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The Juice Fast – The End

Alternate working title:  “A tour of the emergency room”

Oh where do I begin?

First off, this is one of those posts that I feel the need to post a stern warning.  So if you are of the male persuasion, please move on.  There’s nothing to see here.

Only another woman will understand the depths of my despair as I come to terms with what this 7 day juice fast/cleanse did to my delicate system.  Because we women can discuss sensitive topics such as the one I’m about to discuss.  Without batting a mascaraed eyelash.

What I hoped to accomplish during my cleanse (insert liberal use of air quotes) was to infuse my system with healthy fruits and vegetable juices, rid myself of toxins, jumpstart my immune system, and be left feeling more energetic and better than I have for years.

Instead, I was plagued by a lower right hip muscle spasm that by day 7 of my cleanse, had rendered me completely useless.  I could not move without a stabbing pain causing me to utter some of the $5 curse words under my breath.  A discussion with my doctor on Friday raised some concerns about a possible kidney stone.

And on top of this, as though it wasn’t enough, I wasn’t really cleaning out the toxins, but rather holding onto them.  As it were.  In other words, I was completely stopped up.  No matter how much fiber I added to my juice.

For a freaking week.

Fiddledaddy, ever on top of investigating whatever ailment ails me, via the internet, offered a number of solutions.  One of which was to drink 4 oz. of OLIVE OIL.  FOUR OUNCES.  Straight.  With no salad to accompany it.  I complied, in my desperation.

NEVER AGAIN WILL I DRINK STRAIGHT OLIVE OIL.  EVER.  I have taken his computer away from him.  But not before he found a youtube demonstration of how to massage your own large intestine.  Not even kidding.

Next up, he broke out the enema bag.  You know the one.  It’s pink with a long hose attached to an attachment, that, well, makes me shudder to think of it.  I’m not exactly sure why we had such a thing in our home.  Except that I vaguely remember buying it last year when researching Lyme Disease cures.  I never had the nerve to actually open the box.

Until Friday.

My mother had one of these things that hung in our bathroom all throughout my growing up years.  I never asked her what is was for.  I thought every bathroom in America came equipped with one.

And now it was up to me to negotiate this contraption.  I’ll tell you in the spirit of full disclosure, I’ve only had two enemas in my entire life.

The first was accidental, and occurred the first and only time I ever tried to water ski.  The second was inflicted upon me prior to surgery for endometriosis 20 years ago.  The happy byproduct was that I lost 3 pounds in the span of five minutes.  A personal weight loss record.

I don’t need to go into any great detail, but my execution was only marginally successful.  So Fiddledaddy put Plan B into action.  He made an appointment for me to have a professional colonic.  That’s right.  And rest assured that he didn’t just open the yellow pages and say HEY, THAT ONE LOOKS GOOD.  He got a referral through a trusted family member.  Who espouses this sort of thing.

Now remember, at this point I’m desperate, so I’m game for nearly anything.  Early Saturday morning we dropped the children off at the grandparents and headed for an establishment that announces HAPPY COLONS!  I requested that we park a few doors down so that no one notices our van, but because of the back spasm, I was moving at the speed of smell.  Time was ticking.

Again, no details needed here.  Suffice it to say that the woman was very professional and put me at ease.  As much as I was ever going to be put at ease considering what was about to happen to me.  The most difficult aspect of the whole thing was negotiating the table, what with my muscle spasm and all.  I chose not to view the instruments to be used, because ignorance is one of my best coping skills.

Let’s just fast forward to the part wherein she tells me at the end of the session, “Well, sometimes it takes up to 3 sessions or so to get relief.”

Then someone is just going to have to shoot me.

The afternoon progresses, and I am barely able to move.  This had everything to do with the muscle spasm, which was worsening.  And this is the point that Fiddledaddy decides to take me to the hospital, because he’s fearing a kidney stone.

