The Spice is Right

Ruh-roh…My food budget is going to need a slight adjustment again since I discovered a new website that I’m sure will get more than a few orders from me in the coming weeks.

What Republic of Tea did for my tea shelf, so, too (I’m pretty sure), will My Spice Sage do for my spice rack – which is actually not a rack, but two shelves of spicy goodness. 

Several recipes from three of my favorite food bloggers - Kalyn’s Kitchen, A Veggie Venture, and FatFreeVegan - call for spices I can’t get here in my little town. Basil, oregano, garlic powder, pepper, even garam masala…sure. We’ve got lots of that here. But Smoked Spanish paprika? Vindaloo curry? Chipotle pepper flakes? Nope. Not that I’d expect them to carry black lava sea salt or za’atar, but our WalMart doesn’t even carry fat-free sour cream anymore, or even Spike Seasonings, which I don’t understand.

In the summer, I buy fresh herbs at our farmer’s market or raise them myself, and I love that our “health food” store carries a variety of organic dried spices. But the specialty spices are harder to find. Enter the Internet. I ordered smoked paprika, hot curry and a ground pepper today on My Spice Sage. They ship for a flat $4 rate…not bad…AND they send a free sample of some spice with each order. Apparently I’ll receive vanilla bean pods. What will I do with them? I’m not sure yet, but if you have suggestions, please let me know.

I’ve said before that the best part about eating vegetarian is that it challenges me to try way more new recipes and combinations than I did when I ate meat. I’m sure if I eat meat again, I’d do the same kind of foodie exploration, but it took that plunge into vegetarianism to shake up my culinary rut.

For instance, because I watch my sodium intake and in an attempt to mimic seasoned salt without the salt, I came up with this blend: 1½ t each of chili powder, paprika, onion powder and garlic powder, ½ t turmeric, ¼ t ground pepper, and 1½ t celery seed. I’ll back off on the celery seed next time because it’s a little overpowering. I use this mostly on roasted Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, and sweet potatoes.

I also make Italian seasoning that I use in soups and sauces. It’s easy and cheap since I have all the ingredients anyway. Mix in a grinder (or use a mortar…sadly, one of the kitchen gadgets I don’t own) the following ingredients: 3 T each of dried basil, dried oregano, and dried parsley, 1 T garlic powder, 1 t each of onion powder, dried thyme and dried rosemary, and ¼ t each pepper, sage, fennel seed and red pepper flakes. Store in an airtight container for up to six months.

I love Emeril’s Creole Seasoning. Mix 2½ T paprika, 2 T each of salt and garlic powder, and 1 T each of black pepper, onion powder, cayenne pepper, dried oregano and dried thyme. Store in an airtight container. I use it in rice recipes, crab and salmon cakes, and one of Larry’s favorites: catfish nuggets.

My friend Katina makes a ROCKIN’ spread for all types of burgers (including the veggie and bean kind!) or wraps. Mix 1/3 C light or fat-free Miracle Whip, ¾ t paprika, ¼ t each of cumin, garlic powder and lemon juice, 1/8 t each of cayenne pepper and oregano, a pinch of salt and a pinch of sweetener or sugar.

My spice obsession will not drain the bank, but two shelves may not be enough space in the upcoming months, now that I’ve discovered My Spice Sage.

What are your “must have” spices?

The Importance Of Don’t

When I was a senior in high school, I became friends with some Swedish exchange students – Per, Henrik, Charlotta and the guy who asked me to prom, but I said no because I wanted to go with Per, but he didn’t ask and so I went to the drive-in with my girlfriends instead. What was his name? That’s going to make me nuts today.

Anyway, it was a Friday night and we were all going out. I thought I was supposed to pick up Per at his host family’s house. I arrived, knocked on the door, and heard, “Come in!” I walked in to find his host parents engaged in *ahem* full-on amorous activity.

I didn’t hear “don’t.” They had yelled, “DON’T come in.”

Oops.

Claire uses the word “don’t” a lot, particularly when talking to (well, yelling at) her baby brother. “Don’t play with that, Luca Man!” “Don’t touch my blankie!” “Don’t look at me!” Don’t, that that context, is such a negative Nelly word. But when used in its cautionary and instructive context, it’s one of the more important words in our vocabulary.

Here are three “don’ts” I’m striving to live by:

1. Don’t stray from the moment

I have a bad habit of wishing time away, especially when I’m on the elliptical or hungry and waiting for the microwave to heat up my food or waiting for an auction to end on eBay.

I was really bad about it when I was losing weight. I made a spreadsheet predicting where my weight “should” be weeks and months in the future based on my average pounds lost per week. Every week I couldn’t wait to get to the next week. Every month I couldn’t wait to get to the next month. In the future I’d be smaller and I was convinced smaller was better. All living in the future did, though, was waste a lot of moments that I’ll never get back. Moments when I could have really gotten to know (and more importantly, APPRECIATE) myself at each weight.

I’ve done a lot of reflecting on this since making goal, and while I certainly have come to appreciate the person I was at 300, I wish I’d – in the moment – appreciated who I was at 265, 209, 172, etc. My impatience gets me nowhere. A minute will pass whether I’m impatient or serene. Ergo, don’t stray from the moment.

2. Don’t take your body for granted

Jon Kabat-Zinn once said (and I’m paraphrasing): If you’re breathing, you have everything going for you. Our bodies are pretty amazing, at any size or fitness. But I often fall into the mind trap of lamenting what my body can’t do rather than what it can. Or, when it can do something, not remembering there will be consequences if I overdo it. And when do I overdo? Either when I’m attempting to show off (the gym is really bad for that) or when I conveniently forget I have limitations. (Arthritis? What arthritis?)

This “don’t” reminds me of a lovely song by Toad the Wet Sprocket called “I Will Not Take These Things For Granted.”

