"Did someone shit in that bowl?" and other diet food reviews.

So, for my friends with sensitive ears, I'm sorry.  For my judgmental perfect mom friends, this isn't for you.  But for my cool, "world's okayest mom" comrades who won't judge that my kid drops a curse word occasionally (or all the time, but only in appropriate settings), read on.  

Charlie has been super supportive of my diet (other than when he asks me to go get him chicken fingers mid-day not realizing the torture of having to eat tuna and then ride in the car for 5 minutes with juicy, grease flavored bites of deliciousness and ROLLS sitting in the seat next to me... nevertheless, he hasn't gotten the damn lunch chicken).  He's sweet about offering to rub my neck, get me an apple, refill my water, and go on walks with me.  He reminds me how much easier things might be (like knee hockey and climbing into his loft bed for a snuggle) when I'm back to goal weight.  He tells me he's proud of me when I reach my goals for the day.  He's my positive reinforcement.  Until today.  

The offender

On occasion, I have to defend my food choices.  I'm really hoping to inspire him to eat healthier by introducing him to alternatives to kid food (he has my sweet tooth).  I've convinced him to try a fruit smoothie, a steamed carrot, and some other things he didn't find totally repulsive.  And I was SO optimistic that we'd love the Oikos triple zero chocolate greek yogurt.  You know, a great substitute for pudding, right? It's low calorie, no added sugar, low carb, no fat, high protein... it checked the boxes.  When I pulled back the foil, I was immediately concerned (although I have to keep a poker face as he's watching me).  It's a weird tan color... definitely doesn't look like dark delicious milk chocolate pudding as I'd expected.  So I stir (I'd already warned him that greek yogurt looks gross until you stir it, so he was prepared for the icky first impression).  Now, it just looked like creamy tan sludge.  Charlie was still skeptical.  And then it came... "I know that's healthy and all, but is that really yogurt or did someone just shit in that little bowl? 'Cause that's what it looks like." 😂🙈💩

Cue my disgust at his comment, mom fussing about the language, and so on.  I laid on the guilt trip thick about criticizing my healthy snack choice.  By this point, I'm convinced this is going to be AMAZING and he's the one missing out.  WRONG.  As I'm on display, trying to show him how wrong he is... I put the first big creamy tan bite in my mouth and... it's confirmed... it tastes like someone just shit in the little bowl.  It was AWFUL and reminiscent of the "vanilla flavored dog shit" protein shakes from one of my first blog posts.  It was sour and bitter and tasted nothing like yogurt or chocolate.  I don't know what shit actually tastes like, but now I have a good guess.  But like a good mom who can lay on a great guilt trip, I poker face ate the whole damn thing and acted like he'd just missed out on the best ice cream sundae of his life with a "are you sure  you don't want the last bite?" (insert guilty grin).

Auburn boy should
know better 

Now to hide the other one I bought in the trash where he can't see it.  And, when he asks why I don't have more, I'll tell him the store was out of them since they were sooooo delicious.  Because that's how the world's okayest mom rolls.  And by the way, Oikos, you missed the mark on this one.  And Cam Newton, my fellow Auburn Tiger... you lied to me!  

Inches from Flight Disaster: Crash (Diet) Landing.

Nope. Not what you think. In fact, I have data.  On the way to the airport, Charlie pipes up from the back seat with “how often do planes crash?”  That's JUST what you want to think about on the way to the airport, right?  So, I reluctantly looked it up. I was delighted to report that 0.18 of every million planes crash... which equates to less than one in every 5 million (I think - I don't really do math well). 

I’m a catastrophic injury lawyer, so I like stats, I understand risks, and I know that we (all people) take them every day. Want something frightening to put this all in perspective?  There’s a car accident every minute of every day in the US (a fatal accident every 16 minutes). Whew- that sucks, right? But to ease Charlie's concern, we have confirmed that flying IS, in fact, safer than driving. So... buckle up! And, therein lies the topic of this post. 

