A double-edged sword

A few thoughts about food – 

It’s everywhere. It’s what we need to survive. It is something we are around every single day. We live on it. Sometimes we live for it. We need it in order to live. We need it in order to thrive and survive. It’s a fine line. It’s a comfort. It’s a coping mechanism. It’s everything sometimes. It’s a double-edged sword. 

Do you remember as a kid being told that if you were good you would get a treat? If your mom was going to take you with to the store to get groceries, you were told that if you were good, you would get a treat. If you weren’t good you weren’t getting any candy. In order to get candy or a treat, you had to have the behavior expected. 

It’s been that way forever. Why are we rewarded with food? Why is our behavior centered around food? Why can’t we just enjoy food and eat food and be normal around food? It’s no wonder so many of us have so many issues with food. 

We are conditioning our kids that their behaviors are rewarded with food. Look what you are teaching them. Really take a step back and look at what you are doing. When we are sad, we have food. When we are good, we have food. When we are happy we have food. Everything is about food. I hate it. 

Have you ever had a bad day? Well, duh. Everyone has bad days. Exactly. Have you ever heard of anyone having a crap day and texting her friend to help her make her feel better? What does that consist of? Drinks and food is what it consists of. I bet 90 percent of the time it consists of drinks and food. How about text your friend and tell her you had a terrible day and ask her is she will take a walk with you and talk about things. 

Ever heard the phrase, “eat your feelings?” How many times have you done that? How many times have you gotten home from work and just needed to have a little hit of alcohol to take off the edge? Well, the edge usually gets sharper and then you start to eat and eat and eat. It isn’t usually the most healthy food either. It’s usually chips and crackers. Sometimes it’s loads of fat-laden foods. Or sometimes you don’t even eat at all, you just drink your feelings and your supper. 

When did this start happening to us as a society? Has it always been this way? I can remember my mom leaving the house and when we asked her where she was going, she responded, “Crazy.” I wonder where she went. I don’t think she really drowned her feelings in food. It was mostly coffee and cigarettes for her.

I think ultimately it is a less than optimal behavior that we are accustomed to. It’s usually over eating, or over drinking. And yet, on the other hand, when we do something great, we reward ourselves with food! I got a promotion, let’s celebrate. Drinks and dinner. Why can’t we just be? Maybe reward yourself with something that doesn’t involve food. We really need to change how we think about food. 

If you have young kids and want to teach them anything about health, teach them to enjoy food, but not to use food as a reward. Teach them how food helps their bodies to perform optimally. Teach them about nutrition and teach them about their feelings! When they do something great, buy them a book, or a new shirt or something like that. Stop rewarding with food. Stop feeding their pain. Stop feeding their accomplishments. 

This year when you are buying easter presents for your kids or even for your grandkids, try buying non-food items. Just try. Why do they need all that candy. They don’t.

Chew on that. 

Birthdays and blues

The tradition. The birthday tradition. I don’t remember when it started. I don’t remember why it started. I can’t imagine a young foodie like myself would not have liked regular birthday cake. I also can’t remember if it was just me who had the alternate birthday cake tradition. Did Sherry have it too? What about Jeff? Wendy? Maybe. I only remember me, because after all it was about me. It was my day. It was my birthday. 

I looked forward to my birthday every year for the angel food cake. For the strawberries. For the cream. We never had birthday parties. Just us. 

Yesterday was my birthday. Yesterday I had the tradition. Angel food cake, strawberries and whipped topping. It was good. It wasn’t quite the same though. I healthed it up a little bit. I used fresh strawberries and canned whipped topping, instead of whipping the cream myself and instead of using the sugar-laden strawberries. The traditional strawberries were those little tin frozen containers that you had to use some type of key wrench-type thing to open. They were doused in sugar syrup and tasted heavenly. The kind of sugary sweet that you wanted to let run in your mouth when the container was held above your mouth. It was so good. So sweet and so comforting. The angel food cake was more dense than the traditional round ones. It was a rectangle shaped frozen one. I just had to let it thaw. It still tasted good. The strawberries are what I prefer, fresh. They actually had flavor. And the whipped cream in the can, it worked for its intended purpose. 

