to the point that I actually need to take the prescription anti-nausea stuff. My clothes started not fitting a lot sooner. More foods, scents, movements set off my nausea. I have to drink 2.5 - 3L of water a day or I'm hosed. The list goes on.
But the biggest complaint I have this time around is the absolute horrid lack of plus size maternity clothing. I have one option, and that's Motherhood Maternity. And their selection is abysmal. I need professional-ish clothes this time around because I'm working in an office and dealing with the public (whereas last time I only dealt with inter-office people, and worked overnights and weekends). I desperately need some pants that aren't leggings, but I just can't find any. So I'm resigned to wearing leggings 4 days out of the week. I know that doesn't seem like a major complaint, but there are days that I want to wear a shorter shirt or a different sweater that I just can't wear while wearing leggings and I hate it.
When will retailers learn that plus size maternity is something they should have? Just because we're bigger doesn't mean that we should have less options. I fucking hate going onto the Motherhood site or into the store and seeing the racks upon racks (or pages upon pages) of adorable and wonderful maternity clothing, only to find the 3 racks of plus size clothing and only 3 items are in my size.
Obviously, the option is to make my own clothes or wear one of those belly bands with normal pants undone. But have you ever done that? It is hella uncomfortable. And I am so not a sewing clothes person YET.
Don't get me wrong, I love that I'm growing a second human (uh, maybe ask me again in a couple months if I still feel the same way). But Christ I wish that I could feel good about how I look while doing so.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Monday, August 18, 2014
My Origin Story
This blog has changed 'feels' many times. Food blog, random words blog, then there was the other blog that I have since deleted.
And I suck at updating all of them.
Today I'm posting about mental and emotional health, which ties into being healthy and being a better 'me', if I wanted to be so bold as to sound super lame and pretentious.
We're going to regress a little bit here, but I hope that it shows how far I've come.
When I was a kid, I bounced around schools a lot. Not because I was some sort of hellion, but because of life changes. I went to one school from Kindergarten to halfway through grade 2 because it was directly behind my house, and my mom had a day home with other kids that went to that school (and their younger siblings). Then she got a job out of the home, and so I went to a different school with my cousins. My Gramma watched over my cousins, and she lived about 2 blocks away from us, so she would just take me with her. I loved that school. All my fondest elementary school memories bounce back to that one, where all the kids knew my cousins already (note: my eldest cousin, the one whom I was in a class with because it was a 2/3 split, has cerebral palsy and requires constant care) and they freely accepted me into their social groups. It was great. Then my dad got transferred to northern SK, and we moved up to Goodsoil, SK for grade 3. If you ask my mom how long we lived there, she can give it to you right down to the minute. I don't really remember a lot about being up there, and it was my first experience living in a very small town. Of course, being a kid, you're a little more resilient and can take the change.
When we moved back to Saskatoon, I attended the elementary school closest to us. While yes, I did make some good friends, some of which I keep in touch with now, it was pure hell to go to school there. Showing up in grade 4, after these kids have all been together for 4 years (or more, if they also went to preschool), and being behind in math because they forgot to teach us all of the times tables when I was in Goodsoil (or something), was just awful. Add to it that I was a chunky kid who was a total teachers pet and admittedly (now) a know-it-all... I was teased mercilessly. If they had insulted my intelligence, that would be one thing. But it was always, ALWAYS, about my weight. Always. I remember one kid, when we were in grade 6, made some disparaging remark about my weight and I pushed him into a desk and he ran into the chair. I was so terrified at what I did that I hid in my locker/cubby/whatever and cried. Now that I remember that, I think to myself and wonder why I was crying that I hurt him physically, when he should have apologized for hurting me emotionally? Granted, I know that lashing out physically is definitely not the way to respond, but I was 12. And some boy called me fat.
And that was essentially the beginning of it. The beginning of me trying NOT to lash out physically at all the douchebags calling me fat. I'd like to say that the jokes ended as we got older, but they didn't. They carried through to high school and if you add the constant insults along with hormones and the yearning to be in a relationship, it makes a very volatile cocktail of emotion. I had to mentally tell myself not to get angry, to just keep it all in and calm down and just be nice.
Kids can be cruel. In my head, I thought that if I asked a boy out, even if he said no, it would be amicable and stay between us. Why did I ever think that? Boys would tell all their friends, and they would laugh at me. Literally laugh at me. The implication being why did I, the fat ugly girl, think that this boy, of relative attractiveness, would ever want to go out with me? Seeing all my thin pretty friends in relationships shoved this knife in a little deeper, and yeah. I was depressed. I was sad, I would cry, and I would contemplate a world without me in it. I had a friend who called the Kids Help Line about me, and I just remember how mad I was about that because they called my house at 10 at night and my parents picked up. I remember ashamedly trying to cover up why they were calling, saying that my friends were playing a joke on me or something like that. I was ashamed that I was depressed, and I was even more depressed that I was ashamed of it. It was a vicious cycle of shame and depression.
Don't get me wrong, for the most part I covered it up well. I was still dancing, I was in band, I was in choir and drama and did all of that stuff. I went out with my friends, but I still would crawl inside of myself and cry on a consistent basis.
The worst of this emotional pit came when I was 17, and I had (finally) had a couple boyfriends. I don't really count the boyfriends when I was 15 because, let's face it, those relationships don't really do anything other than hold hands and talk on the phone (or MSN messenger and ICQ, as it were in my day). The first 'real' relationship I had I'm glad I got out of in a hurry. Yes, he was the first guy I kissed. Yes, he was the first guy I did other things with - but I stuck to my guns and did NOT give him my virginity. I knew that I would regret it, and he was really quite upset that I wouldn't just go freely. So that relationship ended. The 'rebound' relationship, as it were, was with someone who did not take my No to mean NO. I'm not going to come right out and say it, but I did not have a choice. Again, that relationship ended QUICKLY.