I’m listening
Music in the bedroom
Laughter in the hall
Dive into the ocean
Singing by the fire
Running through the forest
And standing in the wind
In rolling canyons


I will not take these things for granted



3. Don’t offer unconstructive criticism and don’t wait until tomorrow to make things right if I fail at Don’t 1 and Don’t 2.

I’m the queen of self-flagellation, although I have come a long way and am much more mindful when I’m being a total bitch to myself. (So manybe I'm no longer the "queen" but a maidservant...LOL) I don’t treat myself half as badly as I used to. That’s a HUGE step forward for me.

I need “don’t” in my life. Don’t keeps me on the straight and narrow. And, if heard and paid attention to, can prevent me (and amorous couples) from a whole lot of embarrassment, too!

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FYI: Lynn’s Weigh is on Facebook! If you’d like to join our group, click here and become a “fan.” Every day I post a question or topic that we chat about throughout the day, and readers post questions to me and other readers, too. It’s a fun way to stay in touch.

Also, check out my latest blog on Refuse to Regain, “No, thank you. I stay here.” I’ll mark my 3-year maintenance anniversary in a few weeks and I reflected on how maintenance changes year to year. Would love to hear your feedback!

DVD Giveaway Winner Announcement

Quick post (a blog is forthcoming...hopefully tonight) to let ya'll know (because I'm sure you've been checking ALL DAY) that the winner of the Slim & Tone Pilates is reader Maya! Congrats to Maya and a big THANK YOU to all of you for your emails and comments.

Next to be reviewed: "Dance Off The Inches: Striptease Workout with Megan Armond." Cassie will be reviewing this one, too, along with a few comments from her "old but still got it a little bit" mother. This review will (probably) be posted next Friday (March 5). It'll be a fun one, I assure you.

Who Loves Pilates? Cassie Does! (Giveaway Inside!)

Each winter around this time, I start getting bored with my fitness regimen. I can’t do much outside so cardio machines, Thera-Band and free weights are my only exercise friends.

Or are they?

Variety is the spice of life, so I’ve decided to try a new fitness video every week or two. Not only will I try it, I’ll post a review and give you a chance to win it! (Yes, I’m dragging ya’ll along on my “spice of life” campaign.)

Having said all that, however, I’m not the one wrote today’s review of “Element Slim and Tone Pilates with Kara Wily.” My daughter Cassie, mother of my g-babies, was crazy about this video and so I thought I’d let her tell you what’s up.

First a little info about Cassie: She’s 25 years old, 5’8” tall, 145 pounds. She’s in the process of losing weight, down 30 pounds since Luca was born in May and eyeing 135 if her body will let her. She joined a gym when Luca was 3 months old and works out there when she can, usually 4 or 5 times a week. If the kids are well behaved at the gym daycare, she can get her cardio and strength training done in 45 minutes to an hour. Cassie also likes to use fitness DVDs at home (Claire “helps”) and that’s why I’ve asked her to review this and future workouts. I’ll throw my two cents in as well. Just not this time.

Here’s Cassie’s review.

“Element Slim and Tone Pilates with Kara Wily” (approx. 40 minutes long)

Rating: ***** of ***** stars. LOVED IT!
Difficulty: **** of ***** stars.
Presentation: **** of ***** stars. Unless you’re familiar with Pilates, you will need to be able to see the screen to follow, which can be difficult since this is a very fast moving exercise. I recommend watching it first prior to actually performing it.
Benefit: *****of ***** stars. I felt it working with every exercise. This is going to be a DVD I’ll keep around for the long haul.

I think of Pilates as Yoga on speed. While it still requires using your breath and centering, it is more fast-paced and has a cardio benefit.

“Slim and Tone Pilates” is wonderful for intermediate to experienced Pilates users. I felt every exercise and got a full body workout without feeling completely winded and exhausted at the end. It was also nice and short so I could get it in during the kids’ naps.

“Slim and Tone” uses a voice-over format, with the instructor performing just the movements. This allowed for much more fluidity with the exercise as a whole. This format works well for me since I’m familiar with Pilates and don’t require extra explanation of the movements. That’s why I recommend beginners watch it and perform the moves a few times to get familiar with the flow.

Each movement is performed only a few times, enough to feel it working, but not enough to exhaust the muscles. The rowing series is a very nice yet different exercise that uses both core and arm strength and flexibility. When preformed correctly, and you use your own resistance, it works the arms in such a unique way – I felt it working my deltoids, triceps, forearms and the muscles of the upper back (especially those along the bra line.) It’s a very refreshing movement.

I’m not as flexible as I once was, but by the end of the video I had much more movement because of the constant stretching throughout the workout. Also, the breathing instruction was great for extending my flexibility.

The jumps and leg lifts at the end really completed the exercise. It felt like all my stretched out muscles got a good shake out.

One downside, if you have weak knees or wrists, this will be a little more difficult for you. I found the six pushups required at the end were next to impossible since my muscles were surprisingly weak.

Overall, though, the workout was so fun that I hardly realized I was working hard. I didn’t once look at the clock or wonder when it would be done. I felt relaxed, rejuvenated and ready for my day after completing this exercise.

I know I’ve implied that “Shape and Tone Pilates” is probably not for beginners, but I’m afraid that by saying that, you might be timid to try it. I think if you’re new to Pilates, I’d just recommend watching it a few times and taking your time to stop and watch while going through the movements the first few times. Please don’t be intimidated or frustrated by the movements. This isn’t an exercise that will be mastered after a few times, it will take months of practice. This requires a lot of flexibility and for some people that doesn’t come naturally.

I also feel that if done often, this will show quick results. I have since done this DVD three times and already notice a difference in my flexibility and strength in my back and spine.

Now for the giveaway part: To enter the drawing to win this DVD, leave a comment or send an email to lynnbering@verizon.net and let us know if you’ve ever tried Pilates before. We’ll draw a random name and announce a winner on Thursday, Feb. 25!

