The Mom Diet

After both kids, I had a few people remark on how good I looked. Not in a “wow, you look so well-rested and you have no gray hair or bags under your eyes” way, but in a “boy, for someone who ate two burritos a week for 40 weeks, you don’t look too bad.” And here I am, sharing the secrets of my success.

Full disclosure: The only exercise I get is chasing a toddler around (which is the equivalent of P90X, to give my childless friends an accurate comparison) and hauling an 18 pound meatloaf of an infant (which is some Crossfit worthy stuff, trust). So just because I fit into my jeans doesn’t mean I have abs. Well, I do have abs, they’re just hibernating for the winter (and all winters to come…

Before we had Grant, my husband worked most Saturdays and it was just Miles and me at until late afternoon. With a day booked with important activities, it was important that I develop a weekend diet that would keep me on track. Here we have…

The Mom Diet

5am – Wake Up Call

FIRST BREAKFAST: Your first mom meal of the day will be four cups of extra bold dark roast Colombian something or other, with a splash of cream (or your toddler’s leftover milk from dinner the night before) and some sugar. Okay, lots of sugar. We need to be firing on all engines here, people.

8am – Did I eat any food yet?

SECOND BREAKFAST: Half of a cinnamon raisin English muffin, with all the raisin picked out. Left over vanilla yogurt from a yellow bowl with a yellow spoon. Orange segments with the juice sucked out. It’s worth noting that this meal coincides with the kid’s breakfast.

10am – Now my blood sugar is getting low.

FIRST SNACK: Six Chips A’hoy cookies eaten while hiding behind the couch. BE SURE TO GET THE CHEWY ONES. Otherwise your kid will know about your secret stash.

11am – Lunchtime!

FIRST LUNCH: Annie’s Homegrown Mac ‘n Cheese, served cold and with blueberries mixed in. You may also enjoy the green beans, pre-chewed for maximum efficiency to ensure you are able to resume playing trains as quickly as possible.

12pm – THE KID IS NAPPING. What happens next?

12:17pm: Eat handful of goldfish crackers. Fold laundry. Try not to get crumbs on the laundry.

12:33pm: Eat an apple. Watch “Golden Girls.”

1:02pm: Wash dishes from first half of the day. Wait, is that hummus? Where is my pita?

1:45pm: Realize that you’ve eaten half a tub of hummus and two pita loaves. Also realize you forgot to finish folding the laundry because you were too busy watching Blanche try to juggle men.

2:07pm: Eat another cookie.

2:12pm: Decide you need to eat something healthy. Eat some salad mix directly from the bag, alternating with squirts of Italian dressing.

2:30pm: Put remainder of unfolded laundry back in the dryer to de-wrinkle.

2:37pm: Eat a cookie. Decide the laundry can be folded tomorrow. Lay down on the couch.

3:07pm: Kid is up. Eat a cookie. Get kid.

3:30pm – Sesame Street

SECOND SNACK: All the mashed/bruised/unacceptable parts of a banana, and some peanut butter.

4:00pm – DAD IS HOME!

THIRD SNACK: Glass of wine while “cooking dinner.”

6:00pm – Knock three times…

DINNER: Pay the pizza guy. Everyone to the table for dinner. Your meal consists of pizza crust, cheese that “looks funny” and a dinosaur chicken nugget.

7:15pm – Bathtime

THIRD SNACK: Glass of pinot grigio and the last dinosaur chicken nugget.

8:00pm – Bedtime

FOURTH SNACK: Cookies. Wine. Hummus. Cheese. Salami. Realize you need something green…decide pistachio ice cream will do the trick.

9:30pm – Snoring on the Couch

During the week, I’m much more organized and cognizant of what I’m putting in my body, because I’m cooking real food for my family at dinner time and because my breakfast and lunch are eaten sans children.  But once the weekend hits, all bets are off, because I’m subject to hostage negotiations and playing trains.  We very much enjoy eating dinner as a family, but I have also found that my husband and I very much enjoy eating hot food.  So, once a week, we get take-out after the kids have gone to bed and I am allowed to sit on the couch in my pajamas with a glorious plate of Thai and an enormous glass of wine and no one is asking me for a bite.  It’s all MINE.

