Friday Favorites Finally

It’s back! The triumphant return of Friday Favorites! Are you excited? Can you FEEL the electricity?

OK, maybe not. But maybe I’ll give you some cool ideas, nonetheless. So without further ado, here are a few things I’m loving lately:

Egg roll/wonton wrappers

I love snacks. If I had my way, I’d just snack constantly and never eat a real meal. Also? I’ll choose appetizers over dessert every single time. Give me all the dips and rolls and chips and potato skins and mozzarella sticks and…OK, I need to stop. You get the picture. But life isn’t made on appetizers alone. So I’ve found a solution that marries a meal and a snack—and it makes my heart happy. Enter Nasoya wraps. Low in points (or calories, or whatever you may be counting) and full of endless possibilities, these things are bringing me such joy. They bake up crispy and soft, and I’m having a blast stuffing them with whatever I can imagine. My favorite is a Pizza Log (from a recipe created by the fabulous Emily Bites), but I’ve also made ham and cheese roll-ups and buffalo chicken roll-ups. And because I’m a good Catholic girl who can’t eat meat on Fridays right now, I’m contemplating a healthier version of Crab Rangoon very soon. These wraps are usually found in the produce section of your local grocery store.

Perfectly poached eggs  

I love eggs for breakfast. I find it necessary to start my day with protein. I especially love a good runny egg. But because I’m nothing if not a fan of the snooze button, I don’t usually have the time to make them. However, I’ve learned a trick that is truly life changing. Are you ready? You can cook perfectly poached eggs in a minute in your microwave. Take a regular coffee mug, fill it with water (I don't measure but usually fill it up about 1/2 to 3/4 of the way), break an egg into it, cover it with a plate and cook it for 60 seconds. Remove with a slotted spoon, and voila--a perfect egg. The trick is to make sure you take it out of the water right away, or it will continue to cook (which means a harder yolk, if you prefer it that way. You can call me over for the ones you "undercook."). Naturally, my favorite way to eat said eggs is on a piece of avocado toast.  Delish!

 

Old-school lunch

When I was a kid--even all throughout high school--my mom made my lunch (maybe I was a little spoiled?). That lunch was basically the same every day: sandwich, chips and some sort of Little Debbie snack cake. What? It was the '80s and '90s (Total side note, apropos of nothing: I recently was watching a YouTube makeup guru who was talking about a product I had just bought. She said she'd tried other similar products, but she felt like it looked really '80s, like middle school Then she said "By the way, I was NOT in middle school in the '80s." I turned her right off, the little brat. For the record, I WAS in middle school in the '80s. And it was glorious. I bet I can still fold a note in a cooler way than you, whippersnapper. Sorry. Tangent.) Anyway, this was perhaps where my love for Swiss Cake Rolls (and binge eating) began. Still, I grew up with a brown paper bag and milk money. So I'm trying to rekindle this, minus the Little Debbies.

 

I've recently started a new job where I'm in the hospital most days. And those days, I don't have access to a fridge. Brown bags just won't do the trick. So I found a lunchbag that helps. You put the PackIt lunchbag in the freezer overnight, pack your lunch goodies in it and your stuff will stay cold most of the day. I find it so satisfying to bring and eat my lunch. Though I don't do it every day, I'm trying very hard to make it the norm. This cute li'l black and white polka dot bag helps with that a lot.

 

Babybel cheese

My husband and I recently got a Costco membership. We wanted to try it for a year and see if we use it enough to justify it. But the cost of these glorious little wax-covered rounds of cheese may just be the only thing I need to buy a membership every year. I find that in the grocery store, they're just too expensive for too few. But Costco has a huge bag for less than $12. They make a perfect snack for this cheese-loving girl. Nothing better.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Smartfood Snack Bags

 

I love popcorn. I love cheese. Therefore, I love Smartfood. But I can't control myself around a big bag. I'll eat the whole freaking thing. Seriously. Enter the Smartfood Go Sack. There are 12 (!) small bags of Smartfood popcorn in this sack. It's perfect for lunches or snacks. And best of all? It's only 3 Smartpoints per bag. Eating my popcorn is one of the highlights of my day. Really.

 

Tracking

Full disclosure: I've never been a very good Weight Watcher tracker. Even when I was in my weight-loss prime, I was never that diligent with tracking my food--I tried to keep up with it in my head, but I think I used my WW meetings more for accountability. I'd make smart choices and weigh in, but it was rare that I knew how many points I'd consumed in a day. Hmm. Perhaps this is why my success...stalled. This time it's different. I'm actually enjoying tracking. I love the challenge of fitting healthy foods into my day. I don't always love the disappointment of discovering something is a lot higher than I thought it might be--but now I'm not surprised, because I check ahead of time. And I guess it's working, because I've lost 9.8 pounds (7.8 last week; 2 more this week) in two weeks. You know what they say--the program works if you work the program.