The next relationship was the doozy. My best friend and I used to go cruising around the main drag, and we'd talk with other people doing the same thing. One night we happened upon a car with two guys, both of which were funny and nice and we ended up hanging out with them. My friend and one of the guys hit it off, so instead of third and fourth wheeling it, the other guy in the car just took the keys to his friend's car and said let's go for a ride. So we left them and drove around the city for what seemed like hours. But it was GREAT. He was older than me (as were the other two guys, but that's neither here nor there), out of high school, funny, and just nice. He was really nice to me, which was a refreshing change of pace from the epic douchebags I had to go to school with every day. When we returned to his place, my friend and I got into her car, we exchanged hugs with the guys, and were on our way. We each started seeing the guys, and it was ... I don't know how to describe it. For the first couple weeks, we would hang out as a group. I think maybe that's just because we didn't know what to expect. Then the guy I was seeing and I would hang out on our own, and it was just so chill. There was no need to impress him because finally, FINALLY, someone cared more about what was going on with my personality than what was going on physically. The catalyst to this relationship happened when the guy my friend was seeing decided to pull an epic dick move and try to force her into a sexual relationship. Their relationship ended, but mine was still going. I was going to school full-time, working part-time, and seeing this guy, and essentially ignoring my friends. When my friend commented on this, and I tried to explain to her that I didn't have time to do all of it, it wasn't that she gave me a literal ultimatum but I felt like there was an implied one. And I chose her. She was my absolute best friend in the whole world, and who was I to shove that friendship aside for some guy. So I called the boyfriend and broke up with him, and I was devastated. Completely and unequivocally. And that was the night that I tried to kill myself.
I wish I could say that was the only time. It wasn't. But it was essentially the one and only time that I probably would have followed through, had I fallen deeper into the hole. Instead, I got about half-way through and cried myself to sleep instead. My mom came in the next morning to wake me up, asked what happened to my neck, and I broke down crying as I told her. I knew it wasn't something she had ever expected me to say, and she just stared at me shocked. I stayed home from school that day. I kind of wish that I had gone to talk with someone, professionally, at that point, but I don't think that either of us thought of that option. I ended up doing some permanent damage to my throat in that I opened up some sort of pathway of infection to my tonsils and I ended up getting sick, a LOT, and having to get the tonsils removed a couple years later. But that's beside the point. I didn't attempt suicide for the attention, or to make someone notice me. I attempted because I hurt and I didn't want to hurt anymore.
There are other boyfriends and other sob stories, but that one was by far the one that hits the hardest, even still. He was the only guy (until I met my now-husband, that is) who didn't ever comment on my appearance or physique, aside from lovely compliments.
When I was 18, and my self-esteem was horribly low, I somehow made the connection that if I got guys to like me in "that way", then that means that I'm doing something right. I deliberately tied my self-worth to my desirability. Of course, this always ended badly. It ended with me feeling horrible about myself for putting that part of myself out in the open. It left me wondering why I even bother at all. Most of all, I lost myself. I would be who I thought everyone wanted me to be, and then I would get sad if no one even wanted that. I'd witness my friends, who were in relationships, get hit on and get free drinks and be the centre of attention, and then single me would be on the wayside, just trying to make a friend. I was a disaster, to put it succinctly. I moved out a couple times, only to have to move back home a couple months later because I quit my job or got fired or I just spent all my money on booze instead of rent and utilities. It wasn't until I was 20 that my mom put her foot down and made me go see a counselor. On one hand, I'm glad that she did because I mostly got my shit together after that. On the other hand, this counselor was SO BAD that I feel bad that my dad's EFAP paid for it. Seriously. I moved out, for the final time, around the time that I started seeing this counselor. I was also finally happy about my relationship status. I didn't care if I had a boyfriend or not, I cared about how happy I was. I was working a low-level job at a restaurant, but it was fun and I had responsibilities. I was good at it, and I was training new people within the first couple months of being there, which spoke well to me in that I was needed. When it came to dating, the first dates I always dressed casually because I didn't want to be judged on my appearance. Sounds silly, but it's true. I'd wear my comfy jeans and a random t-shirt, wouldn't do my hair or makeup, just to see if the guy was worth it. I met a couple nice guys who I hung out with again, and I also met my husband. I could go into our story, but I'm not going to.
Fast forward to when my daughter was born, and holy god the hormones and emotions are all over the place. I remember one night, within the first couple weeks where she was alive, and I was standing in the shower bawling my eyes out because she was crying. My husband had to work late all that week - when I say late, I mean until 10 at night - and I was so gross and I needed a shower because I had a c-section and I HAD to keep that incision area clean. My daughter just wouldn't seem to settle down, and I knew deep down that I had to put her down and walk away or it might get ugly. So she's screaming and I'm sobbing and I had so many thoughts of 'Why did I do this?' and 'Does it ever get better?'. I didn't necessarily suffer from post-partum depression, but sweet christ can being a new mom be overwhelming. Over the months I developed this odd habit of rooting around my scalp for the random hairs that were super curly and a different texture (or colour - I've got random black hairs in my naturally blond head) and pulling them out. It was getting to the point where I'd be pulling out other hairs with them, or instead of them, and I knew that I needed to stop doing that. That it was a compulsion that could lead to worse things. I never told my husband about it, and in hindsight maybe I should have. Regardless, having a child brings everything to the surface. Hormones fuck with your emotions, and with your self-image. Instead of thinking "I just brought this beautiful baby into this world", I would think about how fat and gross I was. I lost a lot of myself in that year after she was born. I'm slowly starting to re-build it, but it is so fucking hard. It's hard to put it into words or to express it to other people, because they just don't get it. They don't understand why you're feeling blue because you ran out of your favourite soap. They can't comprehend why being fractionally late for something almost gives you a panic attack. It's like your hormones blank out for a bit, then come back full-force and you're just trying to keep up.