I got out my plate and carefully measured out each ingredient. So many grams of cake. so many grams of strawberries and so many grams of whipped cream. It is amazing once you start measuring things out how much you can start to see where you went wrong previously. You start to see where you would overeat. It is eye-opening. I have lost over 30 pounds doing this and I am not going back to the before. I won’t let myself. I saved room for my tradition today. I wanted to feel like I did when I was a kid. I wanted to be excited. I wanted to have my cake and eat it too. I did. 

My tradition seemed like it tasted just as good. I enjoyed it just as much. I thought. Towards the evening I started to feel a little sad. Not sure why. Maybe because none of the kids were here. Maybe because the house was quiet. Maybe because I wasn’t a kid anymore. Maybe because I was missing dad. It just felt like any other day, except I had cake. It didn’t feel like a birthday day. It didn’t feel like a special day. Just a day. 

It is so easy to feel sad about days gone by, about being a kid and being happy at the littlest of things. Missing the simplicity, perhaps. But, at the same time, I love being present for the now, for the exciting things happening. I love watching things unfold and happen how they are supposed to. I love being positive. I love seeing positive things and I love getting to live this life, even if the birthdays or the cake or something else makes me a little bit sad once in a while. 

Evaluating

I looked at the clock. I looked again. Back to work. The click seemed audible. Maybe it was. Not too much longer. Friday afternoon. Almost done. I checked the clock again. Soon. Very soon.

I thought about it. I anticipated it. The mouth feel. The slight bite and then the belly burn.

Relaxation came at the first swallow, red, not white. I needed that. It was a long week. That’s what I told myself. So many things. So many stressors. I was convinced I deserved it. Because that’s what we tell ourselves. 

My rule was that I could only drink on weekends. If I drank during the week, I found myself drinking more and more caffeine to burn off the fog of the alcohol. I told myself it was no big deal. I really felt fine. Why should I feel that way though? Why should I do that to myself?

Friday, Saturday and sometimes Sunday. Telling myself two glasses was the limit. Many times two turned to three. I had to get more because I needed at least two glasses for the next night. If I didn’t, there wouldn’t be enough. I pondered that. Why not just have one glass. Because.  Whatever excuse I could use. Whatever reason to get more. It’s good for you, right? And shit I deserved it. 

I got stuffed up as soon as I had a glass. My cheeks flushed and my whole body got hot. Hot flashes triggered by alcohol. Slight reactions, nothing big. But still, reactions.

I drank in spurts. Sometimes only weekends and then sometimes a period of a month or six weeks when I would drink every day. When I felt like the weekdays were getting away from me again, my rule came back, only weekends. 

During those longer periods, I would drink every day. Waiting for the time to start. The click was real. I had a glass to work on Studio work. I had a glass to relax in front of the TV. And then another.  But sometimes it wasn’t quite enough. It was wearing off. I was constantly chasing the buzz but then going slightly too far. Going to bed and feeling drunk. I told myself I slept well. I didn’t. I told myself I was healthy enough. I wasn’t. I told myself I didn’t really need it. I didn’t. I just wanted it. And then I didn’t want it anymore.

A switch clicked. This click was not drinking. This click was taking responsibility for my health. This click was looking in the mirror and calling bullshit. This click was taking responsibility for what I was doing. This click was not doing whatever everyone else was doing, because it was the norm. I’m not someone who does something just because everyone else does. I’m pretty good at doing my own thing.

It was time to evaluate. It was time to see what happened without it. I had to see. I had to see if I could do it.

It’s been 136 days since I’ve had an alcoholic beverage and I don’t miss it. I sleep better. I feel better. My health is better and I’m happy. How long will I go? Until I’m done. 

The Bagel Experience

I was sitting at my computer on Sunday, just like pretty much every Sunday, when all of a sudden I saw a post about bagels. I mean, I like bagels and all, but who wants to take the time to make them? It’s a process and one that I did not want to go through. But these bagels were different. They only had a few ingredients and you didn’t have to boil them. I thought hmmmm, maybe I can make these. Well, everything else I was working on immediately went to the back burner. Bagels here I come! How hard could it be? It said it was simple. I was so excited. 