 

Thanks for your patience with this entry--I saved a few for next time, but will make sure to keep this a weekly thing like it used to be.

 

As always, I'm curious to know what you're loving! Share in the comments below so others might find some new faves.

 

Have a great weekend, friends!

 

 

Who wants a cupcake, anyway?

Y'all.

I have had a heck of a week. And I mean that in a good way. I have been laser-focused on my plan. I have been rock solid. I have tracked. I have exercised. I have consumed what seems like a million gallons of water.

For the first time in ages, I have been in control. And it had varying levels of difficulty--especially this weekend.

I was at The Ronald. For those of you who don't know, I'm a weekend manager at our local Ronald McDonald House. Once a month, I get there early on a Saturday morning and do not leave the property until super early Monday morning.

The Ronald has proven to be a minefield of temptation--and I've not always come out unscathed. In fact, when I first started my journey years ago, I had to take a six-month leave of absence. I couldn't handle the sweets and casseroles that people so generously brought to the house. After I went back, it became the championship game. I would practice and prepare for it all month, and then go in determined to beat my opponent.

As I've fallen off my plan in later years, I've usually gone in to my weekends just not caring either way.

But right now, I'm trying SO hard. So going in Saturday, I was both nervous and determined. Not only was it a regular weekend there, but it was Valentine's weekend. I knew that meant an abundance of sweets and goodies.

I brought my own food and stuck to that for the most part. I avoided the (literally) hundreds of cupcakes generously donated by Gigi's Cupcakes (we're not talking so-so store-bought cupcakes) and skipped the excess chips and other less-healthy topping options on taco night.

I felt so good to be back on track. I wish I could explain how much I needed to feel like I'd accomplished something.

And it turns out that all that cupcake avoiding, steps I walked around the House and healthy choices I made paid off. Today was my weigh-in. Ready for the total?

No, really. Are you SURE you're ready?

7.8 pounds down.

Seven point eight.

In a week.

I thought my sweet WW leader was going to cry. Actually, she might have. She's seen me faithfully attend meetings--usually without weighing in--for quite some time. And she's been supportive and encouraging of me no matter what. But I needed to jump back in the game--and fast.

So I did. And I won this battle.

Now--on to the next.

*jumps on horse*

P.S. I'm thinking it's about time for a new Friday Favorites. Sound good?

A selfish Lenten commitment

It’s Fat Tuesday.

I’m trying not to make the joke that every day that ends in a Y is a fat day for me. But oh, I just did.

It’s an annual tradition for me to post about my Lenten goals. There was the time I gave up Diet Coke. Then I made a commitment to bring my lunch every day during Lent. That was hard.

But this year, I’m feeling the need to be selfish during Lent.

I realize that’s not really the point, but I think in this instance, it makes the most sense. I’m going to spend the next 40 days focusing on myself.

This means I will devote myself to taking care of myself physically, emotionally and spiritually. I’m hoping for a major reset with a higher power helping me along the way.

Physically

Taking care of myself physically means there is less reason to hate my body and more time to appreciate the things it was created to do. So I will focus on being kind to it. Feeding it healthfully. Exercising it regularly. I will throw in one sacrifice that I should be making anyway—giving up soda. For good. Because now that I’ve gotten rid of Diet Coke (it’s been more than two YEARS, y’all), I have rediscovered a love for regular Coke. Bad, bad.

I’ve already been tracking my WW points and staying on plan as well as possible. This is Day Two. Long road ahead.

Monastery of the Holy Spirit, Conyers,Ga.

Emotionally and spiritually

These kind of go hand in hand for me. But it boils down to this—giving thanks and being kind to myself. Two things I’ve been severely lacking in doing. I need to pray. I need to meditate. I need to journal. I need to be self-affirming. I’ve not done a single one of these things lately. But Lent is the time to refocus.

For those of you who participate in Lent, what are you giving up? Or more importantly, what are you doing for yourself and for others? I think so often we focus on giving up sweets or fast food or soda that we forget what this season is really about. I hope you’ll join me in honoring the unique and beautiful person you were created to be.

I mean, that’s why we’re all here, right?

The age factor

I grew up with a mother who never, ever, under any circumstances, discussed her age.