Let It Be…Naked

For months I’ve been saying I’m going to clean out the CD closet. We only call it the CD closet because it’s shorter than saying CD/DVD/VHS/vinyl(as in ALBUMS)/g-baby’s toys/computer bags/aerobic steps/hiking polls closet. Although it measures no more than 3 feet by 3 feet, it holds a lot of stuff. Too much stuff. Thankfully some bug crawled up my bum yesterday and made me attack and conquer the chaos.

Maybe I was channeling Henry David Thoreau (“Simplify, simplify!”). Maybe I was just tired of wanting to hear that one song by that one group and being too lazy to look for it, opting instead to give iTunes $.99 to download a song I already owned. I’m on a no-credit-card budget now and my financial life is transformed. Ergo, money is very motivating.

So yesterday I thinned the herd, downsizing our collection by a hundred or so. No more “Borat,” “Harry Potter,” the colorized version of “It’s A Wonderful Life,” Todd Rundgren or my various movie soundtracks and greatest hits of the ‘70s collections. I asked Larry to go through the closet to cull his own CDs. He gave up a few and agreed with all but two of my choices to ditch. Alas, he kept his Doors collection, Billy Joel’s “Storm Front” (seriously?), every Mahler symphony known to humankind, and his one lone Grateful Dead CD. I guess it’s only fair. I kept my Barry Manilow CDs and Abba “Gold.”

What I like the most about this process is that I have a better handle on what I own. As much as I try to not have it, I still hang on to a lot of clutter. How many boxes of old dishes live in my basement just in case one of our kids or friends’ kids need them or we buy a second home…like that’s really going to happen before the dishes we use now are replaced? Is it necessary to hang on to every towel that has lived beyond its usefulness because it might make a handy rag? How long do I hang on to that box of tofu in the back of the cupboard just in case I get a craving? Craving tofu hasn’t and will not ever happen.

Simplifying the closet clutter was also a journey of discovery. I completely forgot we had the Beatles’ “Let It Be…Naked” CD. And I got a huge kick out of finding my two Sass Jordon CDs and remembering how back in the early 1990s I wanted her feet. I still do! Check out the bling! I want toes and ankles like that. (Her voice is awesome, too. Check out “Racine” and “Rats” if you like throaty, bluesy female voices.)

I remembered, too, that in reducing physical clutter, I always reduce emotional clutter. And when I reduce emotional clutter, the things that really need my attention more readily come to the surface. I sometimes fear a clear head, though, and find comfort in hiding in the clutter. I also get caught up in the whole idea that more is better.

Take blue cheese dressing, for instance. I love blue cheese dressing. I haven’t had it in ages because its calories were always a waste of my food time. But I really, really wanted blue cheese dressing last week. I went on an Internet search and found two low-fat recipes – one very simple, one more complicated. Which one did I try first? Of course: the most complicated one. The one with the most ingredients. Why? Because more is better! I mean, it called for Dijon mustard, tarragon vinegar, this spice, that spice…yadda, yadda, yadda. It HAD to be good because it was the most complex. So I made it, tried it, and dumped it in the garbage. It had none of the flavors I cherished in blue cheese dressing. None of the original, authentic zing. None of the “This reminds me of ______” meal.

As I studied the next recipe – the one that got rave reviews, by the way – I thought, How could four ingredients – sour cream, buttermilk, blue cheese and garlic – satisfy my taste buds? Where’s the flair? Where’s the “secret” ingredient that would make this dressing a cut above the ordinary? Turns out the flair and secret were in its simplicity. I made it, tried it, loved it, ate it again today, shared (reluctantly) with Larry, and will eat it again tomorrow. Simple was fabulous.

Simple IS fabulous. Less is more.

And less means Mama might earn some new workout shoes because I threw a few of our more notable CDs on eBay. Hopefully I’ll have a little mad money at the end of next weekend. Not to mention, a clean, neat, uncomplicated closet. One I won’t lose Claire in as she searches for her crayons. One that I can go to when I want to hear THAT Beethoven concerto or watch THAT Fleetwood Mac concert or upload THAT ZZ Top song and not pay iTunes for the privilege.

Not to mention what simplifying and getting “naked” do for my head. That I can’t sell or purchase on eBay.

Lessons From A Dog and A Phone

Mathilda isn’t fancy. No pedigree. She’s old and has cysts and a limp, and she sheds mercilessly twice a year. She’s had four encounters with skunks and hates that we bathe her when she rolls in deer poop.

Mathilda can’t intellectualize pain, but when her joints are out of sorts, she doesn’t berate herself or call herself old or lament the fact that she’s not a puppy anymore. Most important, she doesn’t ignore her pain and continue to romp and play like she doesn’t hurt. She takes it easy, goes out when necessary, and let’s our other dog know she can’t play. When he nudges her, she nips to let him know she hurts and can’t play right now.

If you read my last blog, “Choosing The Baby Over The Blackberry,” you know my beloved Pearl (that's Pearl in her "bra")took a trip to the bottom of the tub when G-baby Luca went head first into G-baby Claire’s bath. Luca was fine and, surprisingly, so was Pearl after spending 24 hours drying out in a bag of rice (my genius daughter’s idea).

It wasn’t Pearl’s first encounter with H20. When Claire was 9 months old, she used Pearl as a teething ring. Pearl needed a night to dry out before she could work again. Last month, Pearl fell out of my purse and into a snow bank. It took my husband and I 15 minutes to find her, calling her number over and over to hear her ring – faintly – so we could find and rescue her.

Pearl isn’t fancy. She doesn’t have a full QWERTY keyboard, her paint’s chipping, and she’s very sensitive. Just ask the folks I’ve butt dialed. But Pearl’s like a Timex watch. She takes a licking and keeps on ticking. It just sometimes takes her a few days to get back to normal.