Okay, ingredients needed – flour – all purpose, baking powder, salt and greek yogurt. This IS going to be easy. The recipe makes four bagels. I will double it, because duh, bagels. I even had “everything bagel seasoning” to put on top of them. These bagels are going to be tasty. As I read the recipe, I checked off in my head the ingredients. I knew I had everything. I was so excited. 

I got my bowl, stainless steel, of course. No special reason. I just feel cool when I use stainless steel bowls. I carefully measured the flour, two cups. Next the baking powder, 4 teaspoons and then the salt about 1.5 teaspoons. Next up the greek yogurt. I know I have Fage in the fridge. That is the kind the recipe lady said she used. I was so excited. 

I opened the fridge and pulled out the yogurt. Hmmmm. Remember I doubled the recipe, so I would need two containers of the yogurt. Well, I only had one. Shit. I looked in the stainless steel bowl. Piles of the baking powder and salt were in separate places on top of the flour. I bet I could take out two piles of baking powder and a pile of salt. Then I could take out a cup of flour and just make the four bagels like the stupid recipe told me to do all along. That was not going to work. Everything starting mixing together when I touched it with a spoon. I could have mixed it all together and then removed a cup, but I wasn’t smart enough to think of that until later. Like now later. Duh. 

I did have other greek yogurt, but it was all flavored. I couldn’t very well make everything bagel flavored bagels with peach and coconut yogurt. Could you imagine? That would taste disgusting. Improvise. Plan B. Always have a plan B. I decided I could make the bagels cinnamon and sugar flavored, because peaches taste good with cinnamon and sugar and I think coconut would taste good with cinnamon and sugar. Okay then, peach and coconut it would be. I put in the Fage first. Crap that was not mixing very well. I used a whisk. Dumbass. I needed a fork. I looked at the container of Fage and noticed the date was January 10, 2019. WTF? 

I legit thought about starting over. I thought about going to Walmart and getting more yogurt and more flour. Except, it was snowing and I live about nine miles from Walmart. Not today. Back to Plan B. 

I smelled the yogurt. It didn’t make me want to gag, so I figured it was good. I had to add a container of coconut and a container of peach to make the dough look like the consistency it was supposed to be. Okay then. I was so excited again. 

The recipe then told me to throw some flour on the counter and put the dough ball on the counter and knead it about 15 or so times. It actually said dust some flour on the counter. I was to then cut the dough into four separate pieces and then roll each piece to about 3/4 inch ropes and to join the ends to make the bagel circle. That worked. I was so excited.

It was time to bake these babies. Ummm, not quite. I first had to put an egg wash on the tops and sides of the bagels so that my cinnamon and sugar would stick. The egg wash is also supposed to make the bagel shiny.  On went the sugar and cinnamon. Mmmmm. They smelled so good. Mine didn’t look very smooth though. They were kind of lumpy. I didn’t care. I was excited. 

Into the 375 degree oven they went. The recipe said bake them for about 25 minutes. That was correct. They puffed up slightly and smelled delicious. 

Once the 25 minutes was up, I checked them. They were done. Mine weren’t shiny. I took them out of the oven and brought them over to the counter to rest. “Squirrel.” The cat was on the counter, laying in the flour that was left from rolling them out. Lovely. Had to get the cat off the counter. At least she laid in it after I rolled them out and not before. See, glass half full, right here. 

Even though they weren’t shiny and they weren’t the most even circles, they still looked really good. Now the true test. The taste test. I got the knife. The serrated bread cutting knife, because you know, bagels are basically bread. I cut the bagel in half. Ohhhh, it looked pretty inside. I wondered what to put on it. I didn’t have any cream cheese. That would have been good. I settled on butter and honey. I had some vanilla infused honey and Kerrygold butter. Mmmmmmmmmm. Delicious! 

Even though I messed up the recipe, it wasn’t a complete disaster. These bagels tasted amazing. I could taste a hint of peach. It paired well with the honey and the butter and I didn’t die from the out of date yogurt. I will definitely be making these again. 

