The Military Diet--Day 3 and Summation

Day 4

Official weigh-in: 133.4 pounds

Official weight loss: 3-1/2 pounds

--After the first day, I didn't lose any more weight, which was very discouraging. Last night, which was Day 3, I had eaten the entire day's allotment by 4:30 pm. Sorry, but 1100 calories just isn't enough food for a whole day. I don't know about you, but unless I was comatose, I couldn't do it. And it didn't help that I had a retirement dinner to go to, and was absolutely famished when I got there.

--I had a plan and am pretty proud of myself for sticking to it, even though there was temptation all around me. I ate only 1 mozarella stick (there were plates of appetizers, and believe me, I was so hungry it wasn't easy to resist). I ordered a glass of cabernet sauvignon and iced water (which I drank all of) and ordered salmon and asparagus. I had a second glass of wine and only took 2 bites of the au gratin potatoes that came with it. I weighed the same this morning as I did after the Day 1. At least I didn't gain!! I said no to dessert. 

Summation

--One of the things I forgot to mention is that coffee is allowed on this diet, a LOT of coffee!! Which I love anyways, so that's fine, and I substituted sugar-free vanilla syrup in place of CoffeeMate. 

--I think overall it taught me a lot about myself and my eating patterns; first of all, I thought I knew what to eat! Realizing I ate more apples, bananas, and ice cream in the last three days than I've eaten in 10 years taught me that number one, I really don't understand nutrition and number 2, I don't need to feel bad about wanting ice cream once in a while and should actually eat it!! I have a lot of myths about certain foods that are just plain incorrect. 

--I also learned that I DO have willpower, and that given a script, I'm excellent at following it. I loved the challenge. I learned that I do tend to overeat, even on "healthy" food, and I don't think I've been getting enough of the right types of nutrition, CLEARLY, if I haven't had an apple or banana in 10 years. Who eats an apple and a hard-boiled egg for dinner?? People DO. People who eat for their health and not their emotions, THAT'S who. 

--I also learned that since my parents didn't have any money growing up, eating out was something we just never did, unless it was McDonald's. Now I gave up fast food about 10 years ago, and red meat over 5 years ago, but I still somehow have a Pavlovian response to eating out. I do love french fries and anything salty-crunchy-greasy and we do eat out a lot, and I realized that to me, that's my reward. FOOD. And I saw on Facebook one day, someone posted a quote that said, "Don't reward yourself with food. You're not a dog", and I thought about that a long time these last three days I was "depriving" myself. And I use the word "deprivation" because isn't that how we always feel when we are on a "diet"??? You can have this but not that. 

--My husband tells me, "Lauren, just run 10 miles a day. Then you can eat whatever you want." Well, I like to run, but I don't even know if I CAN run 10 miles a day. I think he must've said it in jest, because the truth is, it's impossible to do (for me, maybe for YOU). So, what can I do to keep myself from gaining weight? How can I lose that last stubborn 5 pounds???

--I can continue to exercise and log my food intake on my FitBit profile. That is the best way to face head-on what really goes in my mouth. 

--It's not about deprivation, it's thinking about my body as a machine that needs the right kind of fuel to operate at maximum efficiency. I CAN have ice cream, and I CAN have apples for breakfast and feel good.I

--I feel cleansed. I feel spiritual today as I embark on eating "normally", which for me has taken on a different tone. I fully plan on continuing to add apples and bananas and cottage cheese to my daily eating plan (note: I wanted to say "diet" but that implies deprivation). I have not felt bloated, which is a truly wonderful feeling. I look better in my clothes just losing that 4-1/2 pounds (I lost a pound the day before I started the 3-day diet). And that maybe it's not about actual poundage--what the scales says--but how I look in my clothes and feel when I look in the mirror. I look pretty damn good at 133.4, and yeah, I know I'll look even better if and when I can lose the next five pounds. 

--I plan on implementing the Day1 of the Military Diet, and possibly adding Day 2 on a weekly basis. It feels so good eating clean, that the idea of going and eating bar food really doesn't appeal to me. And if I can do this on a weekly basis, it's likely the pounds won't sneak up on me during the holidays. It's a way for me to have my fun and dial it back. It was actually not that hard at all (Day 1) and I actually think it will be fun and challenging to do it on a regular basis.

--I also learned that I could never be a supermodel if this is what it takes to be super-thin!! I love food and I just think good food and eating is sexy and a wonderful part of life. In my desperate desire to look a certain way, it was a real wake-up call that if that's what I have to do to look the way I want to look, it's just not worth it. I will continue to focus on transforming my body through weightlifting and exercise and really try to remember that my body wants and needs more fruit and veggies and that the reward isn't french fries or a slim waistline. It's hopefully building a strong immune system so I'm healthy for my kids and my family and have a happier life. That all sounds so cliche but I've never tried any kind of crash diet before. And honestly, I don't judge others the harsh way I judge myself, and I'm sure not even my husband would notice an extra 5 pounds, so why does it matter so much to me? My friend and personal trainer Mike firmly believes and tells his female clients that we shoudn't even be weighing ourselves daily the way we do; that we put way too much emphasis on a number we think we should be.  Rather, shouldn't we have an honest assessment of how we feel and look in our clothes as our guide? Thank you Mike, I will try to keep that in mind.

--Will I ever do the 3 day Military Diet again? No. The third day was ridiculously low in calories, and unsustainable. They need to realize some of us have 18 hour days and 1100 calories isn't enough. I was so weak and dizzy from lack of food, and it would've been helpful to have had suggestions for healthy snacks. I understand the whole concept is a crash diet to lose as much weight as possible in the shortest amount of time possible, but really, starvation only leads to bingeing, and I know I for one do NOT want to resort to that.

--If you give the Military Diet a try, PLEASE comment here and let me know how it goes for you! I specifically want to know these five things:

1. What is your current weight?

2. How much do you want to lose overall? (not just in the 3 days)

3. What is your target weight goal?

4. How much did you lose on the 3-Day Military Diet?

5. How did you feel?

--Thank you for reading and I would love to hear from you!

I Survived (and lost weight) on the "Military Diet"!

I have been pretty fortunate in my life that I've never really had a weight problem. I've always been super active and could pretty much eat whatever I wanted. I've never been "skinny", but more, "just right". Fast forward to middle-age, where a person's metabolism slows 10% a decade, not to mention living in Wisconsin now. It's a drinking culture as well as we are cursed with 6-7 months of either bitter cold, rain, or some other type of crappy weather that keeps California girls like  me hiding indoors. I found myself having gained 16 pounds since we moved here 5 years ago, and it was starting to freak me out. 