We loaded up 3 starving children and headed for the emergency room of the new hospital facility that has opened near to our home.  Fiddledaddy drives up to the entrance to drop me, while he parks.  A kindly orderly takes pity on my and comes to my aid with a wheel chair.  I was taken to a sparkly clean examining room.  The children were outfitted with cable television and popsicles in the waiting room, so that Fiddledaddy could join me.  I’m instructed to wear the required hospital gown, opening to the back, and asked to deposit a specimen into a teeny tiny vial.  NOT THAT KIND OF SPECIMEN.  I look at the bottle.  SERIOUSLY?  Because I am never able to perform on cue, all I could manage was about 3 drops, which they seemed happy with.

We wait for what seems like an eternity, and are treated to the very personal argument that comes from the cubicle next door.  Finally I persuade Fiddledaddy to take the children to the snack bar, because the last thing we need is to be kicked out of the hospital because our starving children set something ablaze in the waiting area.  He complied.  And of course in his absence, the doctor appears to examine me.

Honestly, it was over before I knew it.  I could barely get a word in.  He determined that my pain was entirely muscular, and that I needed a mild pain killer and muscle relaxant.  Which was to be taken 3 times a day FOR 10 DAYS.  Oh.  And I was to be confined to bed rest all of Saturday and Sunday.  HAPPY EASTER.  He didn’t want to hear about my juice fast, my issues with constipation, my Lyme Disease, or what color I prefer.  He did set my mind at ease in that he was certain that it wasn’t a kidney stone.

Finally Fiddledaddy came to collect me.  Armed with prescriptions we set off once again.

At some point on Saturday afternoon, the colonic must have had some affect on me, and I was able to deliver.  Somewhat.  But about an hour after that, the muscle spasm began to subside.


My Easter Sunday was fraught with nausea and fatigue, so I did indeed have to stay in bed for the entirety of the day, but thankfully my children were able to attend a fun family party.

The back spasms have ceased.  I’m still feeling, well, a little full.  But I’m hoping that by returning to a modified regular diet that will come to a blissful conclusion.  And no, I’m going to stay away from the muscle relaxants.  Save them for a rainy day.

I’m not blaming the 7 day juice fast.  Really.  I think that I have had so many toxins built up over a long period of time that my body went into shock, what with all that vegetable/fruity goodness.  I’m still juicing 1 to 2 meals a day, and taking it awfully easy with water soluble foods.

And despite everything, I lost 5 pounds.  So see.  There is a silver lining if you turn everything over and dump it out.

Which reminds me of a joke.  Fiddledaddy called me a few weeks ago, desperate for a joke that he had to tell during an audition.  This was all I could think of.  Because I’m 5:

“What’s brown and sits on a piano bench?”

“Beethoven’s last movement.”

Your welcome.  And Happy Easter, everyone.

The Juice Fast – Day 6

Alternate working title:  “Jesus come soon”

Seriously.  I really thought deep in my heart that by day 6 of this program, I would be feeling great.  I did not count on all the toxic buildup that I’d be experiencing.  And for the record, I’m not hungry.  And I’m not craving anything in particular.  My only complaint is that I’m having a LOT of lower back pain with some good muscle spasms thrown in to keep me humble.

From what I’ve been reading, this does happen to a select few.  I am special.  🙂

Yesterday I followed my family doctor’s advice and took 100 mg. of Niacin.  A little while later I was standing at the sink and began to feel like someone was sticking white hot needles into my scalp.  Then it moved down my ears, into my neck, and down my arms.  I thought, well, this is it.  I’m dying.  A fitting end to my juice fast.

I called Fiddledaddy and he reminded me that I had taken Niacin and was experiencing a Niacin flush.  Not uncommon.  Ever upbeat, he told me that it was a good sign.

What a relief.  I thought I was going to spontaneously combust and all that would be left of me was a smoking pile of ashes on the cheap linoleum.

This morning I took my doctor’s other advice and went to the gym.  I realized immediately that driving would be no easy feat.  It hurt to get in the car, turn the wheel, check my blind spot, step on the brakes, and tune the radio.  Once at the gym I climbed up onto the stationary bike and put in 15 minutes.  I’m happy to report that I did indeed break a sweat.  Something I typically try to avoid.  I followed this with a well deserved trip to the steam room and then the jacuzzi.

