Someone broke my scale.
Well, either that, or Tulsa has somehow shifted closer to sea level. I wholeheartedly believe that someone sneaked into my house and broke my scale. I called the police to file a report but the operator hung up on me. She murmured something about putting the twinkie down....I'm not entirely sure though.
(Mom, notice how I used the word "sneaked"? That was just for you. See, I do listen to you! Mwah!)
Here's the deal. Although I'd love to blame my scale, an obvious slide closer to sea level, or even a shift in lunar alignment (I'm not even sure what that means), the truth of the matter is that a mysterious 8 pounds have found their way onto my scale. Seriously. It's gotta be broke, right?
I know what you're going to say and honestly if you say it I might throw something at you. They include any of the following:
"It's muscle! Everyone knows muscles weighs more than fat!"
"Oh heavens Macey, nobody really looks like those supermodels on magazine covers."
"Macey, you're perfect the way God made you."
"Well, I can't tell!"
"Are you pregnant?"
First of all, no, I'm not pregnant. (Geesh, it's just 8 pounds guys, but now you think I LOOK pregnant? Thanks.) I am tempted to throw things when I hear those comments because heck, I don't WANT to look like a supermodel. Surviving on a cracker and 7 almonds for the entire day? No thank you! I KNOW that fat weighs more than muscle. Sorry, but I don't really care if you can tell or not. I can tell. And since the scale just groaned as I stepped onto it, that, my friends, does not make me happy. I also am well aware that I am perfect in God's eyes, but that's not really true if I'm not treating my body as his holy temple. The question is am I?
Truth be told I want to be healthy! I want to make healthy choices for myself and my family so that we can be the best us that we can be! I know, from actual science (ewwww, ahhhhh) that putting healthy things into the body results in better output. All systems just function better! Heck yeah, that's what I'm talking about. And hey, if we're really being honest here and my jeans happen to sit just right on my backside, then I'm not going to complain. I'm all for a win/win, people!
Well over the past 6 months or so I haven't even stepped on my scale. Not that I was worried about things, I just figured I'd do what most "fit" enthusiasts suggest: to gauge my progress or regress based on how my clothes fit.
I think you can see where this is heading.
I have been working my non-literal butt off for the past 6 months. This is another one of my problems...I'm ready to start working my literal butt off. Why isn't this thing just melting away into that perfect toddler butt that I've worked so hard for? I have been putting in a good 10-15 hours/week of hard core physical, sweat dripping, heavy breathing, muscle burning activities per week. Including but not limited to a variety of cardio, weight training, plyos and swimming. I had a goal of wanting to be lean....lean and cut. And maybe, just maybe take on some sort of competition. But I wanted most of all to be healthy. And I figured, if I'm lucky my inside health would be outwardly evidenced by becoming lean and cut. Read: not big and bulky, which is where I feel I normally end up.
***!!!!WARNING!!!! Soapbox ahead!!! Scroll ahead if opposed to soapboxes!***
For the thousands of trainers who say that women cannot physically put on mass because it's not in our "genetic makeup" I'd like to slap you across the back of the head with my breadstick...and break your scale. Women absolutely CAN and most definitely WILL add mass to their frame if they eat incorrectly! You will never see a muscle's definition if there is a layer (or two, or six) of fat covering it! Everyone has muscles. Everyone has the ability to show em off, but you can't show off a beautiful flower arrangement with a down comforter thrown over it. (Yeah, that's all I could come up with, but you catch my drift, right?)
If you are eating the same amount of calories and start weight training then yes, eventually you will see results because you are working with a net loss of calories than you were working with prior to weight training. If you cut calories, then you'll see faster results. However, if you are of the mindset that since you're working out that you get to eat MORE, more than you were eating prior to weight training, I've got news for you...you will NOT see results. Well, that's a lie. You will see results, you'll see that ugly little number on the scale go up, up, up. And your pants will get tight, tight, tight. Because now you're building muscle but replacing the calorie deficit with more calories. Thus you're just padding up the down comforter and not allowing that beautiful flower arrangement to shine through! Or you're adding more and more flowers to the arrangement, but you're just making the comforter poof out more because the problem is the comforter, not the flowers. Is this making any sense? The little image in my head makes perfect sense! I invite you to come inside and check it out!