Dinner is served.

Dinner is served.

Sunday Mom Confessions

It’s that time again…time for me to avoid putting any serious effort into writing, and give you the list of things I’ve done recently that wouldn’t make the cover of Parenting Magazine.  Enjoy.

This week, I have…

  1. Worn maternity pants to the office. I feel like this ends up on the confession list every month, but it’s true.  I also don’t believe any of my coworkers notice when I do this.
  2. Realized it’s been three weeks since I’ve done my own laundry.  Don’t worry, everyone else has clean clothes, and I have yet to turn a pair of underwear inside out for myself.  This stems from the burned out light bulb in my closet, which has in turn provided enough material for an entire blog post.  I know you’re looking forward to that.
  3. Forgotten that Miles is on Mixed Veggie Protest.  Instead, he has opted to eat only peas, corn and carrots, but not mixed together.  At dinner this evening, I proceeded to separate all mixed veggies.  That, my friends, is love.  It is also understanding that he has most likely inherited his mother’s whack OCD.
  4. Eaten three grilled cheese sandwiches and two fried turkey bologna sandwiches for lunch.  Yesterday, I ate half a head of broccoli with some dip, so I believe that balances out the grilled cheese.  I’m tired and lazy.
  5. Prayed to the gods of the twelve month molars to let the teeth come in already, so the kid will stop chewing on my car keys every chance he gets.
  6. Attempted to bake a butterscotch brownie using a recipe I’m completely unfamiliar with, off the bag of butterscotch chips no less.  It turned out to be an 8×8 butterscotch chocolate chip cookie disaster, that couldn’t even be cut.  Instead of throwing it away, I stuck a spoon in it, and continued eating large chunks every single day while cooking dinner.  It was hate-eating at its finest.
  7. Cried during American Ninja Warrior.  This has also given me enough material for an entire post.
  8. Did zero household chores during Saturday’s naptime.  Instead, I opted to lay on the couch watching reruns of Sex and the City, and work on level 164 of Candy Crush.  People still play that, right?  I’m a little out of the loop…
  9. So far out of the loop, that I had never heard the songs “Happy” or “Fancy” until this week.  But I know all the words to “Down by the Bay” (where the watermelons grooow…Raffi 4 Lyfe)
  10. Let Miles fingerpaint with his yogurt, out of sheer appreciation for the joy on his face while doing so.  A dining room table can be replaced, but memories of coconut yogurt sunshines are irreplaceable.

Before I had Miles, I took melatonin religiously at bedtime.  After I got knocked up, I realized the label said “not for use during pregnancy”, so I quit.  I remember worrying about how well I would sleep without melatonin (surprise: pregnancy takes care of that), and that I was looking forward to the day I could take it again.  Then we had Miles, and I realized that children are melatonin for parents.  Their strength increases with age.  This isn’t a confession; merely an observation.  You don’t want to sleep like a baby; you want to sleep like the parents of the baby.

Miles will be 15 months old tomorrow, which to me feels like he’s getting his learner’s permit.  I’ll never make fun of anyone who says “boy, does time fly…” ever again.



Sunday Mom Confessions

My Sunday Mom Confessions will appear this week covered in every product in the Seventh Generation line that includes the words “anti-bacterial” in it, along with a heavy dose of Amoxicillin with Sudafed and Advil because I finally took my butt to the doctor when my magic powers and herbs didn’t seem to be cutting it.

First, let’s talk about the doctor.  I’m not opposed to medical care; in fact, proper medical care is crucial to our existence.  I follow a standard vaccine schedule with Miles.  I encourage my husband to head to the doctor for any ache and pain.  It’s getting myself to the doctor that can be tricky.  Oh sure, I go for my annual OBGYN appointment (which I have affectionately dubbed “The Boat Show”, only because I get the feeling someone is trying to park a yacht in there with all the cranking open they do) and I go for an annual physical.  But otherwise, I ignore any cold/flu/allergy/possible broken bone until it reaches the point of unbearable pain.

This is when WebMD steps in, urging me to “seek immediate medical attention.”  Again, WebMD knew my appendix was rupturing, so I trust them a lot.