This is an excellent way to flush out the toxins.  The skin is evidently the best way to move them out.  Because they’re not leaving me any other way.  And that’s all I have to say on that matter.

While at the gym, what I didn’t count on was that my retinas would be permanently scarred from the visual of elderly naked women who don’t know their way to the private dressing rooms.  MY EYES, MY EYES.

Tomorrow is officially the last day of the juice only portion of my cleanse.  I’ve never ingested so many good for me fruits and vegetables in my life.  I’m actually enjoying the juice.  I believe that once I work out the toxins, I’m going to feel terrific.  And further, I truly believe that my blood work next week will show a difference.

I’m not discouraged.  And I’m a little bit proud of myself for sticking with this.

And for those of you sweet friends who are worried about me undertaking this as a Lyme patient, I have the full support of my team of doctors, and they’ve been keeping in touch with me nearly daily.

Thank you for your prayers and support!  And especially thank you to my friends and family who have come and taken my children away this week.  WOOHOO.  I mean, gosh, I sure do miss them when they’re gone…

Juice Fast – Days 3,4, & 5

Alternate working title:  “Just step over me”

As I last mentioned, I made it through Sunday with flying colors, as I was not tempted to consume burgers, hotdogs, or CAKE.

On Monday I woke up feeling a bit better, but had developed a nagging pain in my right hip.  It persisted throughout the day, not really slowing me down.

On Tuesday (day 4) I woke up barely able to move.  The pain in my lower hip was excruciating, so I called my favorite chiropractor’s office to schedule a massage.  My hope was that this was merely toxins congregating for a party in my hip.  The massage did little to relieve the pain, so my chiropractor tried an adjustment.  He’s the only doctor in the world that I will allow to pop, crack, or otherwise make me cry.

The relief was extremely temporary.  So I went in search of muscle relaxants  that I had left over from when I was first diagnosed with Lyme Disease.  This only served to make me cranky.  And as a relief to all who live with me, sleepy as well.

At this point, Fiddledaddy is ready to pull the plug on my juice fast.  As he is beginning to worry that by going off of my antibiotics and herbal medication, the Lyme Disease has reared its ugly head and is playing fast and loose with my body parts.

And by now the pain has moved into my lower back.  Roving pain is one of those Lyme indicators.  At the end of Day 4, Fiddledaddy talks me into going back on the antibiotics, and ramping up slowly to all of the herbal medication.  I’m in agreement.  I ate a small piece of Udi toast (gluten free) and downed my pills.  Along with a Tylenol PM.  Which was a good deal less messy than my original plan to hit myself over the head with a frying pan.

This morning marked the beginning of Day 5 (Wednesday).  I had made an appointment to see my family doctor, who is very familiar with my case.  He is also extremely knowledgeable regarding the use of nutrition when healing.  He looked over everything I’ve been doing and is of the opinion that I’m experiencing extreme toxic withdrawal.  His recommendation was that I take Niacin (50 to 100 mgs.), get my butt on an exercise bike for 10 minutes, and sit in a sauna to help my body rid itself of all the toxins.  Plus drink lots of water.

I had written an e-mail to my Lyme doctor, and they told me to continue with the 7 day fast.  Their feelings are that this is a toxic release.

My local doctor helped me to keep everything in perspective.  I don’t have to be so legalistic with this program.  In other words, if I have to eat something to get the pills down, so be it.  I should think of this more as a cleanse than a fast.  Today I’m only on juices, so besides the toast, I’ve not had solid food.

I do feel like a horse kicked me in the lower back, and then sat on me for good measure.  But this should pass.  My sweet SIL took my children away for the afternoon so I can stay off of my feet.  Because I’m 97.


On a brighter note, I’ve lost 4 1/2 pounds.  While I stress that this whole thing is not about weight loss, it is a nice little bonus.

If you’re considering a juice fast/cleanse, do not be dissuaded!  I think that I am a very unusual case, and I have no intentions of quitting.