It's hard to be a woman in a society that thrives on the perceived notion of perfection.When you're plus sized like me, your shopping options are slim to none depending on where you live. I'm fortunate enough that there are, hmm, 3 stores in town that have clothes I can fit into enough to try on. I'm fortunate enough that I can order online clothes that might fit - thank goodness for Old Navy's free return shipping. But every day, every fucking day, I wish that I didn't have to go through all of these troubles. That I could just walk into a store, any store, and be able to try things on and/or buy them. Yes, I am fully aware that my physique is my own doing. I'm not blaming genetics - although to be fair I have some relatives who are in the same boat that I am - but I'm not entirely blaming myself. If our society weren't so fucking OBSESSED with self-image, there wouldn't be all of this bullshit. A store wouldn't charge an extra $20 for a shirt because it's got an X behind the number, it would just be a shirt that they make.
To close out this horribly long and drawn-out emotional post, I would like to say that I hope someday we can get past this obsession with perfection. That a woman, any woman, could look in the mirror without wondering what she can do to make herself perfect. Instead, she could see what she is and who she is and be intrinsically happy. But let's be honest, that's never going to happen. I'm a lot of talk and no action, and at some point I hope that it clicks in my brain that I can't just expect things to happen for me and that I need to do it for myself.
I need to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And so does everyone else.
And I suck at updating all of them.
Today I'm posting about mental and emotional health, which ties into being healthy and being a better 'me', if I wanted to be so bold as to sound super lame and pretentious.
We're going to regress a little bit here, but I hope that it shows how far I've come.
When I was a kid, I bounced around schools a lot. Not because I was some sort of hellion, but because of life changes. I went to one school from Kindergarten to halfway through grade 2 because it was directly behind my house, and my mom had a day home with other kids that went to that school (and their younger siblings). Then she got a job out of the home, and so I went to a different school with my cousins. My Gramma watched over my cousins, and she lived about 2 blocks away from us, so she would just take me with her. I loved that school. All my fondest elementary school memories bounce back to that one, where all the kids knew my cousins already (note: my eldest cousin, the one whom I was in a class with because it was a 2/3 split, has cerebral palsy and requires constant care) and they freely accepted me into their social groups. It was great. Then my dad got transferred to northern SK, and we moved up to Goodsoil, SK for grade 3. If you ask my mom how long we lived there, she can give it to you right down to the minute. I don't really remember a lot about being up there, and it was my first experience living in a very small town. Of course, being a kid, you're a little more resilient and can take the change.
When we moved back to Saskatoon, I attended the elementary school closest to us. While yes, I did make some good friends, some of which I keep in touch with now, it was pure hell to go to school there. Showing up in grade 4, after these kids have all been together for 4 years (or more, if they also went to preschool), and being behind in math because they forgot to teach us all of the times tables when I was in Goodsoil (or something), was just awful. Add to it that I was a chunky kid who was a total teachers pet and admittedly (now) a know-it-all... I was teased mercilessly. If they had insulted my intelligence, that would be one thing. But it was always, ALWAYS, about my weight. Always. I remember one kid, when we were in grade 6, made some disparaging remark about my weight and I pushed him into a desk and he ran into the chair. I was so terrified at what I did that I hid in my locker/cubby/whatever and cried. Now that I remember that, I think to myself and wonder why I was crying that I hurt him physically, when he should have apologized for hurting me emotionally? Granted, I know that lashing out physically is definitely not the way to respond, but I was 12. And some boy called me fat.
And that was essentially the beginning of it. The beginning of me trying NOT to lash out physically at all the douchebags calling me fat. I'd like to say that the jokes ended as we got older, but they didn't. They carried through to high school and if you add the constant insults along with hormones and the yearning to be in a relationship, it makes a very volatile cocktail of emotion. I had to mentally tell myself not to get angry, to just keep it all in and calm down and just be nice.
Kids can be cruel. In my head, I thought that if I asked a boy out, even if he said no, it would be amicable and stay between us. Why did I ever think that? Boys would tell all their friends, and they would laugh at me. Literally laugh at me. The implication being why did I, the fat ugly girl, think that this boy, of relative attractiveness, would ever want to go out with me? Seeing all my thin pretty friends in relationships shoved this knife in a little deeper, and yeah. I was depressed. I was sad, I would cry, and I would contemplate a world without me in it. I had a friend who called the Kids Help Line about me, and I just remember how mad I was about that because they called my house at 10 at night and my parents picked up. I remember ashamedly trying to cover up why they were calling, saying that my friends were playing a joke on me or something like that. I was ashamed that I was depressed, and I was even more depressed that I was ashamed of it. It was a vicious cycle of shame and depression.
Don't get me wrong, for the most part I covered it up well. I was still dancing, I was in band, I was in choir and drama and did all of that stuff. I went out with my friends, but I still would crawl inside of myself and cry on a consistent basis.
The worst of this emotional pit came when I was 17, and I had (finally) had a couple boyfriends. I don't really count the boyfriends when I was 15 because, let's face it, those relationships don't really do anything other than hold hands and talk on the phone (or MSN messenger and ICQ, as it were in my day). The first 'real' relationship I had I'm glad I got out of in a hurry. Yes, he was the first guy I kissed. Yes, he was the first guy I did other things with - but I stuck to my guns and did NOT give him my virginity. I knew that I would regret it, and he was really quite upset that I wouldn't just go freely. So that relationship ended. The 'rebound' relationship, as it were, was with someone who did not take my No to mean NO. I'm not going to come right out and say it, but I did not have a choice. Again, that relationship ended QUICKLY.
