PUPPY!

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I thought maybe I owed you an explanation for why I haven’t been around.  Her name is Captain Kaylee and she is NOT my dog.  A certain middle child only wanted one thing for his tenth birthday.

 

My Fatness Testimony

Maintaining a healthy weight is not the only thing that matters when it comes to physical fitness.  There’s also cardiovascular health, and bone density, and body fat percentage, and muscles, and macronutrients and micronutrients, and individual physiologies and abilities and limitations, and mental baggage!  

And all of these things are interrelated.

But getting to a healthy weight was the idea I started with, so that’s where I’ll start talking.  I’m not saying anything new, and I’m likely saying it less well than others have said it, but maybe my little voice will mean something to someone so…

There’s a formula to weight loss.  Take in less energy than you expend.  We take in energy by eating and we expend energy by being alive.  We can increase energy intake by eating more and we can increase energy output by moving more.  Two dials to adjust to get us where we want to be:  the energy in knob and the energy out knob.  Simple does not mean easy.  I know.  Getting these controls in a comfortable balance can take some practice.

In the U.S. we generally call energy by its unit of measurement: calorie.  It’s also know as a  kilocalorie or kcal.*  There are other units of measure used in other parts of the world (hello, kilojoule), but however you measure it is fine.  So, you can state the weight loss formula as “take in fewer calories than you expend” or calories in < calories out or CI<CO or CICO.  I want to repeat that weight loss/management isn’t everything.  How you feel matters.  How different foods affect you physically and mentally matters, but strictly speaking, CICO is the formula.

When I was a teenager and a young woman, I kept my weight mostly steady by occasionally increasing my energy output, my energy expenditure, my calories out, my CO, with exercise.  I also smoked cigarettes to manage stress.

When I got a little older, I had less time and inclination to exercise, I gave up the unhealthy habit of smoking and replaced it with the better bad habit of over-snacking, I moved from the city to the suburbs where driving is more of a necessity, I grew three babies in my body in five years, and then felt somewhat housebound by my responsibilities in raising them.  Oh, and sleep deprivation common to new mothers drastically decreased my non-exercise activity.  The result was that during the course of my marriage I put on about eighty pounds of fat.

Look out for part 2 coming soon.

*A kilocalorie is the amount of heat required to raise the temperature of 1 kilogram of water one degree Celsius. Please visit USDA’s Nutrient Data Laboratory for additional information.

Homeschoolers Get a Snow Day

Did you know that, in a pinch, diesel fuel can be used in place heating oil?  That’s what our oil man told us on the phone when we ran out in the middle of the so-called blizzard last night.  So, we’re warm now.

As homeschoolers we don’t get school cancellations for “snow days,” but we do get, “yay, it’s snowing! days.”  And that’s what we had yesterday.  My husband had the day off and he and the boys played cards and Battleship and the never-ending Monopoly.  There was a snow fort, and hot herbal tea, and a walk in the woods.

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The birds were raucous:  swooping hawks, darting cardinals, hoarsely crying crows.  There was a flock of fine fat robins sitting together in some brush but they scattered as I approached…probably because I had this guy with me

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Today we have some learning to make up and some messes to tidy, but it was worth it.

Becoming Physically Fit

A little over a year ago, I was unhappy.  I was tired and feeling helpless to improve anything.  I couldn’t see any way to make things better.  The weather was dark and cold and so was my outlook on life.  I was spending unhealthy amounts of time doodling around the Internet and typing in desperate questions; like shouting into the ether, praying into the web.

I came across the idea of a mind map and by making my own, I discovered that there were actions I could take to get me to a better place.  There were things on that map that I couldn’t immediately change, but there was one thing I could begin to work on right away:  physical fitness.

I realized that:

  • I don’t want to be prematurely old.  I don’t want to accept certain aches and pains as the inevitable result of aging when a bit of exercise could prevent them.
  • I don’t want to have to sit on the sidelines when there’s something fun to do.  I don’t want to be disabled by my own fatness.
  • I don’t want to be in pain.
  • I want to climb hills and fill my lungs with fresh air and feel good.
  • I want to be able to wipe my own butt for as long as possible.
  • I don’t want to be invisible.
  • I want to exercise control over my life rather than letting life just happen.  I want to make choices instead of having choices made for me.

Since then, I’ve been concentrating on my health and fitness – weight loss, specifically, but also building/preserving muscle.  Fitness has become a hobby, and a bit of a passion.  And somehow, in spite of my many other obligations and interests, my life has made room for this important area of focus.

I didn’t talk or write much about this for a while because there was a distinct possibility I’d be all talk and no action, so to maximize my likelihood of success, I kept mostly mum.

But I’m getting pretty comfortable with these new habits now and I feel like I have some things to say about it.  I want to tell you about how I eat and how I exercise and how I feel about how I eat and how I exercise.  I want to tell you about my future plans and obstacles I’ve had to overcome.  And I want to tell you in a way so that you can see it all in the context of my everyday life.  AND I want to know how you feel about these things!  So, if I can stay interested in blogging, and if I can figure out the right words, I’ll be around a little more often I think.

 

 

Raising Adults

If my boys ever pass out of the girls-are-yucky phase, a daughter-in-law will one day point an accusing finger at me because “You’re son left the seat up.”

It’s been said (by whom I can’t remember) that we parents aren’t raising children, but future adults.  No pressure there.