I’m not quite like that. I am usually OK with discussing my age. I think part of it is because I don’t feel my age. 41. Is that right? Sometimes I still have to count backward. So 41 must be the new 21. Or 31. Or whatever. It’s something younger than I feel, that’s for sure.

I’ve become this person who rolls her eyes at Millennials with their perfectly timed and planned Instagram posts, their uber-catchy phrases and their ignorance of the pop culture influences of my own youth. Get off my lawn, dammit.

But I’m pretty sure it’s not bitterness that plagues me, when I really start searching my soul about it. It’s jealousy. They have something that I don’t.

Time.

Sure, those of you older than I might think I’m young. I get it. I remember dreading turning 28. I was SO old. The 41-year-old me would like to punch that girl, by the way.

I’m plagued with regret about the time I’ve wasted beating myself up, being uncomfortable with my body and planning for a “thin future.” The time I’ve spent thinking of all this seriously would add up to decades.

But now I have a new regret about my wasted time—and I’m even more aware of my age. Because I very much hope one day to be a mother.

I’m not sure how much of this journey I’ll share with you, but considering I lean pretty heavily toward the overshare side, I’m sure you’ll hear more.

For now, I’ll tell this. This week I saw a doctor to talk about my options and how I could increase my chances of being a mother at this later age.

We talked about my age. My past issues with all my…parts. And my family history.

And then we talked about my weight.

The truth is that I knew it was coming. I wasn’t surprised. She was so gentle and kind about it. So lovely. We want to increase every chance of you getting pregnant and then having a successful pregnancy, she said. And then she referred me to a nutritionist.

I mean, look, I have gained some weight back. And even if not, I never got less than 50 pounds away from my goal weight anyway.  So yeah, I expected it. But man, it hurts.

To think that my weight isn’t just holding me back from my life, but it’s possibly holding me back from birth. The question remains—is this enough to compel me to change? Damn, I sure hope so.

Because now, I’m not the only part of this equation. 

I was never good at math, but I’m pretty sure that makes it a hell of a lot more important.

Starting from scratch and a half

Happy 2016, y'all.

Last year was supposed to be the best year ever. The year I got back on track—when I was in the best shape of my life and felt fabulous and healthy on my wedding day.

OK, so none of those things really happened. Except the wedding day.

If you read my last post about six months ago or so, my year didn’t go at all as I planned. And because of that, I really wasn’t able to focus on my health.

This year I’m hoping it will be different—starting with this blog.

I struggle with this a bit. Do you really want to read stuff you already read from me? Because in a lot of ways, I feel like I’m starting from scratch. I have a new name, I’m in a new decade of life, I’m a different person. But a lot of my issues are the same. So at the risk of repeating some of the things I said in 2011 or 2012, I’m going to start again. And I hope you’ll join me.

It’s risky. If you enjoy my posts, you might be afraid to connect with me again, for fear I’ll quit—once again. The truth is that I can’t make any promises. What I can tell you is that I haven’t really quit. I mean, not totally. I fall down most days, but somehow I still get up and try again. I still believe that my ultimate goal is possible.

I hope you guys will join me once again and share your own journeys.I don't want to overpromise, but for now, I'll start with an entry a week. That's do-able. 

I’ll leave you with this: I'm not where I want to be--not by a long shot. I'm not where I was a couple of years ago. But I'm not where I started. And that has to count for something, right?

2010

2015

The worst best year

I have a dress in my closet that I’ll never wear again. I really loved that dress. I liked how it looked on me. I liked the lace. I bought it for a wedding. I celebrated with friends. But now it’s hanging there in my closet, reminding me of the last time I wore it—the reason I can never wear it again.

Obviously I have been fairly absent this year. I’m sorry for that. To be honest, 2015 has been a doozy. And it was supposed to be the best year ever—the one I’d waited for my entire life. The year I, at age 40, finally married the love of my life. 

That’s still happening. But it’s taken some twists and turns to get there. Let’s recap:

In April, I put my 17-year-old cat to sleep. If you’d told me 20 years ago that I’d be so attached to a cat, I’d have told you you were crazy. But I loved my little Timber, who I found just a few months before my mom died in 2000. She was there for every sad and lonely moment from then on. It was heartbreaking to say goodbye to her.

In May, my fiancé spent a week in the hospital. He had a series of mini-strokes that, fortunately, haven’t seemed to cause too much residual damage. But it was a scary, exhausting week.

I also had some other personal issues at the beginning of the year that seemed to suck the life out of me.

In mid-May, I said to my fiancé: “You know, 2015 has really sucked. But I have high hopes for the rest of the year.”

The rest of the year. I’d be getting married. Everything would be fine. All would be well.