On another brighter note, I haven’t had caffeine for 5 days and no one has had to die needlessly!

The Juice Fast – Day 2

Alternate working title:  “Pass me that hamburger”

As I mentioned, day 2 brought a good deal of relief from the blinding migraine that caused me to ponder how best to chop off my own head.  But I was tested throughout the day.

Oh, how I was tested.

I felt good enough to brave attending church.  With Jensen in tow.  We cannot leave him in Sunday School because he will rip his own hands to shreds because of his atopic dermatitis, so he sits with us.  Generally we take up space out in the foyer, which is nicely equipped with tables, chairs, and monitors so that we can watch the service.  This way Jensen can draw to his hearts content, we can listen to the message, and no one is really all that bothered should he spontaneously fall to the floor for no good reason while speaking IN ALL CAPS.

Because timing is everything, and because it was Palm Sunday, our church offered communion at the end of service.  I realized that because I was on a juice fast, I could not partake of the communion wafer or the teeny tiny thimble of grape juice (even though it was, well, juice).  My juice has to come from freshly squished (mostly organic) fruits and vegetables.

When the usher came over to our table I politely put my hand up and said, “no thank you” and he steered himself in another direction.  Immediately it occurred to me.  He’s going to think I waved off communion BECAUSE I’M A HEATHEN.  A SINNER UNWORTHY OF COMMUNION.

I thought about chasing him down and explaining in great detail my entire life story, but Fiddledaddy reminded me that HE WOULD ALSO THINK I’M CRAZY.  And besides, communion really was created for the sinners, and, well, I SHOULD BE AT THE FRONT OF THE LINE.  If I wasn’t on a juice fast.

Have I mentioned that one of the small pitfalls of a juice fast and, well, being ME, involves COMPLETELY IRRATIONAL THINKING?

The day went on, and then it was time for our small group meeting.  We meet with 3 other homeschooling families twice monthly for a meal, fellowship, an occasional lesson, prayer, and much laughter.  These are some of my dearest people, and I always look forward to our time together.

Another problem arises on a juice fast when you a) have to cook for the other people you live with, and b) have to attend a social function bearing gifts of food.

I’m one of those cooks that doesn’t pay a lot of attention to directions, and rarely measure.  I go by my own sense of taste.  Which now eludes me.  I was to make the cole slaw.  No one in my house could taste test it for me because the children all have a heightened gag reflex when it comes to anything SLAW in nature.

So I had to wing it.  And I’m happy to report that no one died needlessly.

And what luck, the fare at the dinner included HAMBURGERS and HOTDOGS on the grill.  Oh.  AND BIRTHDAY CAKE to celebrate two birthdays.  I’m from the south, y’all.  I never met a piece of cake that I didn’t like.  Much less my feelings about what comes off of a barbecue.

And yet, Fiddledaddy and I both sat and drank our delicious green concoctions, while extolling the virtues of juicing.  Contemplating adding a shot of vodka to the mix.

It was a test. I passed. And lived to tell the tale.

Day 3 did not go as well.  More to come.

The weight of the world

Having a rather thin skin in most matters, I’ve been very blessed that in my little corner of the blogosphere, everyone is sweet, supportive, and respectful.  In the 5 years that I’ve been blogging, I’ve only ever received maybe two comments that were hurtful.

Which I think must be some sort of record, given that I’ve received over 20,000 comments  since my blog switched to my own domain name.  (Because I’m a dweeb, I looked it up.)  Even when we might possibly disagree, this is a comfy place where everyone plays nice in the sandbox.

Earlier this week I received a stinging and WORDY comment on one of my Jenny Craig review/giveaway posts.  And I wanted to share it with you in the event that anyone else might have been offended or hurt by my words.