Unlike Mathilda, it’s often hard for me to acknowledge that I have arthritis, particularly when it interferes with how I want to pick up and hold my grandchildren. If you’ve ever had a hangover, you know what I’m talking about. You know while you’re taking back that fourth, fifth and/or sixth drink you’ll pay the price the next day, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t stop. When Claire says, “Uppie, Grammy!” I pick her up. When Luca hangs on my leg and looks up at me and smiles, I pick him up. It’s fun!

“I’ll be fine,” I tell myself, even as my shoulders and wrists moan in protest. “I’ll take a few Advil.”

But arthritis (like food) doesn’t understand ignorance. It doesn’t recognize impatience or appreciate that I want the freedom to interact with Claire and Luca on MY terms. (Or in the case of food, to eat the way I want to without consequence). Arthritis (and food) does what it does, and what it did to me this week is give me a case of tendonitis and bursitis. Doc shot the shoulder up with cortisone, told me to ice it twice a day and to lay off strength training until I see my (beloved) physical therapist next week.

You’d think after all these years, after all the times I’ve been down this road, that I’d have learned my lesson. God knows you’ve read me bitch about this subject ad nauseum. But like getting real about my weight and health when I was 300 pounds (and ALL the times I lost weight before), getting real with arthritis is taking time and a whole lot of introspection. I needed a dose of reality (and a massage and a visit to the chiropractor and several Advil) to get my head on straight again. At least until the next time.

Oh to be more like Mathilda and Pearl! Both behave within the parameters of their abilities. While on a walk, Mathilda doesn’t think, “Hey! There’s a creek and steep embankment that come hell or high water I’m going to run through and climb because I want to and to hell with the pain!” No, she lumbers along and takes in the odors near the ground and enjoys what she can without hurting herself. Pearl (despite her careless owner) shakes herself off, dries out, and goes back to functioning the best way she can given her circumstances.

I’m not old. I have arthritis. Arthritis, like weight, isn’t a personality flaw. It doesn’t reflect who I am and it isn’t something I chose to have. I suspect this reality will take even more time than I realize to completely accept and incorporate, but hey, I lost weight…I can lose the “Oh, I’m not in pain!” attitude, too.

One final photo. The weather’s been tough for many of us and it’s easy to miss the beauty that’s in the snow and cold. It’s gone now because it was above freezing today, but look what grew on the lilac bush outside my bathroom window. I like to think it’s a tropical bird – a gift from the universe to say, “Hey, sorry about all the winter blech.”

Choosing the Baby Over the Blackberry

Today’s blog was inspired by the video I took with my beloved Blackberry on Monday. Claire was taking a bath and Luca was playing on the outside of the tub. At least, he was outside the tub. Take a look.



(Before you worry, Luca was just fine. Did you catch Claire’s giggle at the very end? In less than a minute, everything was back to normal and Luca, now shirtless, was laughing, too, only this time I held on tightly to the back of his pants.)

Continuing on last blog’s theme of the New Normal, it struck me as I was taking apart my Blackberry to dry it out that over the last five years, many of things I was learning when I started to lose weight have become second nature. Just as I immediately grabbed Luca when he went head first into the tub without thought to the fate of my phone, it’s become a no-brainer to choose a salad over a Big Mac. This was not the case at the beginning. In terms of food, I often chose the Blackberry over the baby, so to speak.

When I joined Weight Watchers, I was all about my Old Favorites – mashed potatoes, Chicken McNuggets, 100-calorie packs, etc. – and how many I could fit into my daily Points allotment while still getting in the bare minimum of the recommended number of servings of fruits and veggies, dairy and protein.

If you’re familiar with the Points plan, you know that as you lose weight, your daily Points drop, but you still need the same number of fruits, veggies, etc., to be on plan. Dropping even a few Points really cut into my Old Favorites choices, but what happened, quite serendipitously, was that I adopted new favorites that incorporated the healthy food guidelines. While I still have a few Old Favorites, they aren’t mainstays in my New Normal. They’re more like visitors.

This is Claire’s friend Robot. Her mother cut out the design to Claire’s specifications and Claire painted him and gave him his face. Not bad for a 2-year-old, eh? Anyway, Robot is on her wall next to her bed and keeps the monsters out of Claire’s room. On Monday she made another Robot to hang on the wall next to her bed in Larry’s office. Robot makes her feel safe.

My New Normal is like Claire’s Robot. It wards off scary foods and keeps me safe from bad choices. Sure, I’ve fallen into that proverbial tub a time or two in the last five years, and I’ll no doubt make a few more trips head first into a cheesecake or some such, but my New Normal helps me prioritize and make (mostly) healthy split-second decisions, choosing the baby, so to speak, over the Blackberry because I finally love and care about my body more than any food or excuse.

The New Normal

Sending out a big hello and thank you to Marsha over at A Weight Lifted who posted my interview last Friday! (See “Keeping Lost Weight Off: 168 Pounds for Three Years.”

I can’t believe it’s been nearly three years since I reached goal. I remember the days when I’d hit some weight goal and think, “Yay! I can eat again!” and proceed to reward my success with food. Then when the scale started creeping up, I’d get all pissed at myself and think I was not normal because if I was normal I could eat normal foods, right? And in whatever quantity, right? I’d like to say this only happened once, that I learned my lesson quickly. But heck no. I thought this way YEARS.

That’s why BEFORE I lost weight this last time (and it is my last time), I had to figure out why I kept dancing up and down the damn scale. What I learned (and honestly, this made me sad at first) was that everything I thought of as “normal” – from the food I ate, both in types and quantities, to my views on exercise (like George Carlin said, “No pain? No pain!) – had to change. I had to adopt a “new normal” if I was going to A) successfully lose weight, and B) keep it off for good. Whatever I’d done in the past had to be scrutinized under a microscope. Old ideas were tossed out the window and new ideas were embraced and implemented. And when I got to goal, my “new normal” – in terms of food and exercise – was for the most part in place, although a few demons still lingered (Teddy Grahams cravings, anyone?).