Lessons learned: 

Make sure all ingredients are readily available.

Yogurt lasts a month past the date.

Watch what the cat is doing at all times.

 

 

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I’ve loved you since I met you. We’e been together since I was young. I think I was about 15 or 16, but I knew you way before that. I knew you when I was a little kid. It feels like it has been forever. In reality, it has been a very, very long time, just not forever. You drew me in with your beautiful smell. You drew me in with your amazing color. I loved it. I loved you. 

I craved you. I couldn’t help it. I became addicted. How could I not have? We did everything together. We woke up together. We spent the mornings together. We always spent after lunch together and even evenings. We did this for many, many years. But then you started causing problems for me. I started feeling weird and I started having issues with my body. You were harming me because I couldn’t get enough of you. 

I had to start hanging out with your less than fun younger brother. He wasn’t bad, but I liked you better. I loved you better. It just wasn’t the same. It took me a while, but I stopped thinking about you. I actually started to feel better without you. You left me alone for over six months, maybe longer.  I felt free. I really felt better without you.

One day, I saw you again. You were just right there. I couldn’t resist you. It was like heaven. We only hung out in the mornings though. It felt just right. You weren’t being mean to me. You weren’t making things go crazy. It was nice. I loved you again. You loved me again.  The weekends were the best. We hung out all day. Just like we did before. It was wonderful. 

But now, you are starting to not be so great again. You’re starting to drive me crazy. I can’t sleep at night. I lie there in bed, just staring at the ceiling. I think and think and then think some more. You are doing it again. You’re starting to be mean. 

I’ve come to the realization that we can only hang out in the mornings. That’s it, no afternoons or evenings. Even on the weekends, it can only be in the morning. The rest of the time, I will be hanging out with your brother again. He’s just not as good though. Why can’t he be just like you, except without the meanness? Why can’t he? 

I really do love you more, but I have to be disciplined. I have to be strict with you. Even though I want to hang out all the time, I have to stick to my guns. 

Coffee you have been so important to me. I really have loved you forever, but it’s back to your brother, decaf. I will see you in the mornings, but that’s it. I just can’t spend that much time with you anymore. I have to take a break from you. 

Zoom Out

It was about a month ago. Now time. Not kid time. I tried on five pairs of pants. All the same size. All fit different. None of them fit. Every single pair were too small. Or I was too big. However you want to spin it. They didn’t fit, plain and simple.

Old me would have been devastated. Now me is slightly concerned, but not throwing a tantrum. Not getting rid of all the food so I can starve myself. Not freaking out. The now me is bucking up and taking responsibility. I know I have been slacking. I have been eating too much and drinking too much wine. I know it’s time to clean it up. For me. I needed to quit eating whatever I wanted and however much I wanted.

It’s interesting how we let things slide. And now here is my point. Why do we have to slide? Why can’t we be okay all the time? Why can’t we just eat to stay healthy? Why do we feel like we have to eat all the things or drink all the things? Life is curious that way. Once we realize that we can stay in check and eat good food and drink once in a while, I think that mindset shifts and it is easier to stay on track. You have to nurture yourself. Take care of yourself. Think about what you are putting in your body. Do you really want to eat crappy and feel crappy all the damn time? I sure don’t. Take ownership of your eating. Understand how food makes you feel. Start with the basics and learn. Learn and then develop your skills. Zoom out. Take a hard look at what you want your life to look like. What you want to look like. Is it matching how you are now? If not. Do something. Take action. Make a change. Be positive and enjoy the journey.

I understand and I get it. Sometimes making changes is hard. We want to change, but actually doing the work and taking the steps and taking responsibility for our actions scares us. It just does. It’s easy, yet we try to overcomplicate it.

Well, I decided to take responsibility. I quit eating like an asshole. I started cleaning up my diet. And by the way, diet is not a dirty word. Diet actually simply means what you eat. Your diet. But, nothing can be simple in society, so it has been complicated beyond belief.

