The Diet Naked Blog

Don't pass it along

My 7-year old daughter and I stopped by Target to buy some playing cards for soldiers, our contribution to boxes our church is sending to our military members in Afghanistan.  I had a cold and wanted to pick up something I could easily cook for dinner for my family, so we detoured into the food section. 

I steered my cart toward the frozen foods but my daughter stopped by the refrigerated food. 

"Mom!  Can I buy some yogurt?"  

"I don't care."

I grabbed a pan of frozen lasagna and placed it in the cart just as she arrived with two containers of Yoplait Light yogurt. 

"That's the kind you want?"  I was surprised.  I'd thought she'd pick out some yogurt marketed toward kids, like Trix yogurt. 

"Yes," she said, "Because I want to lose some weight."

"You want to lose weight?"

"Yes, I weigh sixty and I want to weight fifty."

So, that sound you heard late Monday afternoon?  That was my scream coming from the food aisle in Target.  

My beautiful, perfectly proportioned, athletic, lean daughter has received the message that she needs to lose weight and that the way to do so is to eat this particular brand of "diet" yogurt. 

I'm going to have to blame the media for this one, though I am responsible for what happened the other day in our kitchen. 

I have to weigh myself in the kitchen because my bathroom is carpeted.  It's dumb and turns weighing myself into something of a production.  Usually, I have privacy, but the other day, my daughter was lingering around, so I had to weigh myself while she was in the room.

"How much do you weigh?" she said.  "I want to see." 

"No!  Don't look," I told her.  I don't really care if she knows my actual weight, but she's at that stage where she announces everything she knows about me to random strangers and all the people she knows at school.  She loves to discuss my age (45!) with everyone.  I couldn't care less if anyone knows my age, but I really do not want the other kids at school to go home asking their mothers, "How much do you weight?  Grace's mom weighs 216." 

So, fine. 

Then, Grace got on the scale.  I was curious and leaned over to see what the scale said and she said, "No!  You can't look!  I don't want you to know how much I weigh!" 

Sigh. 

So, I have given her the message that the numbers on the scale should be kept secret, that they are somehow shameful. 

And the yogurt people told her she should lose weight by eating their yogurt.

And the television tells her that "thin" is better than "fat".  (She says "fin" instead of "thin", though, which makes me smile.  I haven't the heart to correct her when she says, "finner" when she means "thinner.")

I have made a point of not saying out loud, "Oh, I'm so fat!" and "I need to diet" and "I can't eat that because I am fat."  I do not want to pass along my so-called "food issues" to my daughter.  I want her to be healthy and to regard food without the emotions that I've attached to it.

So, in the store, when she said she wants to weigh fifty instead of sixty, I said, "Grace, you are perfect just the way you are."

She is.

I turned the cart and we headed to the check-out area.  On the way, we passed boxes of donuts. 

"Oh!" she said, "Can I get some donuts?  Please?  Please?"

And I said, "Yes."  

Maybe things aren't as bad as I fear.

It's always something

The weather's improved here . The sun has been shining.  The first daffodil in my  yard bloomed today.  My foot is finally healing a month after I tripped in my teenagers' room and bent it in a way a foot was never meant to be bent.  I have been thinking that this week maybe I'll start walking outdoors again.  I've been looking forward to it, even.

And so, I caught a cold.

My head hurts.  My throat is sore.  I'm congested. 

It's always something.

On a positive note, I have no interest in eating (though I did eat, I'm not crazy) . . . except for ice cream.  But we don't have ice cream because ice cream makes me fat.  I don't buy myself ice cream.  Ice cream helped me regain some of my weight. 

My husband went to the store for me tonight--I needed a particular thing--and I secretly hoped he'd bring home a pint of premium ice cream for me.  And he did bring home ice cream!  Hooray!

Only . . . what?  He bought it for himself.  (Let's just say that ice cream also soothes parenting difficulties.)  And he did not bring any for me.

So . . . thanks?  Yes.  Thanks.  I appreciate my husband being strong for me when I am weak.  He rocks.

Cookie-free (almost) since January 13

Tell me why I should keep blogging. 

Is this helping me?  Or hurting me?