One thing I hadn’t considered until I got close to goal was how I’d feel about my reduced body. When I weighed 138 pounds in 1991, the only loose skin I had was in my lower belly, and I’d proudly earned that through two pregnancies. My legs were smooth, my boobs were perky, my arms were taut. As I approached goal in 2007, it was apparent things had changed in 16 years. My ass was droopy, my upper arm skin kept flapping after I stopped moving, and when I put on a cute lacy bra, my armpits spilled over the sides. Armpit skin? Seriously?

And so began my sub-journey of body acceptance, one that continues three years later. What I’m beginning to suspect is that, like food and exercise, I will forever need to be vigilant in order to stop that negative voice from getting too much air time in my head.

I wanted to open up a question to you for your insights about body image, perfection and self-sabotage. It stems from a comment left on my last post, "Lady In Red, Do You Know Your Numbers?" Blogger An Invisible Girl left this comment:

“I just found your blog by clicking through from someone who follows mine. I read the flabby skin entry (“Closer to Accepting the ‘Flabby Bits’”), and it brought tears to my eyes. I’ve been at goal now for more than 3 years after losing a little more than 100 pounds. Some days I can see the flaps as badges of honor, but mostly they just disgust me.

“I often wonder if that is what keeps me in the constant yo-yo state of losing and gaining the same 10 pounds...after all I can’t ever gain perfection since I have that ‘schtuff’ hanging around. I know all too well that perfection is a myth, and I have times of acceptance and peace. Mostly though, I live in a constant state of thinking I should lose another 10 pounds, and I can’t help but wonder how many ‘last 10 pounds’ can/should there be?

“Do you ever struggle with that?”

I struggled with this more a few years ago than I do now, mostly because I’ve learned to appreciate what my body can do more than what it looks like. I find that challenging my thighs to pump the bike pedals harder or my arms to lift just a few more pounds is more emotionally healthy than staring at and hating my wrinkly inner thighs and papery stretch marks that align my triceps.

I know several people who’ve opted for plastic surgery and people for whom excess skin caused medical conditions that needed to be addressed surgically. Even after surgery, they’ve all told me that the inner voice that tells them their not good enough often haunts them and that self-acceptance must come from the inside out.

It’s taken me years of therapy, meditation, journaling and many MANY talks/emails/group discussions with friends to be who I am now – a person who most of the time is OK with her body, but who realizes there will always be some flabby bit that gets the best of her in a dressing room. And when that happens, I rely on my new normal. It’s an oldie, but I love this slogan: “If hunger isn’t the problem, food isn’t the solution.” Write it out, talk it out, or exercise it out. Somehow we all need to find a new way to get through our flabby bits.

So…how do you gain self-acceptance? How do you or plan to feel good in your skin?

Lady In Red, Do You Know Your Numbers?

175, 106, 63, 77, 110/70, 22

These aren’t lottery numbers. They’re my heart health numbers: overall cholesteral, LDL (“bad” cholesteral), HDL (“happy” cholesteral), triglyderides, systolic and diostolic blood pressure, and BMI.

Today is Blog Your Heart Out Day and I’m doing my part by asking you: Do you know your heart health numbers, too?

I used to be afraid of my numbers. All my numbers. Scared. To. Death. Thought if I just ignored them, they weren’t real. Even though my doctor would discuss them with me during my six-month checkups, blood pressure was the only thing I took quasi seriously about my health. I’ve had high blood pressure since I was 22 – regardless of my scale number – and before that with each of my pregnancies. I take two medications daily to keep my numbers normal.

Finally, in 2005, with my scale number at 300, glucose levels above 100, my triglycerides above 280, cholesteral at 280, and the memory of my father fighting for his life after suffering a second heart attack at age 58, I took off my blinders and started the long (and permanent) journey to heart health.

Heart disease has long been thought of as a man’s disease, but it is the #1 killer of women. Knowing your numbers is the first step in understanding your risk for heart disease. To learn more, go to Go Red For Women. I joined the site and found a ton of great info about heart health. If you’re on Facebook, become a fan by clicking Go Red For Women Fan Page.

Don’t be afraid of your numbers. What you don’t know can kill you. For me, once I embraced them, I was no longer afraid. Why? Because I realized I had the power to change them and control them. They no longer controlled me.

My Refuse To Regain blogging partner, Dr. Barbara Berkeley, has written a blog today, too, about her family’s experience with heart disease. See “Triumph of the Heart.”

None Of Us Is Exempt From Mercy. No, Not Even You.

In last weekend’s blog, I challenged you to ask yourself every morning, “How will I be loving and compassionate to myself today?” I really believe it helps set the tone for the day. But if you’re like me, when something unexpected arises – something unpleasant that I caused or is hurting me in some way – my usual initial reaction is to either blame myself or to get defensive and say (or at least think) negative things about that or whomever is hurting me. (One of my less endearing qualities is that I swear like a sailor sometimes.)

However, practicing mindfulness over the last several years has helped lessen the time between the initial hurt/pain/self-deprecation and forgiveness/resolution/peace. Mindfulness and – I realized last night – my grandchildren.

I started reading “Eye Of My Heart: 27 Writers Reveal the Hidden Pleasures and Perils of Being A Grandmother.” The introduction by Mary Pipher (who’s book “Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls” was one of the best reads of the 1990s) drew me in immediately, especially this part:

“As I offer my grandchildren total acceptance, I have extended more compassion toward myself. When I make a mistake or a bad choice, I have learned to ask, ‘How would I respond if Kate or A.B. did this? Would I be angry at Claire if she were out of sorts the way I am now?’”

She described an incident in which she tossed what she thought was an empty can of V-8 into the recycling bin, only it wasn’t empty and juice sprayed all over the room. Her initial response was to call herself “careless and clumsy.” Then, she said, she “resolved to treat myself as kindly as I do my grandchildren. As I cleaned up the mess, I reminded myself that everyone makes mistakes. I asked, ‘Why should I be exempt from mercy?’”