I DO love to exercise, and still play lots of tennis, I box, I lift weights, but to be honest, I'm inconsistent, just like I am with eating healthy. I used to tell people (and myself) that I lived by the "80/20" rule: that if I ate healthy 80% of the time, the other 20% wouldn't matter. I had to get real, and realize my diet has become more like, "20/80". YIKES, hence the added poundage.

I heard about the "Military Diet" (from here on out will be referred to as "MD) from my hairdresser last week. She's 22 and gorgeous and clearly (in my opinion) didn't need to lose an ounce but she did the MD and got down to 119. That is close to my goal weight, so I listened to her and immediately Googled it to get more information. At first glance, I was horrified. "Tuna and a half a banana for dinner"? Ewwww. I haven't eaten a banana in years. And get a load of this though, you get ice cream every night! WHAT KIND OF A DIET ALLOWS YOU TO EAT ICE CREAM???!!! That's another food I gave up 10 years ago because, well, ice cream is very calorically expensive.

I Googled "The Military Diet" and read actual testimony from women all over the world who'd tried it and their results. I wanted some sort of guarantee that putting myself through this would be worth it. I had a feeling I'd be a bit grumpy being so starved, and wanted a head's up.

I made the choice to do the MD this week while my husband was out of town for work, so I wouldn't be tempted to eat out or drink, and he wouldn't have to watch my wacky food intake. I went to the grocery store on Monday, diet in hand on my cell phone, and bought everything I would need to get me through the following three days. I was pumped up and ready for the challenge. Could this diet really work?? Could I really lose up to 10 pounds in three days???

I decided to chronicle my short journey here, wondering and hoping if any of you reading this have tried it and what your experience was like. I'm on day 3 as I write this, so I'll update it tomorrow after my morning weigh-in.

Enjoy!

Day One

Official weigh-in: 136.6 pounds. 

--I got very dizzy around noon. I was sooooo hungry.  I was in the mall and very disoriented. I became panicky and stopped right in the middle of shopping at Victoria's Secret and drove straight home to eat and follow the Diet. I had not exercised in the morning, but had a tennis drill from 6:30-7:30 and since I'd eaten lunch at 1:00 pm (which wasn't much food), I was very concerned about passing out during tennis.  I ate the whole banana (I was supposed to only eat 1/2) an hour before tennis. I became dizzy again as I was putting my racquet away and hurried home to eat dinner.  I ate the apple while my chicken cooked. I cut it up and sprinkled cinnamon on it. It was the first apple I think I've eaten in years and it was pretty tasty! The Diet doesn't tell you how to prepare the chicken or green beans, and I was starving, so I cheated and used a tablespoon of organic coconut oil in each pan.  (I also had cheated at lunch time by putting 2 tablespoons of Veganaise (a vegan mayo) mixed in with the tuna).

--The chicken and green beans were awesome, and I felt pretty satiated. I let the dinner digest for a couple hours and saved up the ice cream for a bedtime snack. I never allow myself to eat ice cream, and this felt like a huge pat on the back for my efforts all day. I found that except for the dizziness, I wasn't grouchy or irritable at all. I was determined to see this thing play out.

Day Two

Official weigh-in: 133.2 pounds

--I had lost nearly 3-1/2 pounds overnight!! I was so excited and pumped for Day Two. I felt very motivated, but I was ravenous. I woke up extremely hungry, and I was concerned because I had a huge day of exercise ahead of me: 45 minutes of boxing and an hour of weightlifting and that was just the morning: I also play an evening tennis league and had that as well. I was worried I'd pass out.

--I got through the boxing and weightlifting just fine!!! I never felt hungry or dizzy. I think it was the banana that had done the trick, and I made a mental note to possibly start eating bananas before workouts in the future.

--Lunch was a full cup of cottage cheese, and I haven't eaten cottage cheese either in a decade. I like it well enough, just again, it's dairy and high in sodium so it's not a food I readily eat. And the few times I have eaten it, I've mixed in canned pears or pineapple, and so, just plain cottage cheese was hard to eat all of it. I was getting full!! I was also to eat a hard boiled egg with it, and the two just really didn't have a party in my mouth. The Diet allows substitutions, so I had bought popcorn rice cakes in place of the saltines, and they satisfied by cravings for salty/crunchy better than I think 5 stupid crackers would have. The caloric exchange was exact.

--Okay, time for tennis. I was starving by 4 pm, and tennis didn't start until 6:30 and goes for 90 minutes, so I ate my dinner apple (again, sprinkling it with cinnamon). I was STILL hungry, so I cheated and ate 2 rice cakes (for an extra 70 calories). I got through tennis just fine, but I began to notice that to lose weight, I am going to have to eat less on a regular basis and have this constant feeling of being hungry. I didn't like it!!!

--While I was cooking my dinner, my daughter came up to me and said she noticed how much thinner I looked! "Especially around your tummy and waist Mom!" she said. Yay!!! That was all I needed to hear!!

--Dinner was 2 hotdogs, but since I had chosen turkey dogs, it left me with a bonus of 170 calories!! I at everything according to plan, steaming everything, EXCEPT I replaced part of my 170 calorie surplus with 1/4 cup of shredded cheddar cheese all melty on my veggies. It was scrumptious!!!! I thoroughly enjoyed my bedtime snack of vanilla ice cream (with a tablespoon of Hershey's chocolate syrup on it) and ended the day 675 calories under plan due to my 3-1/2 hours of exercise! 

Day Three

Official weigh-in: 133.4

Up 2 ounces

--Weighing more this morning really bummed me out. I felt defeated and frustrated, as I had not eaten enough calories and should've lost more weight. Three and a half hours of exercise and a defiency of 675 calories and still I gained. That doesn't make any sense!! And today I've got a retirement dinner to go to and I don't want to eat or drink anything. SIGH.

I am determined to carry it out though.

--I can't remember the last time I ever ate an apple for breakfast. It was odd but again, I cut it up and sprinkled cinnamon on it. I substituted 2 rice cakes again for the saltines, and even with the ounce of cheese, I was still hungry. It's going to be a long day.