I do NOT see myself as a big person, which is probably why I’ve had a hard time getting motivated to diet. I’m active, ride a horse, have normal seats and furniture. But there are things that keep me in check...like seats at sporting events...and airplanes. I’m a true GA peach (and I’m also shaped like one, which can require the “side slide” into hard seats with armrests in order to clear the “child birthing hips” that women on plantation front porches sipping sweet tea and saying “bless your heart” are so freaking proud of). 

But there are the three words that terrify every fluffy girl ... “seat belt extender.”  OMG. I’ve done a lot of embarrassing things in my life. I split my pants...twice...remember?  I got so drunk (in law school) I fell on the dance floor... and continued to dance... on my back. (This was not one of my finer moments in life and I don’t think Jared has ever stepped back into that bar out of sheer humiliation that he was with "that drunk girl").  I’ve walked into a men’s bathroom full of colleagues at a conference.  I've spilled a drink all over a stranger at a concert.  I tripped and fell over my own feet outside the grocery store and landed face first with about a 30 foot “debris field” of groceries, phone and keys. I get up, laugh and continue my business. Embarrassing shit happens to everyone.  But THAT -  the seatbelt extender -  is something I’ve always avoided and plan to continue to avoid. 

Seriously - SHE is 
the demo person? 

Did you know you can't bring your own?  I mean, they sell them on Amazon (and a site called "moreofmetolove.com" - great title - that sells things for fluffy person comfort that I, thank goodness, have never needed... and you know you're going to check it out now, aren't you, nosey?).  And then, it would be no different than whipping your headphones out of your carry on bag... discreet and personal.  But apparently the FAA frowns on that (and disallows them) because they're not inspected and approved.  Seriously... I can attest from near personal experience that if I'm squeezed so tightly into an airplane seat that I need an extender, I am probably not going to come out of that seat in an emergency situation anyway (and if I do, I have extra padding).  But I digress.  

Friends- if you’ve ever had to ask for one, I seriously applaud you. I’ve watched that process and I always love the matter-of-fact, no bullshit, way that people ask for them.  "Ma'am - I need a seatbelt extender." No whispering, no hiding, just the facts.  And I always appreciate the flight attendants just being “all business” and delivering it with a smile and a hand-off... like a pack of pretzels.  No judgment, totally professional, and just part of the job. But I die a little inside out of empathy every time. I always wondered when the day would come that I’d have to be "the one." And I've vowed it won't... ever.  I don't have that no-bullshit asking skill.  I'd be all awkward trying to whisper (now with a mask).  I'd be the one who requires the flight attendant to yell at her teammate down the plane "do we have another seatbelt extender - this lady needs one!"  I'd make it weird.  That's a special skill I have.  So I CANNOT ever need one.  It would spell disaster and I'd start driving everywhere to avoid it, which we know, from the statistics above, is less safe.  

So every time I take my airplane seat and grab that belt, I say a little prayer, and thank God and baby Jesus- my favorite Jesus (extra credit if you know the movie!)- I hear the CLICK!  I dodged the bullet again... no extender needed...and I plan to keep it that way!  

Just for laughs... 😂

Claw and Order - The White Claw Phenomenon

Ever seen a fat girl drinking white claw? Think about it. I bet you can’t think of one.  And if you can’t, she may be a unicorn. White Claw is the big boob skinny girls on boats in bikinis drink. #amIright? Maybe I’m not- this is a generalization and stereotype. But you have to admit that someone who’s not worries about calories isn’t going to be drinking a gross, no taste, artificial flavor, get drunk seltzer water. 

Why? Because fluffy girls know what tastes good. That’s how we got this

way!  We know that margaritas, dacquiries,  Bellinis, and maybe a Whataburger chocolate milkshake spiked with peanut butter whiskey (I seriously thought I might have died and gone to heaven on that one so I included a picture!) are WHERE ITS AT. But “Apparently“ they are full of sugar (and milkshake) and that’s not good for the waistline. [eye roll].  If I wasn’t a believer, I’d wonder if there was a God in the midst of this cruelty. 

