Since I know my faithful readers (both of you) will hold me to my word, allow me to lay out my weight loss goals for the next few months. My nambsy-pambsy efforts to transform myself into a Giselle look-a-like (gotta swing for the fences) have not produced fruit. The lemonade thing was a hail mary pass that failed. The Body for Life workouts have been good, but I’ve traded in the free day for “free moments” throughout the week and the diet’s a bust.
I’ve figured out my problems:
Leftovers. I can’t stand to watch all that lovingly prepared food go to waste. If the kids don’t clean their plates, I do. I make what I like to eat, so it’s always a temptation. I’ll eat a mammoth sized bowl of steel cut oats because I don’t want the garbage disposal to savor all that whole grain goodness the kid’s didn’t finish instead of me! I finished Kate’s and Luke’s burritos last night because I went to the trouble of making homemade guacamole, and filling that divine should simply not go to waste.
I need to envision all that food I’m scraping off their plates as food not insulating my vitals. What I need to do is slither and squeeze myself into my “skinny jeans” (the zipper may require pliers) and wear them all day as a constant reminder to not dish out such generous portions. And then when I pass out from all that shallow breathing, I’ll ask the nurse if I can have a Splenda drip in lieu of glucose.
My other problem is eating after hours. When all the kids are tucked in their beds, the baby’s asleep and the dishwasher is humming hypnotically, I feel I deserve a little treat. My go-to is a handful of nuts and a handful of chocolate chips (for the antioxidants, of course.) The trouble is, if for any reason I need to walk past the kitchen again (to check on the kids, get something from my room) my legs automatically detour back to the secret stash, my arm involuntarily extends and my hand clutches yet another serving of “antioxidants” for the walk back to the TV where Simon Cowell and the final season of Lost await. This has been known to happen more than once.
So make me accountable! Today, I vow to toss the leftovers, ban all digesting after 7pm and water, water, water. My goal is two pounds a week until the magic number appears. I’m hoping that will be Easter. Paul and I are planning a trip to Maui this summer and I don’t want to spend the entire trip sucking in.
And that whole Taylor Lautner wannabe thing? It’s shaping into a reality for him. I refuse to be the one shopping for muumuus while he’s buying himself a souvenir muscle tee in a medium.