Dear “Lifestyle Change”

Dear Lifestyle Change –

My husband and I thought we wanted you in our lives. We thought we wanted to be healthier, and lose some weight. We thought it would be good for us.

What I’m learning is that you aren’t good for US at all. You are coming between us.

As my husband stands on the scale after dinner and gets excited because in three weeks he’s lost 8 pounds, I glare at him and think evil, bitter, girly-angry things because I’ve gained a half a pound. A HALF A POUND, lifestyle change!

I’ll admit, I slipped up one day, but it wasn’t like I was absolutely crazy – I had some cheese curds and homemade lemonade at the fair that I really shouldn’t have had. But out of three weeks, I slip up once, and here I am, no better off than I was before. Now I see how it is. You favor him. He can eat cheese curds and drink lemonade (and have a gyro!!), but you still grace him with your favors, and he is so thrilled with you.

I see through you, lifestyle change. You are fickle, and bitter. In time, you won’t be able to do for my husband what you have been doing – that I promise you. And then he won’t love you quite as much as he does.

I’ll admit, I don’t want that to happen, because I’m proud of him and happy that he is happy – that is important to me. Yet I still have one thing left to tell you, lifestyle change.

I hate you, your abundance of salads and your stupid calorie counting.

I wish I could quit you….


Huh. Next time I should look before I drink.

Don't drink and count calories!

Don't drink and count calories!

That’s unfortunate.

Also, who the hell only drinks 5 oz of wine? I mean, seriously? My wine glass is way bigger than that! And I do not have Courtney Cox’s glass from “Cougartown”. Although I would appreciate one for Christmas. Anyone? And hey, while I’m thinking of it, how does she drink all that wine and not weigh 485 pounds? Huh. I have just decided I will hold that girly-bitterness that accompanies the realization that a specific girl sucks because they can eat (drink) whatever they want. Pfft on you, Courtney.

Okay, I still love you. And Cougartown. Please share your meal plans, so I can learn how to be so skinny and still enjoy massive amounts of wine on a regular basis. Or tell me it’s all fiction. That works, too.

Mommy’s Doctor Visit

I went to the doctor today to have a thyroid test done. Does it sound pathetic that I’m hoping it comes back as a problem? I’m figuring though, since it was normal last year that it probably will be this year, too. My conclusion? I am going to spend the rest of my life pregnant so I can eat 6,000 calories a day and still lose excessive amounts of weight, instead of eating 2,500 and gaining excessively. Not being pregnant kind of sucks.

Anyway, so after my visit with Ollie and I’s doctor, Amy Haupert, we headed on down to the lab. I got down there and took a seat. Across from me was a guy about my parent’s age I’m guessing. I sat quietly and talked to Ollie for a few minutes, and then he says “your baby is really cute” from across the waiting area. I smile and say thanks, although when guys say my baby is cute it really throws me off. I don’t know why, but it does. Anyway, so I sit there and talk to Ollie some more, and he’s laughing and smiling, and the guy asks “What’s his name?” (Okay, readers, should I not be disclosing this?) and I say “Oliver”. He’s like “wow… you don’t hear that name much anymore. You probably don’t want to hear this, but that’s my dog’s name.”

Oh good Lord.

So as he tells me all about his dog, I sit there nodding, still making the occassional face at Ollie to keep him from realizing he’s still belted into his car seat. A few minutes go by, and our new friend, “Maynard”, is called into the “area of death” as I used to call it. (Before pregnancy, I couldn’t get my blood drawn without them having to lay me down afterwards.)

We sit there for another moment or two, and a mom with two little ones comes shuffling down the hallway towards us. She sits, and the kids crowd her with “Can I have chapstick? Where can I sit? Do you have crayons?” As she situates the stroller. The oldest is a little girl (3 and a half) and a little boy (2). They get situated, and after a moment, the little girl says “Mommy, can I go sit over there?” She points to my side of the waiting room, but about 6 seats down. She says “Yeah, that’s fine.” (I was really impressed with this mommy, even though later the two tried to take off toward the ER.) The little girl sits at the end of the row, and keeps stealing glances in my direction. I can’t help but notice her, but I continue my chatting with Ollie quietly. Finally, her mom says “Are you okay?” to her daughter. She nods and then, whispering, points at me and says “I kind of want to go sit by that lady.” I turn and smile at her, and I say “Did you want to see the baby?” She nods shyly, and I say “You can come see him.”

She runs over, and Ollie is in his seat on the floor. She kneels next to him and whispers “Hi, baby.” He turns and smiles a HUGE smile, and he immediately starts talking to her. Usually he’s not very talkative with people he doesn’t know. But he took to her immediately. He reached up, and sat there feeling her face while she sat and talked to him, telling him how cute he was. IT WAS THE MOST ADORABLE THING EVER. He just totally loved her.

You would have thought that everyone in the lab had seen a baby before, but they sure acted like they hadn’t. Although not as bad as when after Ollie’s last visit I went up to make an appointment with Rhonda in the OB clinic and the nurses came running out when they found out there was a baby at the appointment desk.