But I can’t drink white claw yet... I would feel like an imposter. It might even be some sort of law in Texas.  Did you know that in Texas, it's illegal to dust a public building with a feather duster, it's illegal to milk a stranger's cow, and it's illegal to shoot a buffalo from a second story window?  Glad I'm putting that expensive legal education to good use.  But I sure don't want to get arrested for "drinking White Claw while fluffy." 

So I do have some vodka/diet tonic and some “clean” (no sugar added) Scout & Cellar wine from my friend Ali (let me know if you want some- she can hook you up!). That’s a good compromise until I’m ready to put some boobs on display and get on a boat in a bikini...then I can proudly hold my white claw. Because NOT drinking is NOT an option. Did I mention I’m a lawyer, entrepreneur and hockey mom? That’s the trifecta that prevents me from being completely sober all the time. They already took away my cookies and Funyuns. 

Diet life is not FUN-yun.

I re-joined an online workout program and my friend invited me into her fitness and health FB group.  She's headed on a road trip today and has (1) a protein shake, (2) hummus, and (3) veggies for snacks.  I am totally aware that what I've embarked on is a lifestyle change and that protein shakes, hummus and veggies are the new norm... they're how I'll have the health that will allow me to be around for Charlie for a long time.  That's the big hairy goal.  But...seriously... 

WHO the hell road trips without diet coke and Funyuns?  Is it even a road trip without these staples?  Maybe some boring car ride from hell... might as well listen to idiots on youtube screaming at each other instead of listening to music.  And maybe we can get lost a few times, stress about running out of gas, and have "are we there yet?" in a whiny 5 year old voice on a loop.  That would make any "road trip" even more fun.    

This revelation nearly brought me to tears - that this is REALLY a life change.  It changes the way you think about everything.  And for a second, I started to question everything...do I really want to do this?  Am I ready? I almost even felt like I was giving up part of myself when I literally have to change every single element of life including the way I've ridden in a car since I was 10 (in the 80s, sitting in the front seat, feet on the dash and a pillow, reading Babysitters Club books and munching on Funyuns).  Funyuns went with me to many horse shows through my teens.  Funyuns were my companion back and forth to college.  They helped me get my horse to New York to train during the summer of '97.  When I drove my truck and horse trailer with all of my worldly belongings (and my horse, Joker and my dog, Belle) to Texas for law school, singing "Bar Light Bar Bright" trying to stay awake on the 14 hour drive from GA, Funyuns were there.  And Funyuns have been my gas station staple between here and every out of town hockey tournament for the past 4 years.  I feel like I need to have some sort of serious conversation with whoever makes Funyuns to tell them "I'm sorry I have to break up with you - it's not you, it's me."  Is it rude of me to break up with them via blog?  I hope they understand and will still be there for me when I'm on a trip someday and feeling week.  But, they're an addictive obsession and I probably need to cut ties for good.  

I've been learning through my app based weight loss program about the kinds of eating that we do... for fuel (the good kind), for fun (apparently my kind), fog (mindless - I'm also a fan)... but my days of "fun eating" are over. 

Skinny people will tell you that there are "substitute" foods that taste just as good (I've been one of them, remember?).  They might even share recipes and snacks (yep - I remember during Miss Texas days sharing how much peanut butter on a rice cake with a drizzle of sugar free chocolate syrup is like a Reese's... it does NOT... unless you're starving.  Although, I'll admit - my friend Jessica gave us some healthy cookies that will definitely suffice on a craving).  Trainers will say "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." And remember Adolphus?  If you want to see the shit show that was our pre-Charlie personal trainer named Adolphus, scroll back to the first post in this blog and grab some popcorn (or grapes or a rice cake... whatever).  He's the reason I started blogging... with his "you're not fat... we just need to uncover your FINE.").

So, as I prepare for the next weeks (I know - the first 2-6 months will be the hardest), I've accepted that this is not going to be FUN(yun).  It's a reshaping of so many things - figuratively and literally.  My mother in law mentioned that this blog should be in the Weight Watchers magazine and then my thoughts went to "oh! They do points! And I bet WW would let me have a few Funyuns if I eat broccoli the rest of the day!"  But I'll stick with my plan.  I'll be good.  And I'm cutting out the chemicals and processed things like Funyuns.  Let's pour one out for my travel homie.   