--I didn't exercise today because I thought I was driving to go see my son in Madison, which ended up getting rescheduled to tomorrow because our water heater broke and the repair guy was here for over 2 hours. I had showered and gotten ready only to sit around. It's a good thing I didn't go to the gym because I was SO hungry by noon I was dizzy again and confused. I was out running errands and raced home to eat my egg. I decided to save the toast to eat with the tuna (my dinner). My stomach literally hurt I was so hungry, so I cheated and had 2 rice cakes with the egg (70 additional calories).

--At this point, I've only eaten 390 calories, and all I can think about it that fucking tuna and toast. I was good and didn't mix in Veganaise this time, and spread the tuna on the toast and just sprinkled salt-free seasoning on it. I tasted terrible and way too fishy without the mayo. I shared some of it with my cat, who didn't mind it at all :)

--So, all I have left is a half a banana and my 1/2 cup of ice cream, and it's only 4:35 pm. There's no way that's going to be enough food. 1100 calories is way too low. According to my fitbit, I've burned 1252 so if I eat more than that, I won't weigh any less tomorrow morning, which will kill me. And I still have the retirement dinner to go to, and I don't want to show up ravenous, which is how I feel. Maybe I'll eat a whole banana instead at and see if it curbs my appetite? And skip the ice cream, since I'll probably have a glass or two of wine.

--Sigh.

--Will wrap this up tomorrow.

The Gloves are On

     I’ve hated boxing ever since I was around age ten, thanks to my Grandpa Victor. He had a terrible case of shingles, and when he and my grandma came for their weekly visits he’d plunk himself down right in front of the only television set in the house and turn on professional boxing. Shirtless and hunched over in terrible pain from the rashes, he was pathetic to look at. Still, he cheered with fist pumps with every bloody punch. I was nauseated at the glorified brutality.

     So when I accepted a casual invite about a year ago to try out a boxing class at the gym I attend, never would it have occurred to me that I’d fall in love with the sport. I even have my own pair of pink gloves. There’s something so Neanderthal about all that aggression that is so cathartic. The hitting, the grunting, the sweating, and the power of smacking the bags is way more fun than I ever imagined. 

     The boxing area at the gym has a dummy named “BOB” (an acronym for “Body Opponent Bag”) and hitting him is just about my favorite thing we do. The other boxers and I joke that sometimes BOB is someone’s ex, or a sadistic boss. The coach encourages us to transfer any anger onto BOB’s face.  It’s a good thing he’s made of rubber, as we weekly pound the hell out of him. Of late, to me, BOB is The Demon. 

    I have nick-named my mother’s dementia “The Demon” because like a horror movie, it has taken over her mind and body and spirit. Sadly, no priest can exorcise this demon, but that hasn’t stopped my mother from doing her best to avoid a knockout. She displayed her “Million Dollar Baby” moves when she awoke from her very serious, nine-hour arterial bypass surgery on her leg. To everyone’s shock, she came out swinging. 

      My sweet and obliging 79-year-old mother came out of her anesthesia as if she were possessed.  As my father is describing this to me over the phone from 1800 miles away, I’m aghast.  Spewing the “F” word to anyone and everyone nearby, her eyes wild with anger and fright, she had yanked out her IV from her hand and blood squirt everywhere like a kitchen mixer pulled out of the bowl while spinning. Indignant, she was begging to be taken to the home where she’s lived the last fifty-three years. 

     My dad, her husband of nearly 60 years, was so disturbed by her behavior he was too emotional to tell me much.  The next day, I decided to call the nurse’s station near my mom’s room to check on her.  The kind nurse gently explained that not only did Mom try to rip out her IV again, she took a swipe at Dad again, enraged and exasperated at my father’s refusal to take her home. This time, she actually made contact. A left jab to the chin. The ICU nurse quickly called for additional help, and my mom’s wrists had to be strapped down. Dad has become my mom’s “BOB”. She blames him for her predicament.

     Dementia has robbed my mother of the ability to reason. It’s like disciplining a toddler.  It’s futile. Toddlers are unreasonable, and now, so is my mother. Even with IV’s attached, wearing a paper-thin hospital gown, and having her left leg recovering from surgery, she doesn’t understand why she can’t “just go home.” It’s heartbreaking.

     My mother’s use of the “F” word was completely out of character for her until recently, as her dementia progressed.  The extent of her decline came spilling out as my dad recounted what living with her the last few months has been like. She had grown angrier and angrier and began using profanity to express her frustrations with her memory lapses. Oh, and the occasional throwing of the TV remote as well, and a few other things within reach.  It is unbearable to think of her as such an angry person. Ever since she became aware of the early stages of her failing memory, she’s been one angry woman.  Trying desperately to hold onto her sanity, she was aware she was getting worse.

     So when my dad called me last night and told me the nurses decided to untie my mom’s straps and replace them with a pair of mittens that resemble boxing gloves, I felt defeated.  My father explained that every time he goes to see her, in her confused and frustrated mental state, she takes a few swings at him when he tries to kiss her goodbye after visiting.  In her very confused mental state, she cannot understand why he own’t take her with him.

       

     After I had time to process this new, sad turn of events, I had to smile.  Mom has always had a fighting spirit; she didn’t just “cope”, she fought back. Whether it was my dad losing his job, the suicide of my older brother, or her many health crises (including open heart surgery at age 69 and a hip replacement shortly after), she was determined never to let life knock her down for long.  She’d get right back up and face whatever the challenge was head-on.

     I’ve always been proud of my mom.  I had a very happy childhood for the most part. All my friends loved her and wished she were their mother. She was a decent cook but an even better baker.  She was smart, well-read, and she had the best laugh.  Thankfully, the demon hasn’t stolen her laugh, but now, sadly, she laughs at things that don’t make any sense to anyone but her.

     As the demon threatens to steal the last, few things we recognize of my mom, this tough, old broad is not to be underestimated. She is going the full ten rounds.  Now, fighting a fight she doesn’t know she can’t win, she’s not going to just hang on the ropes until the Demon knocks her out.  The challenger, starring in the lightweight division, my beloved mother.  Trapped in her hospital bed, unable to walk, she’s a danger to anyone within reach.

     He leg is healing well enough that she was recently transferred to a physical rehab facility, and I’m happy to report that dad says she’s been more cooperative.  She’s calmed down quite a bit thanks to the anti-anxiety medications she’s being given to reduce her combativeness.  The nurses have even been able to take her gloves off.