The next relationship was the doozy. My best friend and I used to go cruising around the main drag, and we'd talk with other people doing the same thing. One night we happened upon a car with two guys, both of which were funny and nice and we ended up hanging out with them. My friend and one of the guys hit it off, so instead of third and fourth wheeling it, the other guy in the car just took the keys to his friend's car and said let's go for a ride. So we left them and drove around the city for what seemed like hours. But it was GREAT. He was older than me (as were the other two guys, but that's neither here nor there), out of high school, funny, and just nice. He was really nice to me, which was a refreshing change of pace from the epic douchebags I had to go to school with every day. When we returned to his place, my friend and I got into her car, we exchanged hugs with the guys, and were on our way. We each started seeing the guys, and it was ... I don't know how to describe it. For the first couple weeks, we would hang out as a group. I think maybe that's just because we didn't know what to expect. Then the guy I was seeing and I would hang out on our own, and it was just so chill. There was no need to impress him because finally, FINALLY, someone cared more about what was going on with my personality than what was going on physically. The catalyst to this relationship happened when the guy my friend was seeing decided to pull an epic dick move and try to force her into a sexual relationship. Their relationship ended, but mine was still going. I was going to school full-time, working part-time, and seeing this guy, and essentially ignoring my friends. When my friend commented on this, and I tried to explain to her that I didn't have time to do all of it, it wasn't that she gave me a literal ultimatum but I felt like there was an implied one. And I chose her. She was my absolute best friend in the whole world, and who was I to shove that friendship aside for some guy. So I called the boyfriend and broke up with him, and I was devastated. Completely and unequivocally. And that was the night that I tried to kill myself.
I wish I could say that was the only time. It wasn't. But it was essentially the one and only time that I probably would have followed through, had I fallen deeper into the hole. Instead, I got about half-way through and cried myself to sleep instead. My mom came in the next morning to wake me up, asked what happened to my neck, and I broke down crying as I told her. I knew it wasn't something she had ever expected me to say, and she just stared at me shocked. I stayed home from school that day. I kind of wish that I had gone to talk with someone, professionally, at that point, but I don't think that either of us thought of that option. I ended up doing some permanent damage to my throat in that I opened up some sort of pathway of infection to my tonsils and I ended up getting sick, a LOT, and having to get the tonsils removed a couple years later. But that's beside the point. I didn't attempt suicide for the attention, or to make someone notice me. I attempted because I hurt and I didn't want to hurt anymore.
There are other boyfriends and other sob stories, but that one was by far the one that hits the hardest, even still. He was the only guy (until I met my now-husband, that is) who didn't ever comment on my appearance or physique, aside from lovely compliments.
When I was 18, and my self-esteem was horribly low, I somehow made the connection that if I got guys to like me in "that way", then that means that I'm doing something right. I deliberately tied my self-worth to my desirability. Of course, this always ended badly. It ended with me feeling horrible about myself for putting that part of myself out in the open. It left me wondering why I even bother at all. Most of all, I lost myself. I would be who I thought everyone wanted me to be, and then I would get sad if no one even wanted that. I'd witness my friends, who were in relationships, get hit on and get free drinks and be the centre of attention, and then single me would be on the wayside, just trying to make a friend. I was a disaster, to put it succinctly. I moved out a couple times, only to have to move back home a couple months later because I quit my job or got fired or I just spent all my money on booze instead of rent and utilities. It wasn't until I was 20 that my mom put her foot down and made me go see a counselor. On one hand, I'm glad that she did because I mostly got my shit together after that. On the other hand, this counselor was SO BAD that I feel bad that my dad's EFAP paid for it. Seriously. I moved out, for the final time, around the time that I started seeing this counselor. I was also finally happy about my relationship status. I didn't care if I had a boyfriend or not, I cared about how happy I was. I was working a low-level job at a restaurant, but it was fun and I had responsibilities. I was good at it, and I was training new people within the first couple months of being there, which spoke well to me in that I was needed. When it came to dating, the first dates I always dressed casually because I didn't want to be judged on my appearance. Sounds silly, but it's true. I'd wear my comfy jeans and a random t-shirt, wouldn't do my hair or makeup, just to see if the guy was worth it. I met a couple nice guys who I hung out with again, and I also met my husband. I could go into our story, but I'm not going to.
Fast forward to when my daughter was born, and holy god the hormones and emotions are all over the place. I remember one night, within the first couple weeks where she was alive, and I was standing in the shower bawling my eyes out because she was crying. My husband had to work late all that week - when I say late, I mean until 10 at night - and I was so gross and I needed a shower because I had a c-section and I HAD to keep that incision area clean. My daughter just wouldn't seem to settle down, and I knew deep down that I had to put her down and walk away or it might get ugly. So she's screaming and I'm sobbing and I had so many thoughts of 'Why did I do this?' and 'Does it ever get better?'. I didn't necessarily suffer from post-partum depression, but sweet christ can being a new mom be overwhelming. Over the months I developed this odd habit of rooting around my scalp for the random hairs that were super curly and a different texture (or colour - I've got random black hairs in my naturally blond head) and pulling them out. It was getting to the point where I'd be pulling out other hairs with them, or instead of them, and I knew that I needed to stop doing that. That it was a compulsion that could lead to worse things. I never told my husband about it, and in hindsight maybe I should have. Regardless, having a child brings everything to the surface. Hormones fuck with your emotions, and with your self-image. Instead of thinking "I just brought this beautiful baby into this world", I would think about how fat and gross I was. I lost a lot of myself in that year after she was born. I'm slowly starting to re-build it, but it is so fucking hard. It's hard to put it into words or to express it to other people, because they just don't get it. They don't understand why you're feeling blue because you ran out of your favourite soap. They can't comprehend why being fractionally late for something almost gives you a panic attack. It's like your hormones blank out for a bit, then come back full-force and you're just trying to keep up.