“You were 137 & decided to diet? You’re the shape of a tree trunk? And, you had to wipe tears from your eyes? Wow. Clearly you have no idea how good you have it. Has the media gotten you so brainwashed that you can’t be happy at 137?  I would be THRILLED to be the size that you are. I haven’t been 137 since I was a kid. When you’ve been overweight your entire life, getting laughed at, bullied & picked on, stared at, & ridiculed – you know what it’s like to really cry about your weight. I’m a woman in my 30’s with medical issues that cause my weight to fluctuate. I’ve been over 200 lbs since I was 16 years old. When I got down to 190 for the first time in my 20’s, I was over the moon! I felt like I was the sexiest, most attractive woman on the planet… And you cry over 137? I’m at my heaviest, pushing 300 lbs now & I still wouldn’t get off a scale & cry. I’ve learned to love me for me & not let a number define my happiness. I used to feel bad about myself & my weight… but more & more I feel worse for skinny beautiful women who have no idea how lucky & gorgeous they really are, just because a certain number on the scale shows up. There are so many of you who won’t ever accept that number, who won’t feel skinny or beautiful enough, no matter how much you lose, so why bother? Eating frozen prepackaged, overpriced meals isn’t going to help you. 1. Learn to love yourself. 2. Cook your own healthy meals. When I have size 6 friends telling me (a size 24) that they feel fat, my heart goes out to them. You don’t need Jenny Craig ladies. You need love.”

She signed the post as Stunned

Okay.  First let me say that I’m pretty sure that she didn’t want to enter my little contest, because I did try to personally e-mail her, and it was a bogus e-mail address.  Therefore, because of the rules of the contest, I had to delete it.

Second, this is obviously someone who doesn’t frequent my little blog, or she would somewhat get my warped sense of humor.  The “wiping tears from my eyes” is a phrase that I use ad nauseum, as I am wont to wax poetic, to guild the lily, to exaggerate, as it were, for the sake of a laugh.  Or just a smile.

I hope you all hear my heart.  I do not and have not ever had the kind of weight struggles that I know many many women deal with on a daily basis.  My issues are simply that I want to feel better.  Physically, feel better.  And when I’m outside of my ideal weight range, I feel so very sluggish.

An opportunity presented itself in that I was able to go on the Jenny Craig program free of charge.  It was just the motivation I needed to get me started, and the accountability factor undoubtedly would have benefitted someone of my procrastinating nature.

Another issue that I’ve faced is that, as you all know, I’m a chronic Lyme Disease patient.  I’m still fighting this insidious disease and will be fighting for likely another year or so.  Lyme Disease spirochetes LOVE to hide out in fat cells.  Even just a few of them.  It is in my medical best interest if I keep my BMI low.

In a nutshell, that’s why I wanted to do the program.

I pray that I’ve not offended anyone else in the blogosphere with my posts on weight loss.  My goal is simply to make better choices (as in, perhaps avoiding that column of Ritz crackers) and to generally eat healthier using portion control.

If “Stunned” had not hidden behind the cloak of anonymity, I would love to have reached out to her and apologized for any hurt I might have caused.  That breaks my heart to think that I caused someone pain because of my words.

But I also would have gone on to say that for someone who preaches love, she might need to work on her communication skills.  Because I didn’t feel much love.  🙂

We all have issues.  We all struggle with something.  It breaks my heart when women tear each other down and judge one another, when we really need to lift one another up and encourage.

So, if anyone else was hurt by my words, please accept my heart felt apology.

A Mother of a Day

My Mother’s Day celebration began in earnest on Saturday night, with a frothy brightly colored plastic cup full of heaven.  Garnished with fruit.

The most perfect way to celebrate.  And I chased it down with some delicious Lobster Chowder and Crab Cakes, while sitting outdoors on the river, enjoying the fact that Florida forgot to trot out Spring before hitting me full on with Summer.

So I did what any mature woman would do, I drank a frothy frozen colorful creation on an empty stomach.

And then I really didn’t care that we were sitting right on the river, and Jensen was perched up on a high stool by a nearly nonexistent safety railing.  I figured if anyone was going to end up in the river, it would be my son.  And since we were celebrating Mother’s Day, Fiddledaddy would take pity on me and go in after him.  So I wouldn’t have to get my hair wet.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it or not, but I’m not a fan of being wet.