But there is progress.  Today I’m celebrating the following recent entries in the win column:

  • I didn’t have to re-wash the dishes after my children did them!  They even washed the outside of the bowls.
  • Last week my 12-year-old asked, “Are you using the washer today?  I’d like to do my laundry.”  and then he did his laundry!  And put it away!  With only a couple of reminders!
  • He also bakes and washes up after.
  • The number of times I sit in pee on the toilet seat has dramatically diminished in the last few months.
  • My reluctant reader is reading (slowly) and writing letters and lists voluntarily.*

Their struggles are my struggles.  I know how hard it is to do things without being told.  I still hate brushing my teeth.  I still have to force myself to wash the dishes.  I still prefer to wear pajamas all day. It’s hard not to overeat.  It’s hard not to doodle around on the computer all day.  It’s hard to exercise regularly.  I have become accustomed to exerting my will over these difficulties, but it still feels hard and I sometimes fail.  So I understand why they question the need for a top sheet.

*Thanks, Julie for program recommendations. And thanks for documenting your own path through this “boybarian” wilderness.  It has been more helpful than I can explain to see your boys growing into responsible adults.

On Age and Feeling

Age has a way of dulling passion.  You can say “tempering” instead of dulling if you prefer, but it all adds up to less:  less feeling, less expression, less certainty.

Rage doesn’t happen.  The white hot uncontrollable, flinging, spewing, guitar-smashing fire ebbs away.  Its space is taken up by tutting sarcasm, stealth sniping, detached cynicism that just can’t be bothered.

The acquisition of wisdom means self-containment.  My life becomes a mask of calm politeness and you can only wonder whether or not it reflects the truth.

Age makes hypocrites of us all.

When you were twelve, you said any old stupid thing and the people you didn’t scare off are probably still your friends now that you’re fifty.

When you were twenty, you knew everything and you shared your knowledge with everyone.  The people you didn’t alienate are now your family.

Note:  This is a writing exercise from a book called Writing Life Stories.  I’m feeling pretty good right now, so don’t worry too much about the weirdness.  

Welcome to My Mid-life Crisis

There are dishes waiting to be washed. They’d take ten minutes to do but I’ve been delaying for eight hours. I should go to bed and start fresh in the morning but guilt is keeping me in this kitchen chair.

The thoughts I think lately! Shocking. Dirty, snarky, true and funny, but out of character for me I think. A friend of mine says in a few years I’ll lose my filter and I’ll start saying those thoughts out loud and then I can officially begin my career as an eccentric old lady. It’s already starting. Today I heard that so-and-so lives in Rochester and I said, “On purpose?”

I’m cold all the time now.

And hungry.

I think I’m happier than I was this time last year. I’m certainly busier than I was this time last year. I go to the gym, I take the kids swimming, I occasionally shop, I babysit the kid next door. The secret is that I’m coasting on the habits I started to build before winter depression set in. I just have to keep it going. Once I fall down I might never get back up.

Plus, I’m thinner than I was last year, so that’s something.

I wish I could do or make something really beautiful but I don’t know how.

I’m not even sure I know who I am. Who I think I am. Who other people think I am. Or why any of that matters at all. Really it’s just about who He says I am. But I look in the mirror and I see a serious, furrow-browed, middle-aged woman – someone who looks like she knows something. But inside I’m all silliness and anxiety. Insecurity just ain’t cute at my age.

What is there to look forward to? What milestones? What adventures? Rhetorical, don’t answer.

My husband doesn’t want to be my companion in seeking out new worlds and new civilizations. He doesn’t want to hike the Appalachian trail with me. I think he might be planning his death. Sometimes I think he’s surprised he’s lasted this long; he thought he was elderly at 34.

And then what for me? I’ll wish we’d made love more, that I’d been nicer, complained less, washed the dishes. Oh, the dishes.

God Is Not Dead, Nor Doth He Sleep*

Barring the kind of divine intervention I have not seen in my lifetime, it was bound to be  a dark day no matter how things shook out.

Well, OK then.  May I have the kind of faith to remember that God raised up Pharaoh for his own reasons*, and that there is no power but of God*, and to render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s* (and not a denarius more!)

*1. “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

2. Exodus 9:16; Romans 9:17

3. Romans 13:1-7

4. Matthew 22:21; Mark 12:17; Luke 12:25

Creative Boxes in Bed

When I was  a very little girl being raised by a single mom in an apartment in which it was forbidden to run or jump, and outside play for a small child was difficult to manage,  I would sometimes set up the I’m bored whine.  And my mother would rattle off a list of things I could do.  Why don’t you play with your dolls?  Make a tent.  Get out your Lite Brite.  Go see what’s in your creative box.

a current creative box with some squished dust bunnies

a current creative box with some squished dust bunnies

Under my bed there was a square plastic bin that had been part of  a diaper changing table which was kept full of construction paper and crayons, small containers of paste, odds and ends that mom could spare.  I’d pull it into a corner of my room or up onto the bed and I’d be lost in my own world.

The things I made didn’t often resemble the pictures in my imagination.  In fact, I often didn’t even know what I was imagining until it took physical form.

some quilt blocks I'm working on

some quilt blocks I’m working on

I live in a pretty big house now and I could have a dedicated craft room if I wanted it, but I’d never use it.  And sure, I can sew from a pattern; it’s a useful skill.  But I enjoy and take great comfort from getting into my freshly made bed and surrounding myself with odds and ends that can be spared for my crafting.

one way to

one way to “hide” craft supplies is to put them on display

Today there are several creative boxes tucked under my bed and in various other hidey spots around my bedroom.  They’re full of sewing things and embroidery, paper crafts, crochet and knitting, drawing items, writing ideas.  I’m typing this from my bed right now and I had very little idea what I was going to be writing before I began.

So, is there anyone else out there who crafts from a favorite cozy place, bed or otherwise?