It's hard to be a woman in a society that thrives on the perceived notion of perfection.When you're plus sized like me, your shopping options are slim to none depending on where you live. I'm fortunate enough that there are, hmm, 3 stores in town that have clothes I can fit into enough to try on. I'm fortunate enough that I can order online clothes that might fit - thank goodness for Old Navy's free return shipping. But every day, every fucking day, I wish that I didn't have to go through all of these troubles. That I could just walk into a store, any store, and be able to try things on and/or buy them. Yes, I am fully aware that my physique is my own doing. I'm not blaming genetics - although to be fair I have some relatives who are in the same boat that I am - but I'm not entirely blaming myself. If our society weren't so fucking OBSESSED with self-image, there wouldn't be all of this bullshit. A store wouldn't charge an extra $20 for a shirt because it's got an X behind the number, it would just be a shirt that they make.
To close out this horribly long and drawn-out emotional post, I would like to say that I hope someday we can get past this obsession with perfection. That a woman, any woman, could look in the mirror without wondering what she can do to make herself perfect. Instead, she could see what she is and who she is and be intrinsically happy. But let's be honest, that's never going to happen. I'm a lot of talk and no action, and at some point I hope that it clicks in my brain that I can't just expect things to happen for me and that I need to do it for myself.
I need to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And so does everyone else.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Picking Up and Getting Through
Do you ever have a week that's just so incredibly bad that you don't believe it actually exists? That was my past two weeks.
As I mentioned before, my grandmother passed away about 2 weeks ago. The worst part was after finding out. Not only because we were all so devastated, but because of the conditions surrounding her passing. She died alone, in her home, potentially in her sleep. Her neighbour noticed newspapers piling up and they called the town administration, who then called the first responders who went to her house. The coroner said it was about 4 days between death and her being found.
It makes me really sad that she died that way. Don't get me wrong, it's sad that she died in general but to die alone with no one finding you for days... I hope her soul felt better once she was found though.
That was Wednesday that we learned about her passing, and Friday we were dealt another blow. Friends of mine that live in the same townhouse complex as us lost their 1 year old son. I don't know the specifics, only that he never woke up from his nap. When my friend told me I couldn't hold it together. I couldn't even imagine losing my daughter, let alone in a way so helpless. (in that the parent is helpless because there was no indication or reason).
After that, I needed to take the week off. I couldn't deal with the fact that two people so important to me were taken away from me. I still can't deal with it. But I'm working on getting through it.
Now back to our regularly scheduled blog postings.
I'm super proud of myself. I got properly fitted for some running shoes a couple weekends back, and they've helped so much. And I apparently can now jog intermittently on the treadmill without feeling like I'm going to die. I'm doing some interval training to help me get up there, and my goal by August is to be able to jog an entire mile. Now I'm doing about half. It may sound like peanuts to most people but I was in the WORST shape ever. I would get mildly winded walking up my stairs (okay, being honest I still feel a little winded even still). I'm still trying so hard to get into a habit but... It sucks being a single parent during the week. I don't have enough time to get everything done. The past 3 weeks I haven't even had a moment to go grocery hopping during the week. So my daughter and I have not been eating the best. I was supposed to be taking part in 'A Month Without..' with my co-workers and June was suppose to be fast food/takeout. Yeah. That didn't happen.
That all being said, I'm finding a new appreciation for the Epicure that I sell. When you're trying to lose weight, it's hard cooking without using super salty ingredients or tons of sauces. Thankfully the spices and dip mixes are low sodium and delicious, not to mention the cookware is super great. I use my steamers a couple times a week because I have this huge 'ew gross I don't want to' thing about touching raw meat. This way I can just shove it from the bag into the steamer and it's GREAT.
Wow, this totally went off the rails. I aim at a somewhat coherant post next time, maybe with a recipe or two.
As I mentioned before, my grandmother passed away about 2 weeks ago. The worst part was after finding out. Not only because we were all so devastated, but because of the conditions surrounding her passing. She died alone, in her home, potentially in her sleep. Her neighbour noticed newspapers piling up and they called the town administration, who then called the first responders who went to her house. The coroner said it was about 4 days between death and her being found.
It makes me really sad that she died that way. Don't get me wrong, it's sad that she died in general but to die alone with no one finding you for days... I hope her soul felt better once she was found though.
That was Wednesday that we learned about her passing, and Friday we were dealt another blow. Friends of mine that live in the same townhouse complex as us lost their 1 year old son. I don't know the specifics, only that he never woke up from his nap. When my friend told me I couldn't hold it together. I couldn't even imagine losing my daughter, let alone in a way so helpless. (in that the parent is helpless because there was no indication or reason).
After that, I needed to take the week off. I couldn't deal with the fact that two people so important to me were taken away from me. I still can't deal with it. But I'm working on getting through it.
Now back to our regularly scheduled blog postings.