WebMD gave me a list of 50+ things, even though deep down I knew it was just a sinus infection.  Saturday morning, if that’s what you can call it at 3:30am when you’ve been jarred from a seemingly peaceful sleep, I awoke to a strange feeling.  It was actually a horrible feeling; the feeling of my eyes trying to escape from their sockets.  With ice picks.  And chainsaws.  I took four Tylenol (because I’m sensible) and went back to bed.

Drawn to scale.

Drawn to scale.

The pain explosion continued forever.  No amount of Advil, Tylenol, or Excedrin would touch it.  If I looked to the left or right, the exploding eyeball feeling returned.  So I did what any mom of a toddler would do: after his nap, I sat in the recliner with Miles and we watched four episodes of “Roseanne.”  When Evan got home, I decided I should probably get this funk checked out.

I went to Urgent Care.  Ugh, the bane of my medical existence.  I absolutely loathe Urgent Care.  It’s where people like me, the lazy and preoccupied, go when their wounds begin to fester and ooze (or stab through their eyeballs).  Here I am in the waiting room, with a man who “hurt his back” on the job, but has no proof of employment; two men waiting to have drug tests, and parents of twin toddlers who are running around the waiting room like maniacs (something toddlers are completely capable of even when they’re sick).

I’m finally seen by a startlingly cute doctor (this never happens at Urgent Care) and he tells me what I already know, but he gives me the drugs…antibiotics, and choirs of angels sing hallelujah!  I’m not a big medicine fan, but I was getting desperate (also, somewhat concerned it just might be West Nile Virus).

Today, my headache is gone, thanks to stead four hour doses of Sudafed and Advil.  I can feel Big Pharma in there, clearing out the funk that has resided in my sinus cavity for the past eight (!!!) days.  Finally, getting back to normal (seriously, I didn’t even drink any wine this weekend until right now).

And so, with the funky funk packing its bags, here are my confessions of the past eight days…

  1. Miles tried his first ice cream cone.  Is 14 months too young?  I care not one iota; it was awesome to watch the face of a child who has never eaten anything that cold.  You could see the grimace of, “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!” mixed with a face of “oooh, gimmegimmegimme!”  Those are my exact feelings toward ice cream, too.
  2. The light bulb in our closet has been burned out for eight days (it extinguished around the same time my plague arrived) which means I’ve been pulling articles of clothing out, holding them in the bathroom light, then throwing them on the closet floor if they aren’t what I need.  I am down to a wrinkled mess on the floor, and sweaters on hangers.
  3. I taught Miles that dusting is fun.
  4. I have stepped on macaroni noodles, lo mein noodles and spaghetti noodles in the past 48 hours.
  5. I turned a pair of sweatpants inside out just so I could wear them in public (you know, the grocery store) without anyone noticing the tomato sauce stain.
  6. Did I mention it’s been eight days since I washed my own laundry?
  7. I also let Miles snuggle with me so we could watch The Cosby Show.  I am not ashamed of our TV time while I’ve been sick; these could be some of the last “snuggly baby” memories that I get.
  8. Miles ate zero vegetables yesterday.  Not that they weren’t offered; he didn’t want them, so I gave up.  Peaches and macaroni it is.
  9. I let a perfect stranger (teenage girl) take a picture of Miles eating his first ice cream cone at dinner on Friday.  He’s cute, I totally get it.  And she did ask permission.
  10. Miles still takes a binky at bedtime (STOP JUDGING).  It’s his one vice; he could go to sleep without it, but it’s easier with it.  Over the past three days, all of his binkies have disappeared except one.  I am at a crossroads: buy more binkies, or wean from binkies?  What if he turns 30 and he still sleeps with a binky?  Well, I hope he has a very understanding wife.

Maybe those aren’t as ridiculous as they usually are after a week in the toddler zone.  It’s tough to be funny and creative when your head is trying to turn itself inside out to escape the mucus.  Truth: I feel a little guilty about the TV, and a little proud about the dusting.  But mostly I feel warm and fuzzy because I CAN FINALLY DRINK WINE AGAIN.