For the love of all thing “HOLEY.”

So I’ve been reporting to the dictator (my weight loss app), feeling guilty that I know better than how I’m eating, and convinced more water would help this journey. But do I change things? Nope. Why? Because I’m a stress eater. And we’ve been in hockey try out hell. I had a kid telling me he’s a “nervous wreck.” Work is nuts. And it was month end for 2 of my businesses... need more?  (I’m usually not a person that makes excuses, but “good gravy”!) 

So I decided to give myself some grace, get used to the app, fill the house with healthy foods, and be ready to really dive in Monday. (Why does Monday always feel like a better day to start something? Who knows...)

And why THIS Monday? I’ve put this off for years, why the rush?! 

Because of the “Holey” spirit. I asked God to give me a little willpower, a little kick in the Butt. And apparently he did while I wasn’t looking because after cruising around to the grocery store, the hockey rink, and the gas station, I came home, bent over to grab a knee hockey stick and Charlie yells “omg, mom, I can see your ass cheek!” 

Yep. My 9 year old said ass cheek. And what he said was TRUE. Total blow out. Like... my rockstar stretch skinny jeans were pissed. They were tired of being stretched to the limit. They gave in and gave out. Jared said “poor quality,” but I think they were just quitters. And I have no time in my life for quitters. So I threw those bitches in the trash and will survive in my jeggings until I can drop a size. Maybe my next pair will be more badass and supportive like “go girl- we gotcha- you can do this and we’ll be here with you ‘til we’re baggy in the ass” and less lazy valley girl “I’m tired, this sucks, life is hard.”  Quitters... 

I wish I could say this is the first time this has happened. It’s not. 

In my best golden girls Sophia voice... “picture it. Southlake, Texas. Christmas 2019....” We were headed to see Christmas lights with my in laws, my brother in law, and our hockey billet kid. I volunteered to ride in the BIL’s jacked up jeep. That, my friends, was a bad idea. The mount up was tricky and when I twisted, my old faithful favorite pair of jeans let me down. Luckily, we were 2 minutes from Old Navy... the promised land.  But I’ll never get the different renditions of “Moon River” And “O Holy Night” that were sung to me that night out of my head.

If a skinny chick rips her jeans, it’s like “oh you poor thing” and all the other skinny girls run to help.  I feel like the more weight one carries when this happens, the more judgmental tone falls on the “oh you poor thing” and your “fluffy friends” run to the mirror to check their own pants. 

I think I’m finally ready To start this diet. If the joint pain, immobility, shortness of breath and overall shock at what I’ve done to myself isn’t enough... the thought of displaying my white ass for the world to see through a denim window...IS.  Until then - never fear- I’ll wear sweats.

Will the App laugh at me?

So I decided to pull out all the stops this time and start using a weight loss app... because preparing to do something is one of my favorite hobbies. I love to organize and shop and plan... mostly for things that never come to fruition.  I have a gift basket business that never got off the ground, a domain for a website I never finished and brochures for a Ph.D. I never enrolled in. I overcommit. And then when I realize it and pull the plug on things, I feel like a quitter, which to me is way worse than a failure. 

I digress... back to the app.  So, I entered all of my info, had to get on the dreaded scale again and spent an hour filling out my profile for my “coach.”  It said the “coach” will be in touch tomorrow. Great! One more day to eat what I want! So I had a doozy of a day. And then it happened. I got an alert to remind me to track my food. WTF? I just started today!  Don’t I get like a send off party for my thighs? 

So, with Charlie’s help, we retracted my food steps for the day... and my son proceeded to die laughing and say “I wonder if the app will laugh at you too because it sure doesn’t look like you’re on a diet.” And after smacking his head and telling him he’s a mini asshole, I wondered... will it scold me?  Luckily, it just reminded me to make better choices.  I can accept that.