     As my mother re-learns to walk again, she will still have to battle the Demon.  It’s a losing fight.  She is out-matched by her opponent.  When she stops fighting back is when I will really begin to worry.  

     I’m certain my mother has forgotten I’d taken up boxing.  She may not even know who I am by the time I fly out to see her mid-March.  I like to think I got my own fighting spirit from her; and despite the scary first images of boxing that burned into my brain from my grandfather at an early age, I can see now that we all fight our demons in our own ways.  I’ve read about dementia being genetic but in my family, I wonder if boxing is as well.

Writing Class Assignment

Writing class Prompt:

What is the scariest thing that’s ever happened to you?

Does it still frighten you?

Does is still impact your life in any way?

“BREATHE IAN, BREATHE!!” 

I’ll never, ever forget hearing those words. 

I had just given birth to my first child, my son Ian. We were living then in Christchurch, New Zealand. My husband had taken a consulting job there while I was 6 months pregnant. Sure, I had wanted very much to go there and had visions of vacations in nearby Fiji and Australia. It sounded wonderful, and we had moved everything into a storage facility, said goodbye to our beachfront apartment in Oxnard, California, and said, “Ta” to our new Kiwi neighbors.

“C’MON IAN! BREATHE!” our mid-wife Cyndy yelled once again. What was going on??? I was terrified. I knew something was wrong with my baby. The frightened look on my husband’s face said it all. He looked pale and about to pass out. My legs still up in stirrups, the room was completely calm except for the frantic urging of our midwife begging our new baby to breathe. 

Unbeknowst to me, the umbilical cord was wrapped around my baby’s neck. He wasn’t breathing when he was born.  My husband had timidly taken the sharp instrument from our doctor to cut the cord, and looked up at me proudly. It was a moment he knew he’d always remember, no matter what. The cutting symbolically made him a dad. 

Cradling our baby, our doctor scurried to the exam table with him and from where I was laying in the hospital bed, I couldn’t see my baby. All I could hear was her pleas for him to breathe. And just like a movie, it seemed that time was moving slow as molasses. What was going on??? And OH MY GOD IS MY BABY DEAD???

And then, oh man, did he let out a cry. Like he’d been holding it in for 9 months. Nine months and 21 days by the way. He wasn’t planning on ever coming out on his own. I’d had to be induced. And just like the teenager he’s grown up to be, he’s absolutely terrible to get up in the mornings for school. 

He’s a freshman in college now, and every now and then, my husband or I will reference that fateful day, and we know that we will never forget hearing those horrific words that day. And we thank God every day that there was something that moment he definitely had to cry about.

The Polar Vortex vs. the Rest of You

Pure deliciousness, sitting here like I used to on Tuesdays, the morning just for me. The weather has allowed me to feel no guilt about skipping the gym, or even re-scheduling my hair appointment (which I was really looking forward to) since I have a little British car that won't start if I leave it out in the cold for as long as it takes me to have my hair colored, cut, and styled. Yes, we live in the area dubbed the "Polar Vortex" and right now the temp is -14 with wind chills at -36. Now, for this California girl, I have come to appreciate the truth in the cliche, "bone-chilling cold" as I literally could feel my bones ache from the bitter cold. The wind feels like millions of tiny knives stabbing you. The sound of the wind howling is so spooky and ominous; laying in bed last night listening to it; it reminded me of the Dementors in Harry Potter. 

It's so bad, all the schools are closed for a second day. Grocery stores are closing early, even the malls. Reports of pipes freezing (not us thankfully!) and my friend Erika's furnace froze. We are just riding it out, keeping our fingers crossed we don't have those problems. I told my family that preparing to go out in this cold seemed like how soldiers might feel going out to battle: You put on all your protective gear. Gloves, earmuffs, hat, scarf (choosing the warm ones, not the scarves you wear as accessories), three layers of shirts/sweater, two layers on your legs (yoga pants under jeans or pantyhose), your biggest, full-length parka. If you're going to work, you also have your coffee and your breakfast, your purse, and your keys. And then it's GO!!!!! You hurtle yourself out the door with breakneck speed, as if you are throwing yourself headfirst out of an airplane. You get in your freezing-cold car, and hope it starts. This is where I let out my first "Godddammit!!!" You don't turn on your heater till you see that little needle go up at least part way because the freezing cold air will cause you to say a second "Goddammit". I think our dog uttered his first "Godddammit!" yesterday--I put on his protective windbreaker/sweater and he had been sitting by the back door needing to go out. My husband opened the door, and he ran out, and I swear I heard him say, "FUCK THIS SHIT!!!" and turned around and ran right back in! Poor doggie. Imagine if YOU had to pee and poop outside with -36 degree temps!!!

It's so funny--I remember watching, "Fargo" from the warmth and comfort of my California living room many years ago and I remember saying to my husband who was watching with me, "Why do they drive around with their huge jackets on?" I thought it looked so stupid. Who drives around wearing a jacket? I DO!!!!! Yes, you can't take your jacket off just cuz you are in your car. Like I said, your car has been sitting either in your freezing cold garage (the temp in our garage yesterday was 22) or below freezing in the parking lot. The only thing I take off when I get in the car are the earmuffs. Sometimes. Sometimes I don't even realize I'm wearing them I'm shivering so much. Good thing they're cute on me. LOL

I never wanted to live in a place that got this cold. I remember seeing the news about all the snowstorms; people shoveling driveways, people walking with that haggard, leaning-into-the-wind type of body angle, braving the bitter wind. I always looked at this and thought, "why do these people put up with that?? WHY DON'T THEY MOVE????" And here I am now, one of them.

I think sometimes we are just used to what we are used to. The cold and snow, for the most part, doesn't stop anyone here. The gym was open yesterday (I was told the 5:30 am spin class was full!) Yes, they closed the schools and some businesses, but it's unusual. And it's smart. But for the most part, people just keep going. For me, it did take several winters to get it. This is our 4th winter here, and I'm getting to be a pro, except where driving is concerned. I still freak out driving here. I have been driving our SUV because I feel safer in it. I feel way to vulnerable in my Mini Cooper. My hubby drove her yesterday and she was not happy. She refused to start, angry she was left out in the cold all day and she let him have it. Then she relented, and said, "Ok, have you learned your lesson now? Don't do this to me again" and she slowly started. Today I'm letting her stay in the garage. It's the best I can do. I won't insult her and make her sit out again while I get all dolled up at the hair salon because I just know she'll make me pay.

