Canadian Sensibilities
Forgive the silence over the past few days, readers, but I’ve been engaged in Top Secret work and was reluctant to post until things had worked out as they ought. To what am I referring so mysteriously? Of course, I can only be referring to the Great Migration of the Cute Canadian Geek to Minneapolis.
He’s here! At last!
He’s still pretty shell shocked, but settling in well. Landing in Portland on Monday for a quick layover before our flight to Minneapolis, I could see right away how things were starting out:
Cute Canadian Geek: “Oh my gosh!”
FatGrrl: “What?”
CCG: “Morgan, I never realized how American you look until I saw you around all these people.”
FG: “What about me looks American?”
CCG: “Oh my gosh….look at that. [Average looking guy in polar fleece vest.] That’s so American!”
FG: *eye roll* “What does it mean to look Canadian?”
CCG: “….”
FG: “We’ve got enough time till our next flight to grab some lunch. What sounds good to you?”
CCG: *sniff, sniff* “What’s that I smell?”
FG: *sniff, sniff*
CCG: “FREEDOM FRIES!”
At that point my eyes rolled so far back in to my head I was examining my hair follicles as we navigated through the terminal to a restaurant. We sat down to eat and, I kid you not, this man of mine ordered a chicken sandwich with a side of FREEDOM FRIES. When the server looked at me, I just shrugged: “He’s Canadian.” What are you gonna do, right?
Stay tuned for more about life with a Canadian!
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Fat Friday - Chubby Bunny
Enjoy the Spring Weekend - whether you be praisin’ the Lord, hangin’ with the Goddess, or tete-a-tete-in’ with Ms. Cadbury and Mr. Russell Stover.
Filed under Fat Fridays | Comment (1)
You know it’s the first day of spring when….
…all along the neighborhood block you can see the petrified piles of dog crap that were once hidden beneath six inches of snow.
So, you irresponsible dog owners thought you could be sneaky, huh? Thought you could pull one over on us? Well, think again! The truth is now out and roasting away in the March sunlight.
Filed under Schnibbles | Comments (3)Wuv, twoo wuv.
Scene takes place in the kitchen.
*Loud crash, followed by feminine squeal*
El Husband Muy Magnifico: *sprints to kitchen* Are you okay?
Ellie the Graceless: *staring stupidly at feet surrounded by glass* Um, I don’t know. *Picks up foot to find a lake of blood forming on the floor* Oh, my. Dammit, I just mopped this floor. *Blood pours all over the floor, and she just stands there like an idiot and bleeds*
EHMM: *Enters panic mode and starts running around grabbing paper towels and tries to stop the bleeding. Bleeding doesn’t stop. Ellie continues to stand there stupidly.* Hold still. How did this happen?
EtG: It slipped out of my hand. Maybe I should get my foot above my heart, because this doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop. Boy, that’s a lot of blood. You’ve gone through almost half a roll of paper towels.
EHMM: *Carries wife over to recliner. Wife is not a dainty flower. Husband could have given himself a hernia. Or collapsed his spine or something.* [Editor's note: there's a reason I like them short and stocky. Mrowr.]
EtG: Did I get blood on the carpet? I did. Dammit. I just steamed it!
EHMM: Will you stop it with the carpet and the floor already and get your foot up?
*Bleeding finally stops and EHMM bandages Ellie’s toe, then starts to clean up glass and blood in kitchen. Quiet retching sounds drift out of the kitchen.*
EtG: What’s wrong? You’re not going to get cooties from my blood.
EHMM: I know. Blood just makes me kind of woozy. And there’s a lot of it here.
EtG: Is there? *hobbles over to kitchen* Holy shit. It looks like someone was murdered in here.
EHMM: Go sit down. And drink something. And put that foot up. Yuck. This is gross.
EtG: Love you!! Sorry!
EHMM: It was my favorite coffee mug, wasn’t it?
EtG: Yep. Sorry.
Love is holding your wife’s toe as she bleeds all over the kitchen, then carrying her fat ass over to the recliner, then cleaning up the big mess you didn’t make, even though the sight of blood makes you sick.
~Ellie, who now has one very-bandaged toe. And a really sweet husband.
Filed under Schnibbles | Comments (5)Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