That got me thinking about the conditions I put on mercy. If my own granddaughter Claire spilled V-8 juice, I would never think to call her careless or clumsy. But when my knee buckled on me as I walked down the steps yesterday, I cursed myself for having bad knees, like somehow I had asked for or deserved a bad knee.

As part of my practice, I listen to dharma talks offered through the Insight Meditation Center of Redwood City, California. Recently I’ve been listening to talks about and practicing the Brahma Viharas or loving kindness meditation. (You can find them on iTunes or go directly to the Insight Meditation Center site online and download or play any number of dharma talks or guided meditations.)

I didn’t realized just how little mercy I afforded myself until I starting practicing this type of meditation. And practicing it hasn’t meant that all of a sudden I’m filled with self-compassion. Hardly. When I started examining my knee jerk reactions, I often felt worse than before. I beat myself up for beating myself up! How crazy is that?

Can you think of one good reason why you should be exempt from mercy? Should our weight, excess arm skin, sagging butts, cankles, zits, or thinning hair create a barrier to self-kindness?

I still flinch at certain body parts, wonder what I did “wrong” when the scale is up. However, over time it’s become easier to recognize when I’m being self-defeating, and my reactions to my imperfections aren’t as white hot as before.

Still, it’s an ongoing process. I will no doubt spill many more bottles of V-8 and call myself stupid before I get the hang of this whole concept of mercy.
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Following up on yesterday’s blog on childhood obesity, I wanted to let you know that The Diane Rehm Show on NPR will spend the 10 a.m. hour tomorrow (Feb. 11) discussing childhood obesity and Michelle Obama’s initiative. You can download a podcast of the show via iTunes or through the show’s website.


I really appreciated your insights and comments. There’s really no way around good nutrition and exercise to combat childhood obesity. Facilitating it in the home is not always easy, and barriers such as poverty, lack of physical education in schools, and even the lack of sidewalks in neighborhoods make the task of solving the issue even more difficult. This will be an interesting subject to follow over the next few years.

"Chubby" Aside, How Do We Tackle Childhood Obesity?

Prime Minister: You know Natalie who works here?
Annie: The chubby girl?
Prime Minister: Ooh, would we call her chubby?
Annie: I think there’s a pretty sizeable arse there, yes, sir. Huge thighs.
            From “Love Actually”

I’m opening the windows, airing out the blog, and writing about something other than doom, gloom and sickness. You were awesome with the advice and thank you so much for your well wishes. The body is back and I’m movin’ on. But I’m still looking for your feedback. This time on childhood obesity.

Michelle Obama, who has launched an initiative to fight childhood obesity, came under fire from eating disorder groups last week when she said she’d put her daughters on a diet because their doctor and their father thought they were getting “chubby.” (Here’s a link to the Huffington Post’s “Michelle Obama’s Childhood Obesity Controversy”)

Chubby. Ouch. Not a fan of that word, particularly when it pertains to children. I’m sure Mrs. Obama didn’t mean it to hurt her children, but having been called “chubby” (and its numerous synonyms) more than a few times in my life, I know it can hurt no matter what the intention of the speaker is. While I didn’t develop an eating disorders, “chubby” did create a whole lot of self-doubt, some of which is still alive and well today. Seems to me there must be a better way to discuss weight concerns with children without using “chubby.” I also have a problem with putting kids on a “diet” per se. But I digress.

Name-calling is never a motivator, obviously, so what is the solution to childhood obesity? I saw this on Yahoo today and wanted to know, particularly if you’re a parent, if you believe these findings seem valid: 3 Home Habits Help Youngsters Stay Thin.

The study showed that 4-year-olds who ate with their families at least five nights a week, got at least 10.5 hours of sleep each night, and watched less than 2 hours of television or DVDs a day were 40 percent less likely to become obese. To me, that sounds reasonable, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had little ones in the house. My children are 25 and almost 27. When I was a young mom, there were fewer demands on my time and personal space, and fewer options. My children played only a few sports, television options were limited, fast and convenient foods weren’t as prevalent, computers weren’t mainstays in anyone’s home, and video games were only found in an arcade, unless you had Atari, which I couldn’t afford.

Times have changed and so have obesity levels. And while I’m disappointed in the first lady’s choice of words, I hope it won’t take the spotlight off the problem of childhood obesity. Being so many years removed from parenting young children, I’m really not in tune with the demands of the 21st century family and won’t presume that the answers are as simple as eating together, getting adequate sleep and limiting television, or if they are, that they are easy to implement.

That’s why I’d like your feedback. What do you think the solutions are to childhood obesity and have you implemented changes into your family life?

Caution: Whining Inside (But Your Advice Is Welcomed)

You’ve heard of the book “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies,” right?

For today, I’m renaming my blog Lynn’s Weigh and Zombies. I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck, only I can’t put my finger on why. Ever think you might have a virus, only it’s not manifesting in the usual places? I’m so dang tired I can hardly keep my head up and my arms feel like they’re going to fall off, even though I haven’t exercised in two days. I’m dizzy and feel like I’m walking sideways, but my head doesn’t hurt. My nose is only running a little, but my eyes won’t stop watering. What gives?

My biggest clue that something’s up is I still don’t have my appetite back after Saturday’s stomach bug. Eat? Food? Eh. Not so much.

I put on my workout clothes first thing hoping they’d give me some motivation. So far, they’re just barely keeping me warm.

The sun is shining, but another winter storm is lurking; ergo, I need to get to the grocery store before the big rush of afternoon shoppers desperate for white bread, milk and eggs (snowstorm staples for some reason). Personally, I’m out of Greek yogurt and I’m not sure I can survive 6-12 inches of snow without it.

So what do you do when you feel like crapola? Do you get on the old treadmill anyway? Muscle your way through strength training? I’ve not exercised in two days and part of me thinks it might perk me up. Maybe I’ll give it a try, keeping in mind that something is better than nothing and I can always back off. Hmmm… Just typing that and rereading it makes me feel a little better.