It doesn't help when people who know we're from California ask me, "So, how are you liking the cold eh??" People here say "eh". I have started to say "eh". Like the woman in "Fargo". It's so annoying and I don't even realize I'm saying it. Thankfully my daughter brings it to my attention immediately and chastises me for my gradual inclusion of Wisconsin dialect. I can't help it. I don't hear my Orange County accent anymore. And I'll be here at least 3 more years so God knows how horrible I'll be talking by the time I'm ready to cash in my ice chips and bail out of here!

What's so funny is, I see people wrinkling their noses at people who live in warm climates. It's like, "wusses!!!" People here are so hardy. They really are. Like I said, they don't let the cold stop them. And when summer comes?? They really embrace every single warm day. It is true that when you live where it's nice all the time, you almost don't really appreciate it since you know the next day will be the same way. You grunt and groan when its in the 60's as being too cold to go for a run or whatever.

I do get that there is something biologically different about people who live in warm climates vs. those of us that don't. I have heard that your blood actually thickens to adapt to the colder temps. That makes perfect sense, because when it's in the 50's here, hell, when it's sunny and in the 30's or 40's, we leave our jackets home. No gloves or hats or earmuffs for us. It's like summer. And I know that when you live in California, 55 is fucking freezing. I remember going to the annual Christmas parade in Reedley the first week of December, and we'd be so bundled up. We had blankets and gloves and hats, and we'd get hot chocolate to warm up with. 

I really wish people had more compassion for one another. I wish people would realize that Californians aren't "wusses" for being cold when it's in the 50's and that Californians wouldn't think Wisconsonites are "crazy" for living where it gets 32 below zero. There's no perfect place for everyone. Everywhere you live, there are good and bad reasons to be there. And if you're unhappy where you are, MOVE!!!!! No one is making you stay. 

No, not in a million years did I ever think I'd be living where hell actually freezes over. But my husband's job brought us here, and we are overall very happy living here. The schools are amazing, and we do make the most of every season. My daughter and I went sledding in our backyard. And we made a snowblob (the snow was too fluffy to make a real snowman so we called him a "snowblob"). I've taken a zillion pictures of snow-covered everything from our mailbox to tree-limbs. There are challenges with the cold yes, just like living where it's over 100 degrees in summer. There's such beauty in seeing everything completely white and still. I honestly don't miss 100+ temps all summer long. Too hot for me. Our electric bill was $1100 a month trying to keep us cool. Here the highest it's ever been is $600 as heating costs rise in the winter. We rarely use our AC. It's a trade-off. There's always a trade-off.

I've learned I'm much tougher than I thought I was, and that this old dog can really learn new tricks. You Californians have no idea what it's like to push an icy grocery cart that burns your fingers (if you are stupid enough to have forgotten your gloves) out to your car and unload a week's worth of groceries in a wind chill of negative 32 (yes, I've done it). Or getting gas and being so cold that the few seconds waiting for the pump to take your pin number and gas selection has you uttering, "Goddammit hurry up!!!!" so you can hurtle yourself back into the safety of your car. Realizing that walking safely from said car to any building is fraught with challenges. I see why people slip and die just walking out their front door, getting their mail, or just going down a few steps. Black ice is nothing to laugh about. Not to mention driving in a blinding snowstorm, or wondering if the car behind you will ram into you or actually stop.

And neither is sitting there watching your little one's soccer or Little League game when it's 108. AGAIN. The umbrella you brought with you keeps falling over and the snack stand only has warm water. UGH. And your car is at least 1000 degrees after sitting there and your AC doesn't kick in until your just about home. You think you will burst into flames. And of course, the electric bill. I don't miss that at all. And of course, we could argue "dry heat vs. humid heat" till the cows come home. Check out the dangers of heat waves at:

http://www.nws.noaa.gov/os/heat/index.shtml

I do miss our old house, and our pool, and all the splashing and BBQ-ing and all my friends. I miss that life so much, especially when I'm wrestling the groceries with gloved-hands and my boots that I wear so I don't slip on the ice-covered parking lot. Those were great times. And yes, I do plan on moving back to California someday; my family is still there and I miss them.

But my kids are here, my life is here, and for now, I am making the best of being here. Staying safe in the cold is a challenge, just like staying safe in extreme heat is a challenge. We are where we are because we made choices to be where we are, and having someone make fun of us for those choices is really not very nice. 

And we are allowed to complain about it sometimes.  I am just as guilty as the next person when I Facebook comment, "You think that's cold??" to someone who's complaining about it being cold at 55. I promise to try not to do that anymore. What's cold to you and what's cold to me are two completely different experiences. You think you'd die if you had to be here for even a second and you know what??? If you were visiting, you would be miserable. But give it a couple years of acclimation, and you'd be fine. 

Just like me.

What's stopping YOU???

The cool thing about getting older is truly the wisdom that comes with having had so many life experiences. It is totally true that I am wiser now than ever. And I am really liking myself so much more now than ever. Have you ever had a moment where you kind think to yourself, "I like me"? And REALLY mean it??? I've had that happen to me this week, honestly, for the first time ever in my life that I can remember.

I see my twenty-something friends struggling both financially and emotionally. Your twenties can be such a hard time--finding your way in the world; planning who you're going to be for the rest of your life and all the pressures that come with it. Younger people feel like time is their enemy and they have to do it NOW or never. And it's funny, cuz whenever I see some old geezer driving five miles an hour under the speed limit I think, "you'd think he'd go a little faster cuz his days are numbered" and when I see some young woman stressed out behind the wheel clearly speeding I think, "What's her rush?"

I have come to understand so much about life, and a lot of this understanding comes from experiencing adversity and overcoming it. That's where maturity begins. I am so impressed with my twenty-something friends--most of them are in school trying to better themselves and set up a good financial future and working full-time. Some have kids already, and yet still independent. Some still live at home with parents, but struggling to get out of their situation. I see the optimism and energy they have and it's so fun to be around them. I think they are amazing people.