I'm super proud of myself. I got properly fitted for some running shoes a couple weekends back, and they've helped so much. And I apparently can now jog intermittently on the treadmill without feeling like I'm going to die. I'm doing some interval training to help me get up there, and my goal by August is to be able to jog an entire mile. Now I'm doing about half. It may sound like peanuts to most people but I was in the WORST shape ever. I would get mildly winded walking up my stairs (okay, being honest I still feel a little winded even still). I'm still trying so hard to get into a habit but... It sucks being a single parent during the week. I don't have enough time to get everything done. The past 3 weeks I haven't even had a moment to go grocery hopping during the week. So my daughter and I have not been eating the best. I was supposed to be taking part in 'A Month Without..' with my co-workers and June was suppose to be fast food/takeout. Yeah. That didn't happen.
That all being said, I'm finding a new appreciation for the Epicure that I sell. When you're trying to lose weight, it's hard cooking without using super salty ingredients or tons of sauces. Thankfully the spices and dip mixes are low sodium and delicious, not to mention the cookware is super great. I use my steamers a couple times a week because I have this huge 'ew gross I don't want to' thing about touching raw meat. This way I can just shove it from the bag into the steamer and it's GREAT.
Wow, this totally went off the rails. I aim at a somewhat coherant post next time, maybe with a recipe or two.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
The Day I'll Never Forget
I lost my Gramma today.
I never thought I'd say those words. I'm not trying to imply that I'm naive enough to think that my Gramma would stick around forever. I just mean that there's never any way to prepare for the absolute gut-wrenching loss that is losing a loved one.
My mom had me when she was 19. My biological father was never in the picture, and my mom and I lived with my Gramma for a bit in the beginning. Lots of the pictures of me when I was younger are at my Gramma's house, or even with my Gramma.
She was my biggest fan and my greatest champion. I could go to her about anything and she would have something to say about it (be it good or bad). She put up with zero crap, but also spoiled me rotten.
It was a known fact that I was the favourite.
Everyone always has regrets when someone dies. They wish that they had talked to the deceased more, that they visited them, etc etc. I just wish that my Gramma was able to be around to see the person that I will become, to see her great-grandchild/ren grow up, and to see the legacy that she created come to fruition.
My Gramma did a lot for me.
She apparently never knew how to sew until I came around, and then she was making me clothes (from awesome 60s and 70s patterns), and sewing my first couple kilts and highland dance costumes. She used to let me help her gather the fruits and vegetables from her garden, until she saw me just pop a squat besde the strawberry bushes and shove them all in my face instead of putting them in the bucket.
She always stood up for me when others were putting me down, and she never once made any sort of comment about my weight or figure or anything. She loved me just the way I am, and I love her for all the same.
I'm going to miss her so much I can't even fathom it right now.
In short, my Gramma is and was an amazng person, and I just wish that she could have stayed around longer.
I never thought I'd say those words. I'm not trying to imply that I'm naive enough to think that my Gramma would stick around forever. I just mean that there's never any way to prepare for the absolute gut-wrenching loss that is losing a loved one.
My mom had me when she was 19. My biological father was never in the picture, and my mom and I lived with my Gramma for a bit in the beginning. Lots of the pictures of me when I was younger are at my Gramma's house, or even with my Gramma.
She was my biggest fan and my greatest champion. I could go to her about anything and she would have something to say about it (be it good or bad). She put up with zero crap, but also spoiled me rotten.
It was a known fact that I was the favourite.
Everyone always has regrets when someone dies. They wish that they had talked to the deceased more, that they visited them, etc etc. I just wish that my Gramma was able to be around to see the person that I will become, to see her great-grandchild/ren grow up, and to see the legacy that she created come to fruition.
My Gramma did a lot for me.
She apparently never knew how to sew until I came around, and then she was making me clothes (from awesome 60s and 70s patterns), and sewing my first couple kilts and highland dance costumes. She used to let me help her gather the fruits and vegetables from her garden, until she saw me just pop a squat besde the strawberry bushes and shove them all in my face instead of putting them in the bucket.
She always stood up for me when others were putting me down, and she never once made any sort of comment about my weight or figure or anything. She loved me just the way I am, and I love her for all the same.
I'm going to miss her so much I can't even fathom it right now.
In short, my Gramma is and was an amazng person, and I just wish that she could have stayed around longer.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Chicken Club Wraps
I cannot stress enough how much I am in love with my Epicure steamers. Yes, I sell the stuff (here, to be precise) but that doesn't mean that I like all of it. Not a huge fan of the Pulled Pork What's For Dinner (not that anyone asked), for example.
Anyway, these steamers are fantastic. They come in two sizes, and you just pop your stuff in there no oil or water, and cook for whatever time it is that you're cooking. For example, I cooked two 5 or 6oz chicken breasts in the square steamer for 10 minutes and they were perfect. Juicy, and fully cooked. As someone who has had food poisoning more than I want to (anything over 1 time is more than enough), my chicken is usually dry and stringy. No more!
So anyway, back to these Chicken Club Wraps.
I cooked the chicken in the steamer, with a sprinkling of seasoning salt, ground thyme, and smoked paprika. I let that sit while I cooked my daughter's food because she was acting like the world would end if she didn't get to eat her chicken nugs. Kids, amirite?
I cooked some bacon up too, because what's a club sammich without the bacon? Although I definitely regretted it, because my body seems to abhor pork bacon. Turkey bacon is fine, pork bacon and I feel nauseated.
I digress.
I chopped up some tomatoes, grabbed some green leaf lettuce (a favourite of mine for sandwiches), and then started putting the wrap together as I steamed some potatoes in my rectangular steamer (1 baking potato cut into 1" cubes and nuked it for 6 minutes = perfect tatoes with zero oil). Lettuce down, then chicken (used about half a breast), then tomatoes and bacon, then topped with a very light drizzle of Epicure Honey Mustard.
Mmmm.