But I still want to know (and believe me, I Googled it and came up with nothing), is it possible for a cold-type virus to settle in non-typical places, like joints? Any thoughts or personal experience in that area? TIA! You guys are the best!

He's A Keeper. I'm A Keeper. Wouldn't You Like To Be A Keeper, Too?

Love is…my husband, who moved my weight bench to the living room and brought down my favorite chair from the upstairs bedroom and set it up in my exercise room because it’s the brightest room in the house and because I’m sick with a stomach bug, fever and headache and can’t stand the thought of sitting in a dark living room because I’ve had it up to my neck with Seasonal Affective Disorder and because the exercise room is closer to the bathroom. Oh, and he shoveled a path covered with nearly a foot of snow to get to the car to dig it out to go to the store to buy me Vitamin Water and Canada Dry Ginger Ale.


He’s a keeper.

I’ve been ruminating this week on a quote by Rowan Williams, the 104th Archbishop of Canterbury.

“Being human,” he wrote, “is learning how to ask critical questions of your habits and compulsions, and it’s learning how to adjust them against a model of human behavior and idealized truth about the purpose of our humanity.”

So what is the model of human behavior and purpose of our humanity? And what is the best space in which to ask critical questions about our habits and compulsions? In my experience – at least in terms of what I’ve learned these last five years of weight loss and maintenance – it’s to always try to act from a place of compassion and love.

It takes self love and compassion just to ask the question, “What are my habits and compulsions?” and even more self love and compassion to adjust your answers to reflect that love and compassion.

Take my thighs (please…yuck, yuck, yuck). But seriously, it used to be that when I’d look at my thighs, my habit was to say, “Gross! Look at the dimples and loose skin! I can’t wear shorts!” By implementing a bit of compassion and love, I now (usually) see how strong they are. They get me from point A to point B without much complaint. I take care of them, they take care of me, and the dimples and skin are part of the scenery.

Like Robert Frost’s road less traveled, viewing my body through the lens of compassion and love has made all the difference. It was the gateway for finding the commitment to lose weight and it’s the guiding force that keeps my commitment strong in maintenance.

But you know and I know commitment is not easy. Whether it’s weight loss, marriage, career, or even writing a blog, commitment takes nothing less than everything we’ve got and we can use all the positive tools we can find to remember our goals.

I’ve said before how when I contemplate eating something I’m not sure about I ask, “How will I feel five minutes after eating this?” Just contemplating the question gives me space in which to think about my choice rather than mindlessly shoving something in my mouth. Lately I’ve expanded that question to include compassion and love, and I ask it in broader circumstances.

This might seem corny or uncomfortable at first, but ask yourself every morning, “How will I treat myself with compassion and love today?” When you are confronted with a choice of food or something else that’s not part of your plan for the day, ask yourself, “Would eating/doing this be an act of personal love and compassion?” Sometimes the answer will be yes and sometimes the answer will be no, but it’s the act of asking and contemplating that will bring your original intentions – whether that’s to lose weight or any other goal you’ve set for yourself – back to the forefront. Your ultimate choice might not always be compassionate (self sabotage is one of my unhealthy patterns), but I really believe that the more we confront them, the less power our habits and compulsions will have.

I had plans today, and being sick wasn’t one of them. But instead of sitting around in the less-bright living room and adding to my own suffering by wishing things weren’t what they are, I asked Larry to bring down my chair so I could be in the room that’s brightest. I took care of me and in turn, he took care of me. Love and compassion.

I’m a keeper. You’re a keeper.

And now I must get my face out of this computer and take a nap.

By the way, do you remember that Dr. Pepper commercial to which the title eludes? When the heck did that come out? My memory isn't what it used to be.

Should I Stay Or Should I Go? It's Best She Went.

Warning: This blog contains the words “throw” and “up” several times together in the same sentence. It’s not too awful graphic, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
11 a.m.: Claire arrived for a sleepover. As I watched her, I was aware just how much she emulates the behaviors the adults in her life model in her presence. Claire loves to “exercise,” just like her mom and me. She also loves healthy food: cherry tomatoes, grapes, oranges, and oatmeal, to name a few. Also, like her mom and me, Claire loves chocolate chip pancakes. She ordered them for breakfast this morning and Grammy had a bite, too. With syrup. No problem.

When we got home, she proceeded to rearrange my workout room/office, as she always does.

“Help me exercise, Grammy,” she said as she picked up my 2-pound weights (notice the footwear). I picked up two 4-pound weights and she led the instruction.

“Up, down, up, down,” she said, moving the weights over her head.

Fifteen seconds later: “I all done.”

Claire moved on to the elliptical. She can’t move the pedals in a full circle, but she can lean on the front bar enough to give her the momentum to move the pedals back and forth. “I exercise, Grammy,” she says.

Then she moved on to the Thera-Band. She handed me the blue band and she held the green band.

“Pull!” she instructed me. We pulled and pulled and then I let go. Snap! She was startled and then laughed. She let go of her band and snap! This put her in hysterics.

Claire was thirsty, so I brought her some milk. She drank from the straw at a weird angle and when no milk came up she said, “Fix my milk, Grammy.” I did and she said, “Thank you, Grammy.”

The kid is awfully polite.

It took me an hour to eat my soup because, as you know, whenever a 2-year-old is present, time goes so s-l-l-o-o-w-w-w-l-l-y. They see everything, say everything, and need to know everything. From a busy adult’s perspective, this could be hell or, in my case, a vacation. Claire always puts my life in perspective.

12 p.m.: Claire was a little hungry. I gave her a few Goldfish and “Hot Dog” apples (freeze-dried strawberry and banana bits – not apples – in a package with Goofy and Mickey Mouse on the front. She calls everything related to Mickey Mouse “hot dog” because of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme song – “Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggety dog…”).