I actually started an online challenge and did the challenge right along with the people in the group. I gave them a nutrition plan and a daily workout. I stayed consistent, I ate well. I didn’t eat crap food. Like I said, I was consistent. I feel stronger, I feel better, I have more energy, I sleep better and I lost weight. Because I wanted to. Not because society told me I had to or because someone made a snarky comment. It was because I wanted to. It is okay if you want to change your body. It is okay if you want to lose weight. It is okay if you want to gain weight. Nobody gets to decide that for you, except you!

Just remember consistency is the key. You can consistently eat well and get results and you can consistently eat crappy and get results. It’s your choice, you get to pick. You get to own your results. Either way.

Angela

Angela Schweigert

My workout buddy

My work buddy

My drinking buddy

My recipe trying buddy

Her laugh

Her sincerity

Her

Her laugh was contagious. Kind of a snort but kind of not. You couldn’t help but laugh right along with her. 

She always named her cars.  At that time she had Cosmo. Her dad knew what the hell was up and he had that car running like a top.

We were in high school. She was at that time the best friend I had. It’s funny how people come and go, out and in, stay and play, and make their mark on your life. They touch your heart and they touch your life. They make your life better. You never forget them or the fun you had. They are special people. Truly. Life rolls on and you see things about them once in a while on Facebook. Or you see a parent passed. Sometimes you see the out of state plate parked at the parents house and you wonder how she is doing and wonder why you didn’t stop. But it’s okay, you just know. Because it goes without saying. It’s not necessary. Those are the best kinds of friends. That’s the kind of friend Angela is. Everyone needs those kinds of friends. They are the best. Always true. Always sincere. Always.

She was tall and lanky. She had long arms and long legs. She had a ton of long, wavy hair and a face full of freckles. She was a great listener and a great friend. 

We liked to work out. We wanted to be in shape. We used to ride our bikes out to Twin Bridges at least three times a week during the summer. It’s a jaunt. We used to laugh about the road kill we would see, unless it was a snake. That was disgusting. Other days we would go for runs or slap on some ankle weights and see how far we could walk, uphill, of course. On one of our runs, we stopped the Schwan’s truck and asked for ice cream. He obliged. We were happy. It was hot out that day. 

At that time the drinking age was 18. Not the hard alcohol drinking age, but the beer drinking age. It was winter and it was cold. It sucked. Angela’s parents were out of town, so we decided to make daiquiris. Yummy flavors. All the fruits. We had strawberry and peach and a couple other flavors. We decided to pretend it was warm out and we wore Hawaiian shirts and leis. Because that’s how we rolled. Why not make the best out of a bad situation. Winters in South Dakota, called for desperate measures. 

I remember another time we tried to make pita bread. The oven had to be extremely hot, like 500 degrees hot. I thought for sure we were going to burn down her house. It seemed like the oven was malfunctioning and the kitchen filled with smoke. I think maybe one of the 12 or so we made turned out. Obviously we weren’t bakers. 

We worked together at Sooper Dooper. We always had the dreaded 3-10 shift and 3-9 shift. It was terrible. It dragged on forever. We laughed though. We did stupid things so the time would pass. One time we put flower pots on our heads and customers thought we were crazy. Angela said we were pot heads. We got a good laugh out of that one.

We had a lot of good times. A lot of good friend times. Thanks for the friendship Angela. I will always, always remember how much fun we had and next time I see your car, I will stop and catch up. 

Sorry Kevin

My 7th grade math teacher’s name was Mr. Curl. Wallace Curl. Math was not my favorite subject, but it just so happened this was the class I was in when one of the most embarrassing things in my life happened.

Junior high, or middle school as it is called these days, is where it happened. I was shy. I mean really shy. If a teacher called on me, I shrunk in my seat and turned several shades of red, like the phases of a ripening tomato. I hated it. I couldn’t help it. I’m not sure why I was so shy. Does anyone really know why they are shy?

I sat in the middle row. It was the old part of the building. It smelled like old books. I really liked that smell. It also smelled like old wood. The wood floor creaked as feet walked across it. The classroom had windows, so at least when I was daydreaming, I could look out the window. I recall our desks faced north and the windows were to the west.

