Mother, May I?

I’m back!  May arrived and sucked me into every celebration, ceremony and closure known to man.   My blog didn’t get updated for over two weeks.  But I did a decent job, better than I thought, regarding my weight loss and eating habits.  My two triggers, Celebration and Stress stuck their claws into my back and they were pretty loud sometimes.  I was anxious about May, the month that would really test me.  And lord help us all, it’s not over because I haven't sung yet. 

May is my most feared month, full of tempests and lather.  It’s got the stress of the holidays, plus the farewells and celebration, all rolled into one wicked machine.  Many of you have told me it doesn't have anything to do with whether one has kids in school or not…you are having the same May as I am.  

And no matter how hard I try each year, I can't seem to change it.  In January, I look at my May calendar page, expecting purity and free range squares, and I’m irritated to find things already written in there.   Dates got claimed 6 or 8 months ago and were sold to the highest bidder.  I resolve early on, just like we all do around the holidays: “I’m going to do May differently.  I will keep spaces open for last minute things to worm their way in.”  I never hear the Fates laughing at me as they pat my head, ‘bless her fool little heart.’   And for several months, all the way till April 30^th, I stupidly think I’m still in control, even as I find myself adding things to May daily, filling in the empty spots, triple booking, declining things, delaying things, trading up….a shell game.   My calendar started to sound (yes, it had a sound) like the trading floor of the NYSE as I arm-wrestled to stay on top. 

Then, around May 15^th, I took mercy on my fool little heart and surrendered.  I decided the month was so much bigger than me.  I had taken it as far as I could and I turned into a compliant Zombie, my powers useless against the clowns of May.  I adopted a different strategy. 

I have posted this on FB two years in a row, because it was true twice, and I will post it every May from this day forward:

The month of May is like machinery that grinds faster and louder.  If you don't keep ahead of it, it will run you over or mangle your limbs. The trick is to outlast and outrun it so that when it sputters and quits, you have emerged victorious with your contentment of a job well done. 

So, this brings me to ‘how the hell do you try to stay on your weight loss plan through the fire that is May?' 

Stress and Celebration…they had bought lots of property on my May calendar page, unwelcome squatters that were itching to sidetrack me.  Then, my mom said something to me that led to another epiphany, and I want to share it with you because she gave me the perfect gift: a thought. 

We had multiple and special events lined up for the weekend.  I was flying my mom up to visit, to partake in the joy (when May still felt like joy).  She said, “Oh, I feel bad that you’re in the middle of weight loss and now I’m coming to visit…all that hard work you’ve put in!”

I nodded and totally went there without even thinking twice.  I completely accepted with certainty that since we’ve got events and visitors, it means weight gain because of all the food and treats and celebration.  Why, of course the diet will get suspended; that's the price. It's to be done on normal days only. 

I can't believe how easily I just accepted my mom's statement as fact.  We both agreed with it.  She voiced the belief that so many of us hold.  But I thought about it right after I hung up and smacked myself in the head.  Wait…my mom is visiting.  When she’s 300 miles away, I eat one way and lose weight.  Why does her proximity to my plate have anything to do with my weight?  Why do my habits have to change just because my mom is in the next room?  One has nothing to do with the other, but yet I so easily gave in to the sultry belief that a family visit automatically meant a vacation from my own health. 

I know celebrations and family usually mean food and treats.  Lots of it.  And it would be okay to screw the diet if you only had ONE celebration a year.  If that were the case, you’d see me bathe in cake, followed up of course by a dip in fondant.  But after looking at my calendar, even for a year, I realized there is a celebration almost every other day.  Good grades, visits from a friend, wedding, performance, birthday, a sport’s win, road trip, a trip to Costco (!) or just because it’s Friday.  So, if I was going to excuse myself from a healthy life every time there was a celebration, why even have a plan?

I decided right then and there that I had to find a way to factor in celebration as a regular and blessed occurrence in my week, and I’d better find out quickly how to stay on course.  Health does not take a vacation.  Road trips aren’t an excuse to visit every gas station on the way down I-5 for the chili cheese Fritos that have 750 calories per bag...that you think don’t count just because you’re on a road trip, or because it’s a special day.   Not that this has happened to me.  Okay, yes it did. 

I’m also tired of the anxiety I’ve felt when going to a party or wedding, fearing what will be there. Will I blow it?  How strong will I be?  I’m trying to change my mindset so I can go to an event completely looking forward to it, breezing in, regarding the food purely as art, none of it calling my name unless I choose it. 

So, here is a photo of the First Holy Communion Cake that has been on our counter for three days.  My husband picked it out and I didn’t understand at first.  I looked at the round circles.  Then thought of Holy Communion Wafers.  Wow, without even trying, he treated us to religious irony. 