Claire crawled on my lap. She seemed a bit lethargic. I knew she was tired, so I said, “Let’s go take a nap.” She went potty, washed her hands and asked for some lotion to put on her owie (a miniscule scratch on her thigh). I put a Pull-Up on her and we headed upstairs.

1:18: Claire and I laid in bed and I closed my eyes (modeling sleeping, right?). She sang quietly the song “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” with a little “Jingle Bells” thrown in. I tried not to laugh. She looked at me once in awhile and said, “Shhhh, Grammy s’eepin’.” If only she’d sleep, I kept thinking.

2:08: “I want Mommy!” This hasn’t happened before so I assumed she was homesick. I called Cassie and we decided it was best I take her home. I hung up the phone and told Claire that she was going home to see Mommy.

“No!! I stay at Grammy’s green house!” she said and climbed on to a dining room table chair and said, “Doggies!” which meant she wanted macaroni and cheese.

Well okey dokey.

I called Cassie and told her the trip was off and that Claire wanted to stay. Cassie said if I ever figured out the mind of a 2-year-old, I’d make millions.

3 p.m. After lunch I let Claire watch a little Wow Wow Wubbzy. Soon after I put it on, she ran up to me and said, “I cold, Grammy! Warm me up!” So I grabbed her blankie and wrapped her up. She was content.

3:30 p.m. Papa Larry came home and we took the doggies (real dogs, not macaroni and cheese) for a walk. When we got home, I put Claire in the bathtub.

4:15 p.m. Instead of her usual bathtub exuberance, Claire laid in the water and poked at the bubbles. Something wasn’t right. I called Cassie and told her I didn’t think Claire felt well. We agreed she should go home and decided to meet halfway at our usual gas station. I got Claire out of the tub and put her in her pajamas. Papa heated up the car and we put her in her car seat. She was sound asleep two minutes later.

5:30 I arrived at the gas station. Cassie looked like death warmed over. She said she had to pull over to throw up on her way to meet me. She transferred Claire and we parted ways. Thirty minutes later, my phone rang.

“Mommy, Claire just threw up over everything!” cried Cassie.

Ugh.

9 p.m. Sickness, sickness everywhere. I know there will be many more sleepovers to come, but right now I really miss Claire and feel so badly that she and her mom and brother (yes, Luca has it, too) are so sick. I hope I don’t get it, but if I do and as I worship the porcelain god, I’ll think about happy Claire eating “hot dog apples” on my elliptical earlier today.

The Blogger’s Blues

While I did an intense 70-minute workout, backed up my computer files, and vacuumed the first floor this morning, I’m crowing myself Most Unproductive Slug Of The Day.

I’m not hungry, but I want to eat. The dishes are a monstrous pile of sticky smoothie cups, gunky condiment plates, lip-balm smeared cups and mugs, and leftovers-encrusted storage containers. I don’t want to chop veggies for the soup I’m making for dinner; I just want them to magically chop themselves. When I finally showered at 2:00, instead of drying my hair, I let it go curly. I’m wearing a flannel shirt, sweat pants and slippers. I can’t get warm, but I’m not sick.

Believe it or not, I’m in a fine mood! I just don’t know what the heck to write in this blog! What do you do to combat Bloggers Block?

I’ve looked through every blog I’ve written here and on Zen Bag Lady, hoping for some inspiration, but have found none. I did, however, find something I wrote in May 2008 that made me tear up. Do you guys ever cry when you read something you’ve written? Anyway, I decided to share it here for no other reason than it’s a nice distraction from all things weight related. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. I don’t have anything to write about weight right now. Writing, as you know, is a fickle imp. I’ll be back on track in a day or two, I’m sure.

In the meantime, here’s what I’d like to share with you:

(Written in May 2008, when Claire was 7 months old)

Some moments can only be preserved in words and memory. Photography can’t do them justice.

This afternoon, I heard Claire fussing just 25 minutes into her nap. I was in the guest room writing, but I knew my daughter Carlene would tend to her. An hour later, I checked to see where everyone was and I found Carlene asleep in the rocking chair in Claire’s nursery as Claire lay asleep in her arms, wrapped in her fuzzy green blanket and her head resting in the crook of Carlene’s left arm. It was a perfectly awesome moment of peace and stillness, but most of all, love.

Carlene and Claire in Dec. 2007

When I write about Claire, I often mention her mother (my daughter Cassie) or her father (my son-in-law Matt), but Aunt Carlene is probably the third most important person in Claire’s life. It’s been interesting watching my oldest daughter interact with her niece these last 7 months. I’ve not witnessed her interact with anyone the same way before. Carlene is not one for public displays of affection, but she puts seasoned baby-talkers, neck-kissers and peek-a-booers like me to shame when Claire’s around.

Carlene’s not as gushy with her love as Cassie and me. She’s not stoic, but she’s a lot like her father, even though he died when she was a baby.

One way you can really tell Carlene loves her niece is her tolerance of Claire’s bodily functions. Carlene detests puke, snot, pee and poop. When she was little and had the stomach flu, she willed herself not to throw up. She also refused to cough a good hard get-up-the-phlegm cough when she had a cold. I’d beg her to cough and she’d simply say no. And getting her potty trained, well, that’s a whole other story and one I’ll never tell because she’d never speak to me again.

Carlene is more than I ever deserved, and watching her today with her niece in her arms, so soft and tender, I thanked God I did something in my life to warrant such a moment as that.

With my apologies to the Apostle Paul, I’ve rewritten his famous passage on love from his first letter to the Corinthians because, to me, Carlene is the embodiment of what he describes love to be.

“Carlene is patient. Carlene is kind. She (usually) does not envy and she almost never boasts. Carlene is proud in the right way. She’s not rude (except maybe on a really bad PMS day, but she always apologizes). She is not self-seeking, it takes a lot to get her angry, and she’s never thrown something I’ve done wrong back in my face. Carlene does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. Carlene always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Carlene’s love never fails."