The dinner was excellent and I finally loosened up and enjoyed the fact that we were outdoors and on the water.  With all 3 of our children.  And it was 90 freaking degrees.

In other words, it was a particularly strong drink.

By the time I climbed back into the van to mercifully head home, I was pulling out the requisite trash bag from the little ducky diaper bag dispenser that I keep handy.  Because 2/3 of my children are prone to motion sickness.

When Fiddledaddy hopped in beside me, he astutely noticed, “You don’t look so good.”

Just drive.  And don’t hit any bumps.

I made it home without incident, and after an hour or so I was fine.  But I had to ask the question, WHEN DID I TURN 90?

How is it that I can’t enjoy a cocktail every once in a 100 years without it turning my stomach upside-down.  I’ve never been one to drink more than on special occasions (even though I threaten to).  But lately my delicate system can’t handle the sugar.

Which brings me to my next point.

Sadly, oh so sadly, I’ve put on 10 pounds since I’ve had my knee issues.  And we’ll just add that on to the left over 10 pounds of pregnancy weight from Jensen (WHO IS NOW 5).  I only knew this because my stretchypants have threatened a revolt.  I was horrified when I finally pushed denial out of the way and climbed on to the scales.

Inactivity and drowning my sorrows with Oreos have only served to push me up a dress size.  Or three.

And now it’s time to pay the piper.  I always hesitate to publicly state that I’m going back on the wagon for real.  Only because the chances that I fall on my face in a public arena are great.  Are greater than great.

In a nutshell, this all means that I’m heading back to the gym this week, and, gulp, probably doing the South Beach Diet again.  Phase 1.  Because evidently Phase 14 isn’t working for me.

I’ll let you know when I start, because I have to actually plan the meals and shop for real food.  I wish I could just start dieting/eating healthy without the 2 week cleanse of NO SUGAR and NO CARBS.  But I am completely bereft of will power.  And I know me well enough to know that without the cleanse, I’m powerless and will not be able to resist the deliciousness of those chocolatey cookies with the creamy center.


I’ll of course be as transparent as possible, even if it means complete humiliation.

My son is cheering me on.  Today he told me, “Mom, I think you’re FIFTYPERCENT beautiful.”  And then he quickly corrected himself, “I mean FIFTYHUNDRENPERCENT.”

So the way I see it, I can only go up from here.

I hope all of you moms had a wonderful Mother’s Day. One that did not include a barf bag!   🙂

Notes from the Linoleum

I realize I’ve been scarce.  And weird.  More weird than usual.  So an excuse explanation is eminent.

You know how I talked about wanting to get into better shape around the first part of every year since I started blogging 3 years ago?  And then you don’t hear anything more from me on the subject?

It’s usually because I’ve fallen on my face and pretend I never talked about it in the first place, because avoidance?  It is a gift.

Well.  Out of desperation, Fiddledaddy and I went on the South Beach diet.  Phase 1.  For two of the longest weeks of my entire life.

I’m not kidding.

I wanted to die.

We did South Beach about 6 years ago, after I had Cailey.  And we enjoyed great success with it.  But honestly, I do not remember it being that hard.  I think that’s because I didn’t have 3 children, wasn’t homeschooling, and I was, you know, younger.

But I knew something drastic had to happen because for the last few months, I couldn’t get control of the cravings.  I would work out like a maniac, but then sit down and devour an entire bag of tortilla chips.

And call it carb loading.

And my sweet tooth?  It ruled my entire being.  Phase 1 of South Beach is about eliminating sugar and carbs, to get the cravings under control.  And people, the detox?  It wasn’t pretty.

Which has accounted for a good deal of my surly disposition lately.  And for sport, I timed the whole thing perfectly so that I enjoyed a round of menstruation during the ordeal.  Had cramps that would have crippled any ordinary man.  AWESOME.

We thankfully finished Phase 1 last weekend, and I didn’t cheat once.

I just prayed for death to come swiftly.

After all was said and done, I lost 8 pounds in those 2 weeks.  And the cravings?  I’m happy to report that I walked through Sam’s Club today, and SAMPLED NOTHING!  Not even the sheet cake.  And I was okay with that.