And yes, I understand that building muscle increases metabolism and uses more energy for longer, thus burning more calories. I get that. My point is that yes, women CAN add mass. And they do it by weight training and NOT eating right. Eat clean instead of downing a whole pizza, and your muscles will repay you by eating away at the fat around them and showing off their sculptured beauty that you so worked hard for!
*** Breath***End of Soapbox***
Thank you for listening. You may now remove your fingers from your ears.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, my non-literal butt...
So I work out hard each week, and (news flash!) it is true, I like to eat. (Evidenced by my last 500 blogs all dedicated to the subject of food!) This is where my problem starts because I don't always choose the carrot sticks over a handful of m-n-m's. The person who sneaked into my house and broke my scale, I believe, also increased the temperature of my dryer. My jeans now feel a bit tighter in my thighs and my literal butt, which should not be happening if I'm replacing fat with muscle. Muscle, although weighing more than fat, takes up a LOT less room. So, clothes should be fitting better, not tighter. Sigh.
My impressive deductive reasoning skills tell me that if I'm working my non-literal butt off every day and I'm seeing an increase on the scale AND in my jeans then the obvious problem is with my m-n-m habit.
Which makes me wonder...do people actually have "habits" with good things...like carrot sticks? Like raw broccoli? "Oh Jen, I can't go out with you tonight, I overindulged in my crudite platter again!" Does that happen? Do those people feel bad about the overindulgence? Or do they feel great? Or do they just feel gassy?
Most of my meals are, as I categorize them, "decent". I usually start off well in the morning. Lunch is iffy. Dinner is usually good. Snacks are terrible. I have always refused to keep a food journal because I guess it's like people who don't go to the doctor because they don't want to hear the bad news. Yeah, that's me. I don't want to see it written down that I ate 12 malted milk Easter eggs throughout the day. (Man, grabbing two at a time adds up!) I know I'm not perfect and I just don't feel like seeing my imperfections written out on paper. It's sooooo, sooooo school like! I know my journal will be marked up with red pen. I won't get an A at the top of my paper and that will make me feel like a failure. And lately, feeling like a failure is just not something I want to feel like!
But I think that may be just what I need. Maybe, just maybe it's time to face the facts. Even if those facts are marked up with a red pen each day showing me how I am failing my plans for health and God's desires for a holy temple. Even though I work my non-literal butt off, if I really want to work my literal butt off, maybe I should take the advice of the 911 operator, put the twinkie down and walk away.
I encourage you to keep a food journal. If you don't want to, then that should be your first sign that you're not living optimally to be the best you that you can be! And if that doesn't motivate you, then how about better sleep, more energy, better brain functions, heart functions, reproductive, respiratory, digestive....you get the point. The payoffs could literally be life saving. Although I'm still not convinced my added 8 pounds is really due to a shift in lunar alignment, I'm vowing to continue working my non-literal AND literal butt off with the help of better food choices and (huff. sigh. groan. eye roll.) start keeping a food journal.
Until next time!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Long Time No Read
I haven't been sleeping well. No news there. Though I'm convinced it's hormonal because the sleeplessness seems to come in cycles. (Note to self: start logging sleepless nights. What part of the month it is. What I had for dinner. What thoughts are running through my head like a hamster on a wheel. What jeans I wore. High heels or flats? If I'm soaked with sweat. (Pretty pic, I know.))
That last one is true. Some mornings I wake up completely saturated in sweat. Yummy. Like I just worked out for hours. It's weird. It's gross. It means a lot more laundry. And that alone is enough to motivate me to search for answers. I'm 30, for Pete sakes!