Kevin Maskovich sat in front of me. He had broken his leg so he was on crutches. He was really nice to me and always took time to talk to me. For the life of me, I can’t remember anyone else who was in this particular math class with me. Tunnel vision and tunnel memory may be real. I do remember Mr. Curl standing at the front of the class with piece of chalk in hand, at the ready to scrawl the math problems on the board, beads of sweat running down his forehead. He had his suit coat hanging on the back of his chair and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Heaven forbid I would have to get up and go to the board. That would be like pulling my fingernails off with a pair of pliers. Actually, pulling the fingernails off may have been better.

Everyone was tired. This class was right after lunch. We had hot ham and cheese sandwiches that day. I have never in my life eaten another one after this tragic day. It was hot in the classroom. There was no air conditioning in the school. I didn’t feel well. I was sweaty and nauseous. I was getting worried. I was afraid I was going to be sick. I didn’t have time to ask to go to the bathroom. I couldn’t stop it. It was like a lava volcano erupting up through my throat. I barfed. I puked. I hurled. I blew chunks. Oh God!!! What just happened? I wanted to die. I wanted to absolutely die! How could this happen? Idiot! Why didn’t I run to the bathroom? Why?????

I remember Kevin saying, “What was that??!!” Well, buddy, it was barf and I got some on you. Poor guy! I felt terrible. He did move his crutches out of the way pretty fast though.

Mr. Curl got the janitor. They brought in that disgusting smelling cat litter-type sawdust product to cover up the vomit. You know, that reddish brown stuff. Vomit powder. Supposedly this helped clean up the mess, once the product absorbed the liquid. GAWD!!! I still wanted to die. I just wanted to slither away. I wanted never to be seen again. I just wanted to go home.

I remember watching the janitor sweeping up the vomit. It almost made me vomit again. Someone came and got me and took me home. It was probably my mom. I was devastated. I was embarrassed and I just wanted to shrivel up into nothing.

The experience was traumatic. I had a hard time going back to school. I think it actually took almost two weeks for me to go back. Every time I thought about going to school I would become physically sick. It was hard. I know I wasn’t really sick, but I couldn’t go back. I just couldn’t. One day when I thought I was all better, dad gave me a ride on his way to work. We pulled up to the school and I told him I couldn’t get out. I told him I felt sick. He took me home. I would have to try another day.

I finally got my shit together. I knew I would have to go back at some point. I knew I would have to face my fears. I couldn’t be “sick” forever. My grades were going to go to crap if I didn’t get back. I forced myself to go. Even though it was the last place I wanted to be, I forced myself to go back. See, sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. It’s part of life. It’s part of growing up. It’s part of becoming a better human. So, I had to.

 

** As I was searching Kevin’s name, I realized that he passed away in 2010 from cancer. May he rest in peace. Sorry for puking on you, Kevin.

** Mr. Curl passed away in 2012.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jeanie, the babysitter

Her name was Jeanie. A babysitter. Our babysitter. A once-in-a-while babysitter. One of many. We went through a lot of them. She lived close by. Maybe two blocks away. She lived on Euclid and East Seneca. She lived in a small white house with concrete steps leading to the front door. There was a railing too. It was made of wrought iron and was black in color and decorative, pretty much like all step railings at that time. 

She came to our house to babysit us. The Euclid house. This was an evening. I’m not sure why we needed a babysitter at night. The parents never went out. I’m not sure what was going on, but anyway, she came to babysit. 

We were excited, Jeanie was a fun babysitter. She was really nice. She was going to make macaroni and cheese and we were going to watch movies, maybe play some games and have Jiffy Pop Popcorn later on in the evening. Something else also happened in the evening. 

Sherry and I were super excited. We were going to have a slumber party. Not that Pasty was staying overnight or anything, but we were just pretending it was going to be a slumber party. We got all of the pillows and blankets and made a bed in the living room. Awesome! This was going to be so fun. 