I have noticed that something interesting happens to many, many people as they leave their twenties and move into their thirties. I think being in your thirties has got to be the toughest age so far. My thrity-something friends lament to me about still not being married, or rich, still stuck in a dead-end job, and wanting so much more for themselves but somehow not understanding why they don't have everything they say the desire so badly. For my married friends in their thirties, I see them struggle to "have it all"--trying to be mommy and wifey and employee and still stay thin and sexy and eat right and exercise and keep a clean house. Societies' standards for women, AND for men, ruin people and ruin relationships.

We can thank the media for screaming at us everywhere we turn. We are inundated with direct and subliminal messages that we are less than constantly. I used to think that just muting the commercials on TV was enough, but now we've got Facebook ads and pop-up ads for diet this and diet that and you can't even Google a single thing without ads prompting you to "buy this and have better skin" or "eat this not that." It's EVERYWHERE. And no matter how hard you try to eliminate the chatter from your life, it's there. Unless you unplug yourself completely and go live in a cave somewhere.

I've gotten a lot of my current wisdom courtesy of a book by an amazing man named Augusten Burroughs. It's called, "This is How--Surviving what you think you can't." It's a collection of short, personal essays (like the kind you're reading right now) about everything from losing weight to suicide. I've read it backwards and forwards and I've bought copies for two important people in my life.

And their completely different reactions to it spoke volumes to me.

The girlfriend I gave the book to had a very similar reaction to mine--lots of "aha" (also known as "lightbulb) moments. My brother?? His was, "yeah, mostly common sense."

I think that change comes when we have those lightbulb moments of clarity. You know what they are, and how they feel. The thing is, we don't always listen to them. Sometimes they annoy us and make us feel things we don't want to feel. And we have to be receptive to really hearing it.

I love my brother dearly. We have grown close thanks to texting. He lives in California with my parents and he's had a rough life. BUT I see that a lot of it comes from his choices. And I realized something he said was so interesting. His car is 20 years old, and he was lamenting that he had to take it in again and would probably cost around $1000 he didn't have to fix it. I told him, 'maybe it's time to not waste that thousand dollars and save it to buy something newer." I told him, "maybe ride your bike or get a ride from Dad and in six months you can buy something newer. " But here's what upset him--I told him, 'Don't wait for a crisis, when you're stuck by the side of the road somewhere. It's not like you can't see the demise of this car coming. It's astounding it still runs at all!" He responded by saying something to me as if I didn't understand. That it's "not easy."

I felt bad for him and didn't know what else to say, but those last two words ate at me as I thought about what Augusten Burroughs says in his book about willpower and comfort. He basically says that we don't do the things we ought to do to help ourselves because we can't stand the feeling of discomfort. Isn't it true?? We don't like to be uncomfortable and those around us don't like us making THEM feel uncomfortable either, therefore, we don't change and we don't get better.

I'll use myself as an example.

I gave up red meat over a year and a half ago. It was a spiritual decision for me that just came to me one day. It was not easy for those around me to accept. It wasn't like I'd grown a third arm or anything but you'd think I had. It WAS weird for me too. Suddenly, this 4-day a week red-meat eater wouldn't touch a hamburger or a juicy steak cooked just-the-way-I-like-it-on-the-grill. I became an inconvenience and an annoyance, even to myself. If my husband chose to cook steaks, he had to go out of his way to first buy me something else I'd eat and then cook it separately. And while my family had no choice but to get used to this new non-red-meat-eating mommy and wife, for me, it was just about the easiest thing I'd ever done.

Because it was something I WANTED.

I have never for a second complained that I can't eat my favorite soup anymore because it's made with beef broth (french onion) and I actually will ask if the pepperoni on the pizza is pork or not. I don't apologize, and I don't feel bad about it, and I don't lament "poor me". I never have. Because I know that no one is stopping me from eating red meat products--not my doctor (it's not a health issue) or my religion (I don't have one). It is now who I am. I am someone who doesn't eat red meat. The same as someone who doesn't eat octopus either--I don't like it. So what's the big deal? If every fast food restaurant served octopus burgers (maybe that's what's REALLY in those Spongebob crabby patties!!) it would be a big deal. Because people have a group mentality that red-meat burgers are American and society accepts this and supports and encourages this. If I lived in a Hindi country like Nepal, I wouldn't be the odd-man out, I'd be just as common as everyone else.

I'm happy to say that now my family is nonplussed about the whole thing. It's a non-issue. And I'm so proud my family is proud of me. My husband made my heart flutter last weekend when we were at a wine festival that seemed to serve nothing but red meat and carbs--he was worried about me because we were drinking wine and I couldn't find anything to eat. He took me by the hand and said, "C'mon honey, let's go find you something", and he was on a mission to take care of me. I was filled with gratitude and love for this gesture. Not, "You've gotta stop with this silly diet. There's plenty of food here." He didn't make fun of me; he embraced the changes I'd made and honored them.

We need to be conscious of, "who is society anyway??  It depends on where you live. Who hasn't seen the picture of the plus-size mannequins in stores in Sweden? (or is it the Netherlands?) I can't remember, but the point is--it's so unusual it the picture spread like wildfire on the Internet. Seeing it made me uncomfortable, because it reminded me how painful it is to be a girl living in a society that drums into everyone heads that being thin is the most important thing a woman can be. I wanted to move to that country when I saw that picture and I know every American woman felt the same way: understood.

How often do we sabotage our loved ones with our own discomfort?? When was the last time you made a snide remark when we heard someone say, "Not for me, I'm trying to lose weight" or "Just iced tea, I'm trying not to drink so much." We say things like, "Oh come one, what will one hurt?" or something like that. How dare we tromp on someone else's efforts to better themselves? We do it because when the people around us change, it makes US uncomfortable. If they can decline dessert or a third martini and we don't want to, we put THEM down so we don't have to feel bad about the fact that we can't, or don't want to say no ourselves. Our weaknesses are triggered. We aren't sure we really want to say no, or change, but somehow, something in us is triggered when we are confronted with a major change in someone else.

This is so interesting to me. I have become so aware of this lately. My husband told me about a guy he works with who's lost 60 pounds. He has become completely different. He told me, "He's just not really fun to be around anymore. He used to be the fun guy. Now he's so serious." And when he told his co-worker this jokingly, the co-worker agreed. He knows he's different, he knows he's not so much fun anymore, but his health was more important. His definition of "fun" has changed. Fun for him means fitting into clothes he feels good in and not worrying about dropping dead of a heart attack anymore.

When we know what we want, we go and get it. It's not a matter of "easy".