So one day following a sleepless night I took advantage of Zoey's naptime and decided to also lay down myself. (Or is it lie down? Whatever. You know what I mean. I approached my bed, crawled under the covers and assumed a horizontal position.) While I was horizontal (aka supine. Yeah baby, I'm smart!)...while I was horizontal I had a blog post idea. "Oh yes, I'll write about that. Good idea, Macey...oh, *pop*, *pop*, *pop* (those are ideas popping into my head) and those will be my supporting pieces...yes, yes, good ideas Macey....NO! STOP!"
It was just as the creative juices were really flowing that I decided I would NOT think about those things during my much needed nap time. I knew I was limited for time with Zoey sleeping, so I had to seize the opportunity...for sleep, that is. So I tucked myself in, pushed the pause button on my blog post idea, and went to sleep.
And then I woke up.
Empty.
When I woke up, I realized I didn't push pause, I pushed the stop and erase now button. And when it verified if I really wanted to delete my ideas, I pressed yes. It was GONE! My idea. My supporting pieces. All gone! Where they went, I haven't a clue. I suppose they will find their way into my cerebrum again someday. Probably when I least expect it. Probably, if I'm really lucky, at a time when I can't take notes!
So I've been waiting. Thinking. Meditating. Sleeping. Wondering. I even went to a hypnotist to find where my ideas where hiding, but only found out that I forgot to turn the washing machine on and turn the coffee pot off. Doh! Alas, not even a smidgen of a hint of an inkling of a twinkling of an idea of what I was going to write about. So with the days quickly passing, I decided I'd write about the fact that once upon a time I had an idea. Wow. Interesting! So there it is folks. Really, it's a post about nothing at all! Does that mean my brain is void of all rational thoughts? Probably. But if we're being completely honest here, we've already known that for a while now.
So to add a little sustenance to the nothingness, I will offer some stories straight from my crazy offspring. (Offsprings? Geesh, maybe I should read more. Note to self: read more. Note on top of original note to self: nursery rhymes don't count.)
Today Gavin informed me that the tv in the playroom "wasn't working right". These types of comments and requests are usually made to dad. Everyone in this house knows that electronics and I don't mesh. We're like polenta and goat cheese. Or shorts and Uggs. For some reason the stars don't align with our complicated relationship. We have an ugly past. But being that Sean is the working dad that he is and I was just attempting to write about the nothingness inside my void brain, I was the only one at home with "authority to plug things in". Even though I'm sure those privileges will be revoked soon enough.
So Blog Mom put down the computer, grabbed her Electronics Fixer hat and went to the playroom to investigate. Just as the boy said...the TV wasn't working right. At least it wasn't showing the movie that was obviously running in the dvd player. Just a blue screen. I used my super sleuth skills to check that the tv was on VIDEO...check. I checked all plug ins...check, check, check. A couple were loose, so I pushed em in farther and checked the screen. Still blue. I checked everything I knew how to check and even went for the fix all "reboot" that seems to help out the laptop 9 times outta 10. I turned it all off, then back on. No luck. Screen's still blue.
When I tell Sean about the tv here in a bit I fully expect my Electronics Fixer hat to be taken back and my plugging in authorities to be revoked. It could be a sad night.
But the funny part of this story is not how I played directly into my role as the non-fixer. It's about the scene that was taking place behind me as I sleuthed my way to failure. (Yes, I made sleuth a verb.) I shall call this story Oh Be Careful Little Mouths What You Say and here it is:
Gavin and Zoey were playing house, or something of the sorts. Zoey grabbed her purse and her keys. Gavin gave Zoey a list of items they needed from the store. On her way out, she grabbed her phone (or course) and Gavin yelled, "don't forget we need dog food". Zoey left the room, came back about 5 seconds later and sat down in a chair. After a second and verifying to Gavin that she remembered the dog food, she looked around the room and said, "You kids need to clean this crap up!".
I about fell out. I think I did.
I turned around unable to hide the smile on my face and told her she did not get to talk like that. And I realized, it just hit me, she obviously got that from her daddy. Ha!!