Even though we’ve had the funk in this house, we’ve also had a lot of arts and crafts, pillow fights, book time and snuggles in the past eight days.  Miles has also started saying simple sentences like “Mama’s big helper!” which are simultaneously making me incredibly proud and breaking my heart, because being a mom and watching your child grow up is just emotionally weird sometimes.  More on my Big Helper later, though.

It’s Sunday…10 minutes until True Blood, my last weekend vice before returning to real life.  And I need my Lafayette fix.

Hooker PLEASE,


Thoughts on Sewing, Stomach Flus and Irrational Fears

A week has come and gone, and it’s been quiet here, right?  That’s because I’ve been fighting off the death plague of laryngitis, with my voice slowly sinking from Sexy Kathleen Turner to Barfly Sipping G&Ts and Smoking Unfiltered Parliaments (probably before noon on a Tuesday).  Having this funk has been so lame.  If I laugh too hard, I cough.  If I talk too loud, I cough.  If I do my favorite Goodnight Moon voice, I cough and Miles laughs at me.  And if I cough too hard, I cough more, then I get dizzy, my vision blurs, and I forget where I am…

I am surviving on a diet of sugar free Ricola cough drops, saline nasal spray, and two glasses of merlot with a Sleepytime Tea chaser.

Last week, I jotted down a few thoughts to turn into a lazy post so my favorite readers wouldn’t forget about me.  Said note was jotted post-wine, so it said things like “sewing is hard” and “food binge.”  So it took me a while to re-gather those fractured thoughts, but here they are…

Sewing Project  My awesome husband got me a sewing machine for Christmas two years ago, and I was super excited.  I had lists upon lists of things I would sew.  But I was pregnant, which meant these projects ended at curtains and a crib skirt.  Then, last week I stumbled across a fabulous patchwork skirt on one of my favorite online shopping destinations.  I was in love.  Handmade, recycled fabric, with glitter dust from baby unicorns (sustainably harvested, of course).  GIMME.  Oh wait…you want $78 for the Goodwill skirt?!


I know what some of you are thinking…of course I have time for this project.  So maybe I didn’t brush my teeth until 4pm this past Saturday.  And maybe I seriously contemplated just not brushing them at all, since it was so close to bedtime anyway.  But we went to Target, and because I obviously care about my appearance and scent when it’s the weekend, I brushed them.  I also put on jeans that had zero yogurt stains on them.  I am a mom who has it together.  I can sew a skirt.

Stomach Flu  I haven’t had a stomach flu in a few months, but I was on an antibiotic recently that felt like the stomach flu.  The label had specific instructions to take the pill either one hour before eating, or two hours after eating.  It took me five days (out of a seven day prescription) to figure that out.

Listen, we all know why the stomach flu causes weight loss, and it’s because you should be eating all of your meals (read: sipping your stupid chicken broth) in the bathroom.  You might as well dump the broth directly into the toilet, because it has the same effectiveness as eating it.

So you drop a few LBs.  If you’re like me, that means think you’ve won the Skinny Award which comes with a free pass to eat half a pound of hummus every night for a week.  I knew I had a problem when my husband, whom I love and adore for his thoughtfulness, came home one night with “snacks” for me: two blocks of cheese, pitas, a large tub of hummus, some fruit and a bottle of wine.  Snacks that I eat at 9pm.  You know, when I should be in bed, but I’m up watching stupid Catfish on stupid MTV with their stupid loud commercials.  I love hummus, SO MUCH.

Irrational Fears  I hate driving.  I harbor a fair amount of fear and anxiety when it comes to operating a motor vehicle.  Here are some of the things I’m afraid of:

  1. The wheels falling off my truck.
  2. Someone driving the wrong way on a one way street.
  3. Not being able to unbuckle my seatbelt.
  4. Lightning striking my truck.
  5. Freak airbag deployment.
  6. Explosions.
  7. Brake failure.
  8. My truck turning into “Christine.”
Juuust in case you didn't catch that reference.

Juuust in case you didn’t catch that reference.

Of course I’m still afraid of the regular things like flat tires, pumping gas, locking my keys in my car and people hiding in the backseat.  Those are just some of my irrational fears.

Promise to be back later this week with more coherent thoughts.  Until then, send warm thoughts of Vicks, vaporizers and hot toddies.