Archives from 2002-2006

Jan

24

Weight matters

January 24, 2007

I am trying to eat better.

I can’t type the words I am dieting because I feel like that will instantly jinx me and I’ll find myself eating fistfuls of Krispy-Kreme-and-bacon sandwiches while power-chugging melted lard. Or something.

God, that was gross. The melted lard part, I mean. Because Krispy Kreme and bacon? Together? Clearly I have just invented some sort of culinary holy matrimony! In fact, let us all just take a moment to let the angelic chorus reverberate through this web page. Boowaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

It’s been nearly 17 months since Riley was born and it’s taken me this long to feel anything more than a fleeting sense of unhappiness about my body. Nothing much has changed, I haven’t gained or lost any weight to speak of, but I think it’s finally time to be serious about getting in shape.

JB and I have created some really unhealthy eating habits — mostly stemming around nightly “treats” that involve baking cookies or having ice cream or whatever. It’s like…this thing we do together, that is fun and indulgent, after the boy is asleep and we both feel, however briefly, like our responsibilities are lifted.

We don’t drink, after all. We don’t smoke. What do we do? Eat cookies, that’s what.

Well, the food-as-reward thing might work long term if I had the metabolism of a toddler, but sadly I do not. Plus, it gets kind of pathological, feeling destitute if you can’t access the magical combination of sugar and bad television, you know?

So I’m cutting that shit out and substituting healthy snacks and I’m trying to make sure our dinners do not include an actual square foot of melted cheese and etc, etc, etc. I’d like to fit back into a size 8, or at the very least be a leaner, healthier size 10.

I want to feel more attractive, basically. Right now, I feel completely invisible: out of shape, sort of frumpy, nothing particularly pleasing to the eye. It’s spectacularly unsexy.

I just weighed myself (am I really about to type this oh my god I am) — after dinner, but also after peeing, and on a questionable scale that had an embarrassing amount of dust on it, I weigh 148 pounds. I’m going to check back in with you on my progress or lack thereof, not because I have any misconceptions over your level of interest (I know, blogging about dieting is about as thrilling as blogging about children, which is to say I should really starting writing about Cat more often because hoo boy, TRIFECTA OF SUCK HERE I COME) but because I am going to hold myself accountable, by thunder.

:::

My friend Jen came over today with her 10-month-old son Theo, and while Riley was pretty interested in Theo’s presence (“BA BA!”), he was awfully possessive about his stuff. God forbid another baby drool on one of his eight thousand plastic blocks, you know. It was sort of funny to watch him manufacture a deep and emotional attachment to some toy he’d been ignoring for the past month, but at the same time I was a little dismayed by his bogarting ‘tude.

Luckily, we discovered the perfect activity for the two kidlets:

Of course, it would be nicer if that were Riley pushing Theo around, being as how Theo was the guest and all, but maybe next time.

Jan

22

Hair apparent

Filed Under Uncategorized | 100 Comments

January 22, 2007

One of the eighty billion things I love about this blog is how I can ask for a salon recommendation and half a day later I have twenty different personally-endorsed businesses to choose from. You guys are awesome.

I called the Bellevue salon, Obadiah, and ended up getting an appointment TODAY, which was incredibly cool and JB ~~grudgingly conceded to pick up Riley only after being promised a sexual favor of the oral variety~~ gallantly volunteered to get the boy so I could make it to the salon after work.

Verdict: well, I liked the salon and the adorable pixie-like girl who cut my hair (she was so tiny and cute, I kept imagining her in a snowglobe, wielding a flatiron and surrounded by falling glitter), but my hair is very short now. Very very short. Shorter than I expected or asked for, and I am pretty sure I was clear on the length I wanted.

However, all the damaged frizzy crappy hair is now gone, and even though I feel a little…nude, like a freshly shorn sheep, it’s nice to be wearing a clean slate on my head. Plus, it’s going to be a breeze, ha ha haaaaaa, to blow-dry this do:

Pardon the dorkiness of the photo, I haven’t quite mastered the Artistic Mirror Self Portrait pose. I actually took one picture with my eyes crossed because I thought it would be funny, but I was so horrified by my missing-link appearance (seriously, it was…deeply disturbing) I deleted it, then emptied the trash for good measure.

Anyway, I’m generally pleased with the salon, the cut feels good even though it’s a bit more dramatic than what I had planned, and I got to park in a nice big garage and avoid the U-Village mall rats, so thumbs up on Obadiah.

And now the topic will change! The changing of the topic is now!

So, I recently read someone’s blog where she announced her decision to quit her job and be a stay-at-home mom, and someone in her comments stated how glad she was to hear the news, because she’d always wondered why people even have kids if they’re ‘just going to let someone else raise them’.

(I may not be quoting the commenter word for word, but I believe I am capturing the sentiment accurately.)

It’s not the first time I’ve encountered that particular point of view, although it’s been thankfully rare. I know we live in a world of diverse opinions and it’s okay to disagree and it’s all a rich tapestry blah blah blah acceptance-cakes but can someone explain to me just how the hell a person comes to see a working mother as someone who does not raise her own fucking children?

God, it makes me angry. It makes me angry that as parents we are so quick to judge one another’s choices. It makes me angry that someone out there believes I provide Riley with a sub-standard childhood because he goes to a dynamic, loving childcare environment for part of the week. It makes me wonder just how much crack someone has to smoke to believe that mothers and fathers who work outside the home somehow escape the responsibilities of parenting — the joys, the burdens, the whole rollercoaster.

Well! That was ranty. Since I don’t want to end this entry on such a grouchy note, here are a few recent pictures that make me smile:

A little bird, hanging out on our fence.