I’ve walked by it all day for three days, sticking my head in the lion’s mouth by taking one or two finger scoops of the frosting only once or twice during those days.  A taste.  And I didn’t hear my name called once.  It was pretty dangerous of me to play with fire like that but somehow, I did it.  And I am happy to tell you that after six days of being with my mom, where we went to tea, out to dinner, and where that hero made me her special fried eggs and rye toast every morning, I managed to lose one pound. I need you to know it was possible.   However, she fears she did not fare as well.  

So, maybe there is a way to just accept that May, and life, will have plenty of reasons to celebrate.  You can’t send Health to the babysitter while you’re out having fun. Let it come to the party. Otherwise, how else will it learn the way to behave in social situations?

A Tale of the Traveling Pants

Keeping my eye on the prize.  And the glare!

I’ve noticed something odd during the last three-and-a-half weeks.   As I read the numbers on the scale, it’s really like watching the floors change in an elevator car.  But during the last year when I was on the way up, I zoomed past the numbers, because apparently I was in the express car.  I think I even skipped some floors on the way up to the Penthouse Suite (which isn’t NOT the floor I wanted; and I don’t care what kind of gift basket is on the bed.)  But for the last few weeks, the ride down has been so…………….slow.  I spent a whole week on one floor.  So excruciatingly long, that I pulled up a chair and had time to read ‘The Help’ again.

However, suddenly it’s May.  I can't believe I'm saying this, but as of yesterday morning, I have moved down a total of eight floors.  I may be taking the stairs up just one level tonight, because my husband brought home a bagel.  That’s okay.  I can spend a night one floor up, for old times’ sake.  I heard there’s a killer view.

Okay, enough of the metaphors.  I have a story for you. 

Yesterday, I decided to be kind and treat myself to a new pair of shoes, because to buy clothes for this moving elevator car, well, that would be foolhardy.  I don’t plan to fit in any set of clothes for more than three months.  Don’t laugh.  I dare to dream. 

So, anyway, I tried the mall.  I realize it’s been awhile since I bought shoes.  I noticed that I had to do a lot of bending down to try them on.  The boxes of Size Nines are always wedged tightly like the bottom brick in an ale house wall and so I really had to work up a sweat to pry them loose.  Kneel, stand, walk, judge, re-wrap the shoes in their protective plastic papers, try to fit them back in their box like a wooden ‘Let’s-Test-Her-IQ’ puzzle, and then shove the torpedo back into its ill-fitting tube.  Now I know why people shop online…it’s too overwhelming to handle the mechanics of a shoe purchase, while also trying to make a critical fashion decision.  This is made even harder when you can't bend very well at the waist. 

Anyway, during this little workout, I didn’t realize my stretch jeans had been busy trying to keep up with me.  And perhaps, even though it would be a dream come true, my jeans may actually be too big now. 

As I walked through the long aisle to the register, (my hands weren’t free because I had store swag to hold), I felt a small draft near my caboose, but not in a good way.  As I walked, my jeans were slowly sliding south with each step.  Just slow enough that I could calculate reaching the register if I changed the width of my stride.  Not length…..width.  So yes, your visual is correct.  I looked like a walking swing set. 

I could have done it, except I didn’t factor in my underwear.  Apparently, they were in the fast lane, and my eyes widened at this new discovery.  I walked with my legs even farther apart to slow down the migration. Good gawd hips!  Where are you when I need you?  My hips are usually too big to pass between a chair and a wall without scraping off paint, so you’d think they’d come in handy to hold up the waistbands of my clothing.   They did not do their job of keeping my pants up.  They failed every step of the way, because once the pants scaled the gentle rolling hills that are my hips, the pants and unmentionables had only one direction on their mind…..Florida. 

As in FLOOR-ida.   I felt like the circus lady who tries to walk while keeping two different sized hula hoops spinning in different areas of her body.  I developed a new walk that doesn’t even have a name yet, but I’m sure it got faster and raunchier the closer I got the register. 

When I made it, I wanted to yell SAFE!!!!! or BASE!!!!! because I was able to dump the cargo on the counter.  Before too much damage was done, I seized the waistbands of both sets of pants.  Just like a stuntwoman grabbing the hands of a buddy who was dangling from the door frame of her fleeing helicopter.   And, cut. Print.  That’s a wrap folks.  

I’m not really sure what the security cameras caught, but I don’t care.  If this is the price to be paid for the hellish month of weight loss I’ve been through, so be it.  I am very happy with the 42nd floor of my 50 floor descent.  I sure hope they sell clothes on this floor, because I guess I need some new ones.  For the sake of all you good people and your visuals.