The second story of the day comes to you via a paper Gavin wrote at school. I will call this story Everything is Gravy When You're High and it goes a little something like this:
Gavin usually gets done with his in-class assignments quickly, so to keep himself occupied he draws on the back of his papers or practices writing sentences. He said his teacher is usually busy helping other students with the assignment so she doesn't help with his extracurricular spelling. She tells him to "just sound it out".
While going through his backpack today I found his normal school work. I flipped over all the papers to see what creativity was oozing through him today. Most days I'm greeted with an "I love you Mom" or a beautiful mosaic of colors. But today, I found this. A piece of paper with this written on the back:
"Avery is butfl. She is hiye. What the?"
No. I'm not even kidding. I kinda wish I was.
This is what I am hoping it translates to:
"Avery is beautiful. She is...(I'm actually lost here. I was hoping for 'nice', but it's just not fitting.) She is high. What is the meaning of love?"
It's a stretch. It's a very, very large stretch. But it's better in my make believe world.
This is what I actually saw the first time I read it:
"Avery is buttful. She is high. What the...?"
Huh? Avery is buttful? Does that mean she's a little round in the backside? That she's got junk in her trunk? At the age of 6? *Sigh* I don't know where Avery came from, but I keep imaging a 6 year old Jennifer Lopez addicted to crack. And Gavin questioning it with a "what the ....". I guess I can't shield my first born from the real life forever. Wait. Who am I kidding...he watches Big Brother.
Totally kidding. He doesn't watch Big Brother. He said Big Brother was trash tv compared to the Real Housewives of Orange County. Now that's real life, folks. Fabricated, silicone-filled, extension-attached, fake-friending, botox-ridden real life! I'm kind of addicted to the trash. Don't tell anyone.
We'll be praying for and with our children tonight. They obviously need it. I'm concerned. I also might change my name to protect the guilty.
Finally, if I ever remember what I was going to write about, you might hear from me sooner than later. If not...it might be another post about nothing.
Until next time!
That last one is true. Some mornings I wake up completely saturated in sweat. Yummy. Like I just worked out for hours. It's weird. It's gross. It means a lot more laundry. And that alone is enough to motivate me to search for answers. I'm 30, for Pete sakes!
So one day following a sleepless night I took advantage of Zoey's naptime and decided to also lay down myself. (Or is it lie down? Whatever. You know what I mean. I approached my bed, crawled under the covers and assumed a horizontal position.) While I was horizontal (aka supine. Yeah baby, I'm smart!)...while I was horizontal I had a blog post idea. "Oh yes, I'll write about that. Good idea, Macey...oh, *pop*, *pop*, *pop* (those are ideas popping into my head) and those will be my supporting pieces...yes, yes, good ideas Macey....NO! STOP!"
It was just as the creative juices were really flowing that I decided I would NOT think about those things during my much needed nap time. I knew I was limited for time with Zoey sleeping, so I had to seize the opportunity...for sleep, that is. So I tucked myself in, pushed the pause button on my blog post idea, and went to sleep.
And then I woke up.
Empty.
When I woke up, I realized I didn't push pause, I pushed the stop and erase now button. And when it verified if I really wanted to delete my ideas, I pressed yes. It was GONE! My idea. My supporting pieces. All gone! Where they went, I haven't a clue. I suppose they will find their way into my cerebrum again someday. Probably when I least expect it. Probably, if I'm really lucky, at a time when I can't take notes!
So I've been waiting. Thinking. Meditating. Sleeping. Wondering. I even went to a hypnotist to find where my ideas where hiding, but only found out that I forgot to turn the washing machine on and turn the coffee pot off. Doh! Alas, not even a smidgen of a hint of an inkling of a twinkling of an idea of what I was going to write about. So with the days quickly passing, I decided I'd write about the fact that once upon a time I had an idea. Wow. Interesting! So there it is folks. Really, it's a post about nothing at all! Does that mean my brain is void of all rational thoughts? Probably. But if we're being completely honest here, we've already known that for a while now.
So to add a little sustenance to the nothingness, I will offer some stories straight from my crazy offspring. (Offsprings? Geesh, maybe I should read more. Note to self: read more. Note on top of original note to self: nursery rhymes don't count.)