It's not a matter of willpower, Augusten Burroughs says, and he's right. He says, "If willpower is required to achieve this goal, that's how you know you don't want it enough on a deep, organic level...willpower is like holding your breath: you can only do it for so long." So true.

Think about the last time you made a significant change in yourself or your life. How about an insignificant change, like driving a different way to work? How about abiding by the speed limit signs for a change? How about reading at bedtime instead of watching TV? How about not checking your phone every 5 seconds and really listening to your spouse, kids, or friends? These are truly "easy" things to do but yes, you will likely feel discomfort. That doesn't mean you shouldn't do them. Augusten thinks that the more uncomfortable you make yourself, the closer you will get to achieving your goals. And sometimes, the discomfort is not your own--it's dealing with everyone ELSE'S discomfort.

Just food for thought folks.

Moving Day

A few hours ago I gave my power-lifter son a great big hug, told him I loved him through burgeoning tears, and left him standing in his new dorm room with his new roommate. I made his little sister take our picture, and then it was Dad's turn for a hug and a pic, then little sister wanted one too. Ian obliged, uncomfortable and slightly annoyed, but I can see his dimpled smile in every single picture we took.

A few hours before this moment, we were at home, loading up our car with about eight Office Max boxes filled with all his clothes, textbooks and school supplies, toiletries, snacks, his electric guitar and amp (small one), his dart board, a small refrigerator, a cork board, a fold-up table, new sheets and pillow cases, new towels and throw pillows, and much more. He said goodbye to our pets--three cats and a dog, telling each he would miss them and gave them a pat on the head.

The hour prior to that he went to see his girlfriend of two years and say goodbye. I can only imagine how that went. She has another year of high school, and I think she probably has cried more than I have. Poor thing.

The day before, my husband and I ran around with his college dorm checklist, marking off much-needed supplies like a mini-tool kit, first aid kit, a fan, lightbulbs, snacks, area-rug, utensils, etc. He came home and showed us what he got--a disco ball and strobe light. Someone's focusing on fun. I laughed so hard. 

The night before he spent with her doing fun things; they went to eat, went bowling, and came back here and watched TV, their favorite show "Fringe". Except for the fact that we knew he was going to be leaving for college in less than 24 hours, it was an uneventful day like so many summer days we've had. The night before that, it was his "last dinner at home" (I made my "famous" orange chicken: it takes 3 hours to cook and 10 minutes to devour); his "last lunch at home", that sort of countdown that was shadowed by sadness.

We've known this day was coming for like, oh, the last 18 years?! From the moment you know you are pregnant, everyone talks about "saving for college" and honestly, until it is right upon you, it as as abstract as the actual baby you will be holding after it's born. You can't really imagine it; you think you can, but you know that you really can't prepare for it. You know that when it happens, you will be okay though. There are books, there are classes, but there's nothing that REALLY prepares you for parenthood OR sending your ex-baby who's now taller than you and weighs more than you to college.

I kept hearing from the parents of adult kids all summer, "By the time it's time for him to go, you will be SO ready for him to go." I started to understand what these people meant. All summer it was his job, his girlfriend, and the gym. It was like a ferris wheel that never stopped. Coming home past 1:00 am; and the considerate texts that let me know he was "on his way" home still worried me and kept me awake. Sooner or later, fall had to arrive, and summer had to end. There's so much more for him out there in this big world than a minimum-wage job and hanging out with his friends. 

Between graduating middle school Valedictorian, having taken college classes since age 16, graduating high school this past June with high honors (GPA 3.7) and all his AP classes/tests and outstanding ACT score, this kid is destined for so much more. He could've gotten into just about any college he chose; and he chose UW-Madison. He easily got in.

When the tears come, I remember the alternative: a teenager with no ambition who won't hold a job and smokes pot all day. That's where my mind goes. I am SO relieved he turned out so well. I'd like to pat myself and my husband on the proverbial back, but honestly? Ian gets all the credit. HE'S the one who worked his ass off to get where he is. I didn't do it! His dad didn't do it! HE did. He cared enough to succeed.

It's our job as parents to give our kids a great start. I hope that Ian always knows just how very loved he is; that no matter what, we are always here for him. Kids worry so much about "measuring up" and "avoiding failure", but the truth is, a good parent really doesn't have many pre-conceived notions about whom he should become. The only thing that we really worry about is drinking and drugs. I don't care what he major is. I don't care if he drops pre-med and goes into engineering. I don't have a pre-conceived idea of who my son should be. All we want it for him to live up to his POTENTIAL. A kid who's doing Calc 3 at age 16 is destined for more than a minimum wage job is my point. I don't need him to be a doctor for me, so that I can brag about him. I'm already bragging about him, because of his CHARACTER. He is the most honest kid I've ever known (next to his baby sister), and seeing him with girlfriend, he is the most loving, honest and attentive boyfriend a girl could ask for. He's a one-woman man, and is devoted to her.

As he enters his college days, of course we hope that he will open his mind to the possibility of having other relationships. As a middle-aged person, I have insight into what a 20-year marriage is really like. From our own wedding back in 1993, we've realized that more than half of the couples there that day have divorced. I told him one day this summer, "How would you know she's THEE person for you to spend the rest of your life with if you've never dated anyone else?" Of course, there are those couples out there that have met in high school (or earlier) and have truly been perfect for one another. I tell him, "You don't want to end up at 40 with a mortgage and kids and look at her and wonder what else is out there?" College is the time to do that. Not at 40.

I look back at my own college days, and they were so vastly different from Ian's. I went to a commuter school; I didn't leave home till I was 22. I regret not having realized I could've moved out and gone somewhere else. My parents didn't encourage me; I didn't have the resources to know I could've reached higher. I'm certain that's why giving Ian all the choices and opportunities is so important to me. I want him to have what I didn't. Isn't that what every parent wants?

And I know that our youngest, who just started high school today, will have an even more emotional mom as she trots off to her new college life. The young women of her generation are absolutely the luckiest generation of women ever to exist. She is unaware of gender discrimination and something we called, "the glass ceiling". Women of her generation are growing up feeling not just equal to their male peers but somewhat superior to them. There are more females vs. males attending college than ever before, and women have society's approval to "have it all." No longer does anyone look down their noses at women who maintain careers and having children. In ten years, after my daughter's graduated college and possibly getting married and having kids, her generation will have probably not only figured out how to REALLY "have it all" but feel good about herself in the process. I pray for the day when women stop feeling guilty about themselves and their choices, and the media stops making women feel that a flat stomach is really the end-all and be-all of importance.