My Fitness Pal gave this meal (including the potatoes) a 592 cals, but I think that's because the wrap was a white flour one (180 calories) and that dang bacon was 200 calories. Next time I make it, it'll be turkey bacon on a whole wheat wrap and I think I could get it down to under 500. Regardless, I'm still full from supper and my mouth is still singing my own praises.
I also knew I should have used the smaller plate for my picture, but you just shut your face.
Anyway, these steamers are fantastic. They come in two sizes, and you just pop your stuff in there no oil or water, and cook for whatever time it is that you're cooking. For example, I cooked two 5 or 6oz chicken breasts in the square steamer for 10 minutes and they were perfect. Juicy, and fully cooked. As someone who has had food poisoning more than I want to (anything over 1 time is more than enough), my chicken is usually dry and stringy. No more!
So anyway, back to these Chicken Club Wraps.
I cooked the chicken in the steamer, with a sprinkling of seasoning salt, ground thyme, and smoked paprika. I let that sit while I cooked my daughter's food because she was acting like the world would end if she didn't get to eat her chicken nugs. Kids, amirite?
I cooked some bacon up too, because what's a club sammich without the bacon? Although I definitely regretted it, because my body seems to abhor pork bacon. Turkey bacon is fine, pork bacon and I feel nauseated.
I digress.
I chopped up some tomatoes, grabbed some green leaf lettuce (a favourite of mine for sandwiches), and then started putting the wrap together as I steamed some potatoes in my rectangular steamer (1 baking potato cut into 1" cubes and nuked it for 6 minutes = perfect tatoes with zero oil). Lettuce down, then chicken (used about half a breast), then tomatoes and bacon, then topped with a very light drizzle of Epicure Honey Mustard.
Mmmm.
My Fitness Pal gave this meal (including the potatoes) a 592 cals, but I think that's because the wrap was a white flour one (180 calories) and that dang bacon was 200 calories. Next time I make it, it'll be turkey bacon on a whole wheat wrap and I think I could get it down to under 500. Regardless, I'm still full from supper and my mouth is still singing my own praises.
I also knew I should have used the smaller plate for my picture, but you just shut your face.
Guacamole Turkey Burgers
You heard me right. Turkey burgers... with guacamole. I honestly don't know why I waited so long to
a) make my own turkey burgers; and
b) top them with guacamole.
The original recipe can be found here, courtesy of Modern Christian Homemaker. I used their recipe for the burgers themselves, adding spices and substituting. And then of course the guacamole.
Burger Patties
2 packages of Lilydale ground turkey breast
Cornflake crumbs (enough to make it stick)
2 tbsp minced garlic
Some BBQ sauce to hold it together
dash of Worcestershire
sprinkle of fresh thyme
juice from half a lemon
Salt, pepper, seasoning salt... The sky's the limit.
1. Mix your stuff. Form into patties, then let sit (in the fridge, for the love of Pete) for awhile. Like half an hour or so. I think this recipe made 8 burgers, but my dad makes the patties HUGE.
2. Heat your grill, then grill these burgers. Because that's what you do with burgers.
Guacamole
2 ripe avocados
2 limes
2 tbsp sour cream OR greek yogurt
2-3 cloves of garlic, minced fine
1 tsp cilantro
salt & pepper to taste
1. Smash your 'cados. Smash 'em real good.
2. Juice your limes into the 'cados. I just set a wire strainer on top of the smush, just to catch the strings and seeds. But, y'know, if you have a citrus juicer thingie that would work too.
3. Mix in your sour cream/greek yogurt, garlic, and cilantro. Then tasted it. Honestly, guacamole is always "to taste". If your guac needs the salt and pepper (mine does), I add a couple grinds of each at a time, then taste it again, and then keep repeating until I like it. Feel free to taste as you go with the limes and the sour cream too, because you might not like it as limey as I do.
To Serve!
Top your buns or flatbread or whatever with lettuce, tomato, cheese (we used Kraft Singles Fat Free Mozzarella and it was a great choice), and guacamole. Oh and a burger too. Duh. Be prepared to die and go straight to heaven. Keep in mind that guac makes your burger super messy, so maybe don't wear fancy clothes or the colour white. And keep a fistful of napkins nearby.
a) make my own turkey burgers; and
b) top them with guacamole.
The original recipe can be found here, courtesy of Modern Christian Homemaker. I used their recipe for the burgers themselves, adding spices and substituting. And then of course the guacamole.
Burger Patties
2 packages of Lilydale ground turkey breast
Cornflake crumbs (enough to make it stick)
2 tbsp minced garlic
Some BBQ sauce to hold it together
dash of Worcestershire
sprinkle of fresh thyme
juice from half a lemon
Salt, pepper, seasoning salt... The sky's the limit.
1. Mix your stuff. Form into patties, then let sit (in the fridge, for the love of Pete) for awhile. Like half an hour or so. I think this recipe made 8 burgers, but my dad makes the patties HUGE.
2. Heat your grill, then grill these burgers. Because that's what you do with burgers.
Guacamole
2 ripe avocados
2 limes
2 tbsp sour cream OR greek yogurt
2-3 cloves of garlic, minced fine
1 tsp cilantro
salt & pepper to taste
1. Smash your 'cados. Smash 'em real good.
2. Juice your limes into the 'cados. I just set a wire strainer on top of the smush, just to catch the strings and seeds. But, y'know, if you have a citrus juicer thingie that would work too.
3. Mix in your sour cream/greek yogurt, garlic, and cilantro. Then tasted it. Honestly, guacamole is always "to taste". If your guac needs the salt and pepper (mine does), I add a couple grinds of each at a time, then taste it again, and then keep repeating until I like it. Feel free to taste as you go with the limes and the sour cream too, because you might not like it as limey as I do.