Today Gavin informed me that the tv in the playroom "wasn't working right". These types of comments and requests are usually made to dad. Everyone in this house knows that electronics and I don't mesh. We're like polenta and goat cheese. Or shorts and Uggs. For some reason the stars don't align with our complicated relationship. We have an ugly past. But being that Sean is the working dad that he is and I was just attempting to write about the nothingness inside my void brain, I was the only one at home with "authority to plug things in". Even though I'm sure those privileges will be revoked soon enough.
So Blog Mom put down the computer, grabbed her Electronics Fixer hat and went to the playroom to investigate. Just as the boy said...the TV wasn't working right. At least it wasn't showing the movie that was obviously running in the dvd player. Just a blue screen. I used my super sleuth skills to check that the tv was on VIDEO...check. I checked all plug ins...check, check, check. A couple were loose, so I pushed em in farther and checked the screen. Still blue. I checked everything I knew how to check and even went for the fix all "reboot" that seems to help out the laptop 9 times outta 10. I turned it all off, then back on. No luck. Screen's still blue.
When I tell Sean about the tv here in a bit I fully expect my Electronics Fixer hat to be taken back and my plugging in authorities to be revoked. It could be a sad night.
But the funny part of this story is not how I played directly into my role as the non-fixer. It's about the scene that was taking place behind me as I sleuthed my way to failure. (Yes, I made sleuth a verb.) I shall call this story Oh Be Careful Little Mouths What You Say and here it is:
Gavin and Zoey were playing house, or something of the sorts. Zoey grabbed her purse and her keys. Gavin gave Zoey a list of items they needed from the store. On her way out, she grabbed her phone (or course) and Gavin yelled, "don't forget we need dog food". Zoey left the room, came back about 5 seconds later and sat down in a chair. After a second and verifying to Gavin that she remembered the dog food, she looked around the room and said, "You kids need to clean this crap up!".
I about fell out. I think I did.
I turned around unable to hide the smile on my face and told her she did not get to talk like that. And I realized, it just hit me, she obviously got that from her daddy. Ha!!
The second story of the day comes to you via a paper Gavin wrote at school. I will call this story Everything is Gravy When You're High and it goes a little something like this:
Gavin usually gets done with his in-class assignments quickly, so to keep himself occupied he draws on the back of his papers or practices writing sentences. He said his teacher is usually busy helping other students with the assignment so she doesn't help with his extracurricular spelling. She tells him to "just sound it out".
While going through his backpack today I found his normal school work. I flipped over all the papers to see what creativity was oozing through him today. Most days I'm greeted with an "I love you Mom" or a beautiful mosaic of colors. But today, I found this. A piece of paper with this written on the back:
"Avery is butfl. She is hiye. What the?"
No. I'm not even kidding. I kinda wish I was.
This is what I am hoping it translates to:
"Avery is beautiful. She is...(I'm actually lost here. I was hoping for 'nice', but it's just not fitting.) She is high. What is the meaning of love?"
It's a stretch. It's a very, very large stretch. But it's better in my make believe world.
This is what I actually saw the first time I read it:
"Avery is buttful. She is high. What the...?"
Huh? Avery is buttful? Does that mean she's a little round in the backside? That she's got junk in her trunk? At the age of 6? *Sigh* I don't know where Avery came from, but I keep imaging a 6 year old Jennifer Lopez addicted to crack. And Gavin questioning it with a "what the ....". I guess I can't shield my first born from the real life forever. Wait. Who am I kidding...he watches Big Brother.
Totally kidding. He doesn't watch Big Brother. He said Big Brother was trash tv compared to the Real Housewives of Orange County. Now that's real life, folks. Fabricated, silicone-filled, extension-attached, fake-friending, botox-ridden real life! I'm kind of addicted to the trash. Don't tell anyone.
We'll be praying for and with our children tonight. They obviously need it. I'm concerned. I also might change my name to protect the guilty.
Finally, if I ever remember what I was going to write about, you might hear from me sooner than later. If not...it might be another post about nothing.
Until next time!
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