Before the detox, I would have not only sampled the cake, but disguised my appearance so that I could wander by and sample it 7 or 34 more times.

The weight loss will slow down to about 2 pounds a week now, and I have about 10 pounds to go.  I know how to low-carb meals, so I can thankfully go back to using e-Mealz meal planning (see left sidebar).  I’ve missed it.  Adding in more recipes to Phase 2 is essential to success.

Because I have a short attention span.

On Monday morning, I enjoyed my first complex carb in the form of a plate of Oatmeal Pancakes.  My joy was obvious.  And a happy mom, means a happy household.  My children are happy to have Nice Mommy back.

I’ll keep you updated.  Even if I’m face down on the linoleum.


I Walk the Line

I love to come here and tell you of my successes.

Like the time I ate an entire column of Oreo-wanna-be’s in one sitting.  Or when I bit into a piece of Easter chocolate only to discover it was in actuality, a rock.  Or when I dug through the trash to retrieve two cookies, thrown away the day prior.

Or when I slithered into my one piece bathing suit, and took on the persona of a stuffed sausage.

Giving sausages everywhere a bad name.

Yes, proud moments.

Last December I boldly stated that I was hopping back on the South Beach Diet bandwagon to shed those unwanted pregnancy pounds (last pregnancy was nearly 4 years ago, but who’s counting).  And a bunch of y’all got on with me in an effort to make this year about getting fit and feeling great.

So, here it is the middle of February and I wanted to let you all know how it was going.

I fell flat on my face.

I completely underestimated the fact that the last time I tried (and succeeded) with South Beach I only had 2 kids, and I wasn’t attempting to homeschool anyone.

In other words, I was not prepared.

I’ve completely regrouped and I’m trying something a little simpler.  It involves eating 6 times a day (for metabolism), combining a protein and healthy carb at every meal, portion control, and working out SIX times a week.  I even took the dreaded “before” picture.  That was sobering.

I won’t go into any more detail than that.  When I see the results, I’ll spill my guts.  What’s left of ’em.

What this has meant, is that on alternate days, I will be reacquainting myself with my treadmill.

The same treadmill that was buried in the garage.  Underneath 4 bicycles, one big wheel trike, a crib (which I then used as a barricade to keep small children away from said treadmill), a used wedding dress (worn once), and a bag of old decrepit toys that I intend to throw away (don’t tell Cailey).

The children followed me out to the garage to see what was up.  Jensen eyed the treadmill when it was finally unearthed.  “Whassthat mama?”

I tried to explain it to him.  “Um, mommy walks on it.”


“Because I need to exercise?”


Because I packed on 50 pounds with you, and you children KIND OF STRESS ME OUT and exercise is really good for stress SO I’M TOLD and I just want to have 20 minutes to myself to walk on this darn thing while listening to my HAPPY MUSIC on my iPod without the fear of you people setting the house ablaze!!!!!

Okay.  I just thought all of that.  What I actually said was more along the lines of, “Because it will make mommy happy.”

And with that, I flipped the switch, shoved my iPod earbuds into place, and blasted off.

“Mommy, what’s all that squeaking?”

I look down at the treadmill to a label at the base which reads “The quiet treadmill.”  After so many years of nonuse, it could use a little oil I reckon.  Couldn’t we all.

I turned the music up louder and walked faster.

With three pairs of eyes glued to me.  Like they’ve never seen me walk before.

It was only slightly unnerving.

Eventually they lost interest and played on the floor of the garage, just to be near me.

I figured I was safe to have my happy tunes blasting my eardrums because if there were a ear splitting scream from my children I’m certain I’d hear it because of my heightened mommy sixth sense, and I knew that if blood were spurting from anyone, I could catch it in my peripheral vision.

I finished my 20 minutes, and put in another 10 just for penance for all those downed Oreos from so long ago.

I have an awfully long road ahead of me.  One step at a time.  And if I fall on my face, I’ll just get back up, dust the crumbs off my shirt, and forge ahead.