We had already eaten macaroni and cheese and now we were ready for the Jiffy Pop Popcorn. I loved that popcorn. I wonder if they still make it. Whoever they are. We watched intently as Jeanie made the popcorn. She patiently shook the pan until the foil started to expand and fill with popped popcorn. She was careful not to burn it. There is nothing worse than burnt popcorn. I think we even got to have pop with it. Our parents used to buy the quart bottles of Coke or Pepsi. The glass ones you had to pay a deposit on. They came in a six pack. I preferred Coke. There is nothing like the combination of popcorn and pop. Mmmmm, so delicious. 

We were eating our snack and then decided to play a game. I can’t remember if we were going to play Monopoly or Sorry. I hope it was Sorry. I really don’t like Monopoly. It’s my story, so I am going to say we played Sorry. Once we finished that it was time for the other thing that happened that night. First we changed into pajamas.

We decided to have a pillow fight. I really don’t know whose idea it was. It was probably Sherry’s. My story, so it was Sherry. Now, Jeanie was a big girl. She was overweight, but we loved her anyway. We didn’t care what she looked like. She was a fun babysitter. 

Jeanie was sitting on the couch. I was standing on the floor facing her and Sherry had her back to Jeanie and was facing me. All of a sudden with one big swipe Sherry was on the floor. Completely flattened. Lying face down and not moving. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I mean, think about it. Someone gets body slammed a pillow. Completely flattened by said pillow. Funny, right? I think so. At the same time I was a little concerned she may have been dead. 

We waited for what seemed like forever. In reality, it was probably 15 seconds max. Was it going to be an ambulance call or just a “I’m telling mom” call. This is Sherry we are talking about, so it’s just a “I’m telling mom” call. She was the biggest tattle tale ever. 

The wind had been completely knocked out of her. Every last bit of it. Once she came back to life, I started laughing. I thought it was so funny. I can still picture it. It was like it was in slow motion. Jeanie taking the pillow up over her head and behind her and then swinging it back to the front with a crap ton of overweight babysitter force. The pillow hit Sherry with such force that her nightgown flew up to her belly. Her knees didn’t even have time to bend, she was instantly flattened to the ground. I mean flattened. She didn’t crumple to the ground, she just flattened. Facedown flattened. 

Jeanie felt terrible. I could tell. I am pretty sure she thought she would get in trouble from our parents. I think she just gave Sherry extra popcorn and pop and all was good again. I’m pretty sure there were no more pillow fights after that incident. 

Adventures in babysitting. Always a good time. 

right here, right now

How long? How long are you going to do those meal replacement shakes? How long?

How long before you wake up one day and think of all the things that have passed you by because you were busy chasing a less than ideal body. A less than ideal lifestyle. A less than ideal mindset. You can’t live off shakes forever. Your body wants to feel satisfied. Chewing food satisfies the cravings. Chewing food helps the digestion. The texture of food satisfies you. 

When we are constantly chasing skinny, you are missing out on your life. Why are we chasing it constantly? Why can’t we just be healthy? Why can’t we just eat instead of constantly dieting or finding the next magic pill or the next magic power? Why?

How much life have you missed out on because of hating on your body? Have you ever been to a party or a social gathering and totally deprived yourself of any fun because deep down you were disgusted with your body? I have. I am willing to bet a lot of us have. 

Maybe you should try something different. Try something that is out of your comfort zone. Try not being so hard on yourself for how your body looks. Try loving yourself where you are right now, where you are right in this moment, where you are in this space. Then and only then can you start to heal from the chase. 

Start giving your body the fuel it needs to function optimally. Think of food as something your body needs and wants in order to make it easier for you to walk up that flight of stairs. Feed your body. Feed your soul. When you eat better, you feel better. 

Eat real food. Enjoy real food. Learn to taste your food, instead of shoveling it in your mouth so fast, you don’t know what you even ate. Learn to slow down. Quit using food as feelings. 

Food and feelings go hand in hand. I know it can be super complex. I know these behaviors can be used as a coping mechanism. Changing our behaviors can be extremely hard. We often start out with great intentions and then just plain struggle with being consistent. What’s keeping you from making this lifestyle change? Do the benefits outweigh the cost of what you are doing right now? I say yes. I say you can do this. 

I say, get curious about why you do the things you do. Work on it. Every single day. Work on yourself. Love yourself. Right here. Right now. Begin to heal.