It's so easy to be envious of my children as they go off into the big, wide world. The world is such a different place now. I know, I know, every parent says that. And every generation that is true. When we went for our son's 2-day college registration and tour, I was more excited than he was! I was ready to blink myself back to age 18 and enroll. There is SO much I want to do now that I either didn't have the resources available to me to pursue them or the courage to try. Now I have both. I am considering going back for my master's, or trying something completely different. Just because I can.

I am so excited for Ian. He truly has the world at his fingertips. In his three years of high school here in Wisconsin, he has seen friends drop out of college and pursue music; he's had friends go off to other states for college, and he's had friends die in a car accident due to drinking. He's well-aware that it's up to him to decide if he even wants to have a future or not. And what kind of future that might be?

We discussed one night what it might really be like to become a doctor. He has expressed interest in being a cardiologist. He thought out loud about the extra years of school; interning, and getting established. He said, "If I want a marriage and kids, I can't really become a cardiologist because I'd never see them." I admire the way he's processing his choices clearly; knowing himself well and what kind of life he wants after college. 

Since we moved here, he has been around many kids with millionaire parents. We unwittingly moved to a very nice area where it's not unusual for his friends to jet off to Costa Rica, Punta Cana, and other exotic places "every spring break." We stay home and get extra sleep. 

Ian has worked the last two years at Qdoba, a yummy Mexican restaurant that is like a Subway but Mexican food. He's got a great work ethic--always on time, never called in sick, worked for others when they asked him. He knows that if he doesn't succeed in college, it will be Qdoba metaphorically for the rest of his life. He wants more for himself than a minimum-waged job, and with that kids' smarts, he can reach for higher. As parents, our job is to transfer that belief in our kid, to our kids believing in themselves. If they don't think they can do it, they won't try. It doesn't matter if we know they can do it; they need to believe that if they try, they can succeed. 

We remind him that who he hangs out with will determine which path he takes. And one thing I'm SO excited about is his college. At registration, they explained their emphasis on philanthropy. I have met some amazing students every single time we've been there. There is so much social support for the students; they go the extra effort to make sure they are paid attention to. It's not a matter of, "that's your kid, why should WE worry about them?" but rather, "While they're students here, we will parent them for you as much as possible." And I swear, they have. There is a student center if he gets sick. Everything's covered with the cost of tuition. There are student leaders in the dorms that we met yesterday that were friendly and attentive, and they continue to look out for our kid (and yours) every day. They were riding up and down in the elevators, seeing to it that our needs were met--that we knew where his room was and did we need any help carrying anything? The social support is tremendous. I felt like hugging every single red-T-shirted student leader I saw.

I'm so relieved Ian doesn't have his car. Freshmen aren't allowed cars. He lives in a dorm with another really great kid we got to meet (and his mom) and I'm sure they'll lean on each other as they both find their way. It made my heart bounce when Ian leaned into another dorm room on the way to his and said hello to another student he recognized from his high school! And guess what--this kid had a disco ball too! He and his roommate had everything all set up and it looked like they were having a blast. I SO wanted to be 18 again and do it all differently. I knew at that moment, Ian's going to be just fine.

We know kids always worry that no one will like them; that they'll have to eat lunch alone and that they're unlikeable. Of course we know our Ian won't have that problem, who wouldn't like him?? But that's something that even as grown-ups we worry about when we start a new job. Who will eat lunch with us? Will anybody like me? He told me he wasn't worried about academics. He knows he'll do well in his classes; it's "fitting in" he worries about. Of course we reassure him; it's just a matter of getting rid of us, the parents, and letting him find his way.

We giggle that he's never had to share a room with anyone. Now he's sleeping in a bunkbed that's more like a prison cot. I know he will miss so many things about home; and when he does make the trip home I will get to spoil him again. Being a good a parent means giving your kids the tools they need to succeed beyond your grasp. It is so hard letting go, but like I said earlier, it sure beats the alternative, a grown child still living at home past the teen years. We really need to let them find themselves out of our line of sight. There comes a time when we really don't need to know everything they think and do. 

I think that it starts when they're very young. You see these parents who are afraid to let their kids spend the night at friends' houses or try certain sports. They are overprotective and honestly, the message they're sending their kids is that the world is a scary place. They send messages to their kids that they can't trust themselves to make the right choices and overprotecting, in my opinion, just leads to kids feeling bad about themselves. It's so hard being a parent; keeping them safe and letting them explore their world at the same time.

No parent is perfect, and all our choices must come from love and honesty. When I stumble, and I do often, I'm the parent that says, "I'm sorry."  We can't pretend we know everything just because we're older and we've "been there." Our kids aren't us. The world they're living in is different than the world we grew up in and we have much to learn from them.

As my former 8-pound-13 ouncer goes out into the big, wide world, I cry tears of joy for eighteen and half years so far being his mom. He's made me a better person just by being himself. I cry for all the fun we had; for being there every single day for him, and I thank God he was born healthy and has made it this far given he's got an emotional nut for a mom. I cry tears of worry since I can't control things anymore, and all I can do is pray God keeps him safe and he makes good choices. I see my big, powerlifter son with his enormous biceps and piercing blue eyes, and just love him with all my heart. That's what I'm good at.

And so now our daughter is a stunning almost 14-year-old, and entering high school. I have four years of doting on her and preparing her for that moment when it will be HER packing for college. Helping her brother move into his dorm yesterday will leave an indelible mark on her psyche for when it will be her turn. She got to see that he will be all right; that he can be happy and sad at the same time. She got to see her parents cry and be happy for him, and see us let go and trust. I think she knows that we have communicated our belief in him by giving him the space and opportunity to find his passion and not dictate it for him. He's made all the right choices up to this point; we've just guided him and gave him the financial backing.

Ah, the empty nest. It's not empty yet, but his room is nearly empty, since he took most of it with him. It's painful to see, and I think I'll be avoiding the downstairs basement because of it. But he's only an hour away and I thank God that he chose a college so close. I can't even imagine if he had stayed with his original choice, UCLA. I'm so glad he's so close. Close enough if he needs me, and far enough away to find himself.

But you just know that there are more orange chicken dinners coming for those weekends he comes home with his stack of laundry. 

I can't wait!!!!