I gave blood and skipped out of there, convinced myself that tomorrow I would be stricter about what I ate, and went through the McDonald’s drive thru. Don’t judge me. I’ve been craving a McD’s ice cream cone for a week. Anyway, I end up with a mighty kids meal and a cone, and pull out onto 65. I get north of Grandy and finish my cone, and start digging for the fries.

There are no fries.

Now, I’m sorry, but seriously…. HOW THE F$!K DO YOU FORGET FRIES IN A KID’S MEAL!?!?!? And what if it had been for a KID? Can you imagine?

I called them. They are sending me a coupon. It better not just be for free fries. I was MAD.

Perhaps, however, it was a sign from God. I shouldn’t be eating the fries, but the chicken nuggets were okay?

The Worst Week Ever

Okay, seriously, what did I do that karma feels the need to punish me for this week?

I was harassed about not being married a number of times. About 4 people today asked “what’s this?” and pointed to the engagement ring I’ve been wearing for NEARLY FIVE YEARS. And then… and then…

I stopped at the bank to pick up a Visa gift card. I’m standing in line and someone I used to work with at Coborn’s walks in. I haven’t seen her in probably two years. I say “Hey! Hi! How are you?” She replies that she’s doing well, and then points towards Ollie and says “how many?”. I smile, and look at Ollie, and say “just him.” She smiles back and says “Well, yeah, and that one” and points about waist level. At first I glance down, expecting to see someone else’s wee one standing next to me peeking at the baby or something. Then I realize with horror that she’s pointing at my stomach. My stomach, which is covered by a coat, and in my honest opinion, not looking pregnant. Still confused, I look up and say “No…. there’s no baby in there.” She smiles and says “Oh, it sure looks like it.” I turn around and say “Did you ever think maybe it was the pouch style pocket in my jacket?” (Sticking my hands in my jacket to demonstrate.) “I just had him four months ago, you could cut me some slack!” I felt bad instantly for snapping, and the bank teller, who knows me pretty well, said “Yeah, she’s looking really good. She deserves bonus points.”

So, to make the situation even worse, I leave and head over to the Little Bread Factory. I walk in, and Dawn peeks around the corner. I say “Dawn, I need a cookie. I mean, I NEED a cookie.” She grabs a wax paper and says “No problem hun… which one?” Then I lost it. “I need 2 cranberry white chocolate, and 2 chocolate chip, and 2 blueberry scruffins and…”

“WHOA WHOA WHOA!” She quickly grabs a bag. “I didn’t realize it was THIS serious!”

Needless to say, I left with ten dollars worth of cookies, scruffins, and one lone macaroon, which I promptly ate in the car before pulling away from the curb (the macaroon, not all of it!). And just because I told Dawn I was then on my way to kick someone out of their house and didn’t want to, I got some inspirational words and a free sugar cookie.

So a macaroon and a sugar cookie, some turkey pizza for dinner and then a blueberry scruffin. I lost a couple pounds, and now I’m probably packing it right back on. Sheesh.

I can’t get the image of the pregnant girl yesterday out of my mind. All of a sudden every time I see a pregnant woman I feel all warm and fuzzy and happy. Are other people like this? Or am I a bit of a freak?

I also do not cease to be amazed at what happens to us when we have children. All of a sudden there is this incredible bond. We nod understandingly when one’s child is screaming bloody murder in the store. We can relate to the woes of formula, gas reducing bottles, and picking out just the right baby food. And even if we weren’t friends before, or even slight enemies before, we now swap labor stories like trading cards instead of insults and glares. Women. Are. Amazing.

My dog is lying next to the bed snoring, and Nick has his legs wrapped around mine and is snoring on the other side. I’m trapped, and it’s like listening to someone snore in surround sound. How enjoyable. Ahhh, life is good. Luckily, there’s a cat lying immediately above my head on the pillows (which I rarely get to use because Harold feels that I put them there for him and him alone.), but at least I can hear him purring. That’s always a relaxing noise.

Turkey Pizza

1-1.5 pounds of leftover turkey
2 boxes Jiffy pizza crust
2 (15 ounce) cans pizza sauce (We’ve been using straight tomato sauce and then Nick seasons)
1 cup sliced red onion
1 (14 ounce) can water-packed artichoke hearts, rinsed, drained and chopped
2 large tomatoes, sliced
1 pound cooked bacon
1 can pineapple tidbits
2 cups shredded Italian cheese blend

Press pizza dough into a greased 15-in. x 10-in. x 1-in. baking pan, building up edges slightly; seal seam. Prick dough thoroughly with a fork. Bake at 400 degrees F for 8 minutes or until lightly browned.
Spread with pizza sauce; top with turkey, onion, artichokes, bacon, pineapple and tomatoes. Sprinkle with cheese. Bake for 15-20 minutes or until crust is golden brown.


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