But the very next day, my life changed forever with one phone call. My brother called me while I was at work. I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know how wrong. 

My father had died suddenly of a perforated ulcer he didn’t even know he had. 

Nothing was fine. Nothing was well. 

The next few weeks, heck, the next two months or so since then have been a blur. Planning another parent’s funeral. Trying to grasp the idea that neither of my parents would be at my wedding. Wearing that lovely navy lace dress I will never wear again to give the eulogy at my father’s funeral. Holding my baby niece who will now never know either of her paternal grandparents. Making sure others felt comfortable by not crying too much in front of them. Nodding with a weary smile as well-meaning friends told me, “You know your parents will be at your wedding.”

Sure they will. I believe that. That’s what my faith teaches me. But my selfish heart wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. And sometimes, I have to admit, I actually, literally do scream.

How am I doing today? Still a little numb. Still a little incredulous. But also incredibly grateful for the support of the family and friends who have truly held me afloat through all of this.

I’m taking baby steps forward. The wedding, after all, is planned. It’s just around the corner. Last weekend, I had a beautiful bridal shower hosted by the best bridesmaids a girl could ever have. The love in the room was palpable. But I missed my mom. I missed knowing my fiancé and brother could probably be bonding with my dad during those hours the girls oohed and ahhed over my lovely gifts.

Last week, someone told me she was glad that I was doing so well. I guess that’s all relative. Because sometimes I feel like I’m barely holding it together. Still, I’m determined to be as real as possible during this grief process—with myself and with others. I wasn’t when my mom died. And that’s what set me into this whole tailspin. I’ve tried to take this sadness out at the gym. It’s helped some to be active and focus on that, instead of focusing on the fact that there will now be two very empty chairs on the biggest day of my life.

Again, I apologize for my absence. Many of you are real-life friends who know my situation, but I know there are many readers who may have been worried about me. 

I’m doing OK. Some days I’m doing pretty well. Other days I’m still a disaster. But I’m here and I’m inching ahead. It’s sort of all I can do.

My life, as told by T. Swift

Monday was one of those days. Nothing went right. I mean, nothing. And it was kind of my fault.

I have this theory about bad days. A lot of times they start as soon as we wake up. We stub our toe getting out of bed. Our dog jumps on our head while we’re sound asleep (just me?). Our alarms don’t go off. We rip a hole in our tights. It happens. But it’s how we choose to face the rest of the day that make a difference. I think we have the ability to turn them around.

And Monday, I didn’t choose to do that. I just wallowed in my grumpalupagus state. The thing that set me off was not my dog, or my tights, or my alarm or stubbing my toe.

It was the scale.

It’s just not moving. I have counted my points. Watched my carbs. And worked my butt off at the gym. I know my body. It’s just not reacting like it normally does—and I’m frustrated. I know, it’s not all about the scale. I’m trying to focus on other successes, but I’m having a little trouble seeing them.

The day started with the scale. Then I realized, as I was driving to work, that my dress was on backward. Little things like that continued to plague me all day. I was grateful to head to my local Y for my favorite Monday class after work.

Except I couldn’t find a parking space. Not one single parking space in the entire gym parking lot. And people by the dozen were driving around waiting for spaces. I finally gave up. I ended up going to another Y for a later class (but almost left when I realized class was a half hour later than I thought).

But Zumba made it a little better. A little. Because I got some insight from a guitar-playing, golden-haired angel named Taylor.

I’m not going to lie. I have developed a new love for sweet little Taylor Swift. So when I walked into class, I thought, this has been the crappiest day. I hope we do the routine to “Shake it Off.”

And we did.

As I shook it off—or at least tried to—I realized that Taylor was singing to me. Ah, the magic of T. Swift. She sings our happiness and our pain. Right? Or something.

But hear me out. You all know the song. Even if you hate it. Even if you try to hate it, but can’t. It gets stuck in your head like a happy little earworm.

'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play

And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate

Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

Shake it off, I shake it off

Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break, break, break

And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake, fake, fake

Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

Shake it off, I shake it off

OMG, you guys! Taylor just, like, totally gave me an epiphany. *I* am the player. *I* am the hater.  *I* am the faker. *I* am the heartbreaker. Coo coo ca choo.

But seriously. I am destroying myself with hating and breaking my heart with my own choices. Because when the scale was mean to me, you know what I did? I sabotaged. Ate a bunch of crap. Who does that hurt? Me.

So. I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake. Shake it off.

Because, seriously self, why you gotta be so mean?

Thanks, Tay-Tay.

P.S. Old weight? We are never ever ever getting back together.