memoirs from an old me

I’m standing on the scale, the number taunting me…



Step off… make sure the little needle swings back to 0. Like that will reset the whole system and make it realize that it surely can’t be that much.

Deep breath.

Step back on it.

205… or is that closer to the 6?



As soon as the number registers… I mean really registers, I start feeding myself the excuses that everyone has fed me over the last few months.
You know what I mean… when you don’t really want to say “yeah, you’ve really packed it on” so instead you say “well, you did just have a baby…” or “quitting smoking will do that to ya!” both of which are comforting and understandable… for the first 2 years or so.

The moment that number reared its ugly head at me, I start telling myself that it is ok, because I have given birth to 2 wonderful children and quit smoking all within the last 5 years.
The person looking at me in the mirror doesn’t agree with me though. That girl is crying out for a change. She’s suffering so horrendously that she doesn’t even know who she really is anymore.

She hides her personality like her body… under a dark blanket.

Today that changes.

These words were from a memoir that I wrote to myself as I began my weight loss journey in 2008. I was 205 pounds when I decided to join Weight Watchers and take control of my life again. Over the next year and a half, I lost nearly 60 pounds, and felt like a new person.

I’ve decided that that girl from 2008 is going to be my inspiration for 2012. She made things happen… she got stuff DONE – like BOOM!!! Done.

I have a fantastic life right now. I have everything I have ever wanted and more – but I have let my weight creep back up on me in my laziness – and created excuses for the extra 15 pounds.

No More.

I need to be accountable. Will you help me?

I’d like to share some of the things I’m learning, recipes I’m trying… all while trying to keep some fun in the mommy-hood.

2012 – better tie your shoes on… I’m comin’ back for more.

highschool bullies and their lifelong effects…

Last week, Mama Kat challenged us to describe a time in our life in only 6 words.

This week, we’ve been asked to expand on those 6 words.

Sadly, the 6 words I chose, I’ve said a few times. I don’t care to expand on the who, what or when’s of it, but I will tell you a bit about why I’m so damn proud of it.

Chubby? You’re ugly. I can diet.

When I went to highschool, I was skinny.  I distinctly remember in grade 9 one of the senior football players made a joke at my expense as I walked by, yapping to his friends that “I’ve got bigger tits than her!”

Like I give a shit you meatheaded half-wit.

Highschool wasn’t the fantastic place I thought it would be. I got picked on a lot and I just wanted it to be over with as quickly as possible. I wasn’t the type of person to stand up for myself, so it was open season on me when it came to insults and derogatory comments.  My hair was frizzy, my teeth were crooked and I wasn’t dressed in designer clothes because my parents preferred groceries to style.  Add to that the fact that I was a straight A student and it’s a perfect recipe for bully bait.

I played sports and tried to stay active, but my major outdoor activity was riding my horse, Chief.  He was my refuge at the end of the day. One of the only “people” I felt comfortable talking to about my problems.

Somewhere around grade 11, my metabolism came to a screeching halt. I had immersed myself in my grades and theatre, and, having shoved sports to the wayside, my weight started to creep up, but I paid it no mind. Size is just a number after all – right?

Fastforward a few years – I’ve had 2 children and weigh 205 lbs.  It wasn’t the number that hurt me. It was the way I felt. It was the fact that I never wanted to be in a picture – even with my children – because I hated the way I looked.

Hated my life.

Hated myself.

Depression, feelings of loneliness and the desire for another life all started to creep in.  I felt totally alone.  Distanced from my children. From my family.

I thought about everyone that had ever called me fat.  Chubby.  Solid.

I channelled my anger.

I made some changes. I joined some support groups.  I learned better eating habits.

I learned not to eat my feelings.

I indulged in a gym membership.  I started going to martial arts.

I had some excellent support from my best friends.

I don’t remember how or when I let the anger of all of it go, but I remember when I realized it was gone. I was watching my boys play on the deck of our apartment. I was laughing at them as they raced their remote control cars when suddenly Peanut, my gentle little boy, climbed up in my lap, wrapped his long arms around my neck and hugged me. And with his little boy breath warm on my ear, whispered “I love my happy mommy”.

I love your happy mommy too.


p.s. – the ugly people? still ugly.

Maybe this doesn’t really follow the prompt quite like it should… but it’s my conscious stream of thought for the day.

And I feel better for having told it.

Mama’s Losin’ It

just let it out

I have a few things to bitch about frustrations today. And since this is my blog and I can say whatever I want, here goes…

1.  I think my damn scale is broken.

It HAS to be. I’ve run for at least 30 minutes every single day for the last 7 days, followed a strict diet, and drank water until I felt my eyeballs were floating.

I’ve lost 1 pound.

Seriously??? 1??  I’ve tried morning weigh-in, evening weigh-in, clothes on, clothes off…. moved the scale alllll around the bathroom. Yyyep – 1 frackin pound.  I haven’t even sneaked a treat… and I am starting to lose motivation.

Something better happen soon, because I find myself bitching at the energetic Chalene Johnson – out loud & emphatically – while doing my Turbofire routine.  Hubby’s getting worried.

2. CoffeeMate fat free French Vanilla  is absolutely NOT the same as International Delights fat free French Vanilla. And I hate hate HATE that my grocery store has changed what they carry.

Is it enough to make me drive further for a different grocery store that carries it?


This is very important, people.

My fat free FV in my coffee is my only treat during the day. It’s my post-workout little party in my mouth.  And it makes me feel like I’m cheating on my diet, which quells the urge to do so later in the day with ohhhh, I don’t know… a box of chocolate chip cookies and a quick trip through DQ.

Plus, without my coffee in the morning, I turn into Medusa.

3.  The frackin rain is killing me.  It’s rained for centuries, it feels like.  I realize that judgement day is Saturday, but couldn’t we have a bit of nice weather before that??? SO in answer to my prayers for just a hint of sun,  it’s like the Almighty is messing with me, because it’s pouring rain as I leave the house and drive to work, then the heavens clear and the sun shines down – as I look, fuming, out my office window.  I’m sure it will be a torrential downpour when it comes time to go for lunch.

4. I have the most confusing child in the world.  Instead of naming my youngest Monster, I should have named him Non Sequitur. Our drive to school this morning consisted of no more than 2 lines dedicated to each subject.

“Mom, my ears (hearing aids) won’t get wet with my new hat on”

“Nope they won’t buddy”

“Do you see that crane??”

“Yep, they’re building an apartment building”

“I bet I’m gonna have pizza for lunch today”

“uhhh. ok?”

This is an actual transcript of just a part of our drive today… WTF?

5.  last but not least… I’m new to this… I need some support… and I’m really hoping that someone will take me under their proverbial wing and help me along. I’m not sure how to find that sort of mentorship… any ideas would be lovely.

Writing, along with Hubby and the kiddos, helps me fight the shadows that sometimes pop up.

I’m glad I have a place to let it out.  Bear with me.