To Serve!
Top your buns or flatbread or whatever with lettuce, tomato, cheese (we used Kraft Singles Fat Free Mozzarella and it was a great choice), and guacamole. Oh and a burger too. Duh. Be prepared to die and go straight to heaven. Keep in mind that guac makes your burger super messy, so maybe don't wear fancy clothes or the colour white. And keep a fistful of napkins nearby.
Penne & Spaghetti Squash Alfredo
Okay so... Food time.
I've been playing around with recipes for awhile, trying to make them "skinny" versions or whatever the hell the current word is for reducing the fat and not being such a pig. Yeah, skinny.
Pinterest is my best friend right now. Honestly, it is. How some of these bloggers come up with these recipes is beyond me, but I'm okay with it because my body likes the majority of it so I like the majority of it.
Below, I'm going to include some of the favourite recipes that I've used lately. Granted, there are still a lot of days where I just throw shit together and it's a "meh" meal. But these ones are great.
Spaghetti Squash Alfredo
The above is the original recipe, which I didn't entirely follow. I mean, yes, I had all of the components. I followed the instructions for the alfredo sauce. But I added sweet, amazing, delicious... carbs.
1 spaghetti squash, cooked as you so choose*, scraped and spaghetti'd
2 cups dry PC Blue Menu Whole Wheat Penne
I cooked my squash by slicing it in half, scraping out the seeds, placing it face down on a cookie sheet with some water at 375 for about 45 minutes.
Cook your pasta as you get the sauce started. The sauce takes way longer than cooking the pasta though.
Sauce
Note:Uh, so maybe don't totally double the sauce amounts. Because I had way too much. So maybe 1.5 times it? Regardless, I doubled the below recipe and it was just way too much
1 Tablespoon butter
3 cloves of garlic, finely minced
2 Tablespoons flour
1 cup milk (I used fat-free)
1 Tablespoon cream cheese or Neufchatel cheese
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus 2 Tablespoons extra for topping
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Crushed red pepper flakes and fresh parsley, for optional garnish
What I did differently, aside from doubling, was that I used half parmesan - half light mozzarella shredded cheese.
Melt butter in a small pot over medium-low heat. Once hot, add garlic and sauté for 1-2 minutes. Whisk in flour, cooking for another minute while stirring. Whisk in milk until no lumps remain. Once hot, add cream cheese and stir until smooth. Remove from the heat. Stir in Parmesan, salt and pepper.
From here, I mixed my penne and spaghetti squash together in the pasta pot, then mixed the sauce in. To serve, I mixed in some bacon bits and then topped with a sprinkle of red pepper flakes and some fresh basil in lieu of parsley because honestly parsley is useless.
Result: tasty, delicious, oh em gee you can't even taste the spaghetti squash. And that's just how I like it. According to My Fitness Pal, this recipe (which serves about 4-6 people) rocks a lofty 450 calories per serving HOWEVER that was using full-fat cream cheese and full-fat parmesan. Imagine the difference using light stuff would be. I was also so incredibly full after eating it. Go fibre and vegetables.
I've been playing around with recipes for awhile, trying to make them "skinny" versions or whatever the hell the current word is for reducing the fat and not being such a pig. Yeah, skinny.
Pinterest is my best friend right now. Honestly, it is. How some of these bloggers come up with these recipes is beyond me, but I'm okay with it because my body likes the majority of it so I like the majority of it.
Below, I'm going to include some of the favourite recipes that I've used lately. Granted, there are still a lot of days where I just throw shit together and it's a "meh" meal. But these ones are great.
The above is the original recipe, which I didn't entirely follow. I mean, yes, I had all of the components. I followed the instructions for the alfredo sauce. But I added sweet, amazing, delicious... carbs.
1 spaghetti squash, cooked as you so choose*, scraped and spaghetti'd
2 cups dry PC Blue Menu Whole Wheat Penne
I cooked my squash by slicing it in half, scraping out the seeds, placing it face down on a cookie sheet with some water at 375 for about 45 minutes.
Cook your pasta as you get the sauce started. The sauce takes way longer than cooking the pasta though.
Sauce
Note:Uh, so maybe don't totally double the sauce amounts. Because I had way too much. So maybe 1.5 times it? Regardless, I doubled the below recipe and it was just way too much
1 Tablespoon butter
3 cloves of garlic, finely minced
2 Tablespoons flour
1 cup milk (I used fat-free)
1 Tablespoon cream cheese or Neufchatel cheese
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus 2 Tablespoons extra for topping
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Crushed red pepper flakes and fresh parsley, for optional garnish
What I did differently, aside from doubling, was that I used half parmesan - half light mozzarella shredded cheese.
Melt butter in a small pot over medium-low heat. Once hot, add garlic and sauté for 1-2 minutes. Whisk in flour, cooking for another minute while stirring. Whisk in milk until no lumps remain. Once hot, add cream cheese and stir until smooth. Remove from the heat. Stir in Parmesan, salt and pepper.
From here, I mixed my penne and spaghetti squash together in the pasta pot, then mixed the sauce in. To serve, I mixed in some bacon bits and then topped with a sprinkle of red pepper flakes and some fresh basil in lieu of parsley because honestly parsley is useless.
Result: tasty, delicious, oh em gee you can't even taste the spaghetti squash. And that's just how I like it. According to My Fitness Pal, this recipe (which serves about 4-6 people) rocks a lofty 450 calories per serving HOWEVER that was using full-fat cream cheese and full-fat parmesan. Imagine the difference using light stuff would be. I was also so incredibly full after eating it. Go fibre and vegetables.
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