Is it helping you?

I don't feel like a good blogger or a good dieter most days.

Anyway.

By the way, I've only eaten one cookie since January 13 when I gave up cookies.  And that was totally an accident.  (Do you ever eat something and not realize what you're doing until afterward?) 

Happy Friday! 

Herky-jerky

Today's weight:  217.6

*

I have two speeds:  On and off. 

Oh wait, "on" is not a speed. 

Okay.  I have two speeds:  Fast and slow.  Or moving forward and lying comatose in a ditch. 

Something like that.  I can't seem to regulate my speed or my forward progress.  I'm like a Toyota with a faulty accelerator or sticky brakes.  Or both.  It makes for a jerky ride.

What am I talking about?  I'm talking about how one day I eat only oatmeal and salad and zucchini and mushrooms and egg whites and the next day I somehow justify a York Peppermint Patty.  It's exercising every day for a month and then realizing I've missed four days of exercise in a row.

In other words, I have one great week--a four pound weight loss, hooray!--followed by a herky-jerky week of eating pizza and Valentine's ice cream cake.  Then, at midnight last night, I heated up  and devoured a  leftover McDonald's cheeseburger dipped in ketchup.  (I blame the teenagers for leaving leftovers.)  

Good grief.

Here's the deal.  In two months, I'm going to be in Michigan, attending a conference.  I really, really, really would like to be under 200 pounds at that point.  (I cannot believe I have to lose this weight all over again.  What is WRONG with me?)  I can't believe I am aiming for 200.  Sigh.

In order to accomplish that goal, I need to make steady forward progress.  I can't have a good week followed by a really bad week. 

Okay.  Back on track.  Heading forward.  No more donuts, for the love of all things fattening!  Get a grip!

Alive and well . . .

Hi. I know I haven't been here all week. But I'm still alive.
Hoping to have time to update tomorrow.
Have a great weekend!

Accountability

Last week: 221
This week: 217

More tomorrow.

Trying to be invisible

I had a dream last week in which I was walking down the street in my unflattering cotton knit nightgown.  I wore socks with my black fleece slippers and cradled my pillow in its pink pillowcase against my stomach.  I was homely and repulsive. 

On the other side of the street was someone I knew from college. 

"Hi, Melodee!" the person said.

My heart sank.  I did not want to talk to that person.  She crossed the street.  "What are you doing?" she said.

"Oh, just trying to be invisible," I said. 

* * *

I feel like I've been trying to be invisible.  But instead of shrinking to nothing, disappearing from view, I got fatter.  And the fatter I get, the less people seem to see me.  Which was a relief, in a way.

Yet, I know people see the outside of me, the body I'm in.  They can't see the inside of me unless they really know me, so I'm effectively hidden by my body. 

It's a conundrum.  I don't want to be treated like a fat person.  Yet there is some comfort in being unnoticed because I'm fat and being dismissed as just another fat housewife.  I'm like a superhero in disguise, able to pass through crowds without attention.  (A superhero?  Well, maybe that's a stretch.)

On the other hand, I hate being treated like I'm unkempt, incompetent, inferior.  I hate that eyes pass right over me without meeting mine or taking notice of me. 

I'm trying to be invisible yet I'm distraught at my appearance now that I've done this to myself.  And at the same time, I don't want to be fat and invisible.  

These are the thoughts that roll around in my head since I heard myself say "I'm trying to be invisible" in my dream.

* * *

In the meantime, I've returned to my low-glycemic index roots.  (It's basically the South Beach Diet.  It's funny how the same type of diet has so many names.)  I've had two successful days in a row. 

I exercised every single day in January. 

So, there's that.  Monday I will post my weight and the Diet Naked: The Sequel begins again in earnest.

February means a fresh start

Time to get serious. Again.

No flour. No sugar.

I have a plane ticket to a conference in April. That is my short-term exterior motivation. My long-term interior motivation is my health and how I feel and look.

I look terrible. I feel terrible.

So, back to truly dieting "naked". I'll post my weight next week. (That gives me time to get up the nerve ).

Busy is no excuse to stay fat. What if I'm busy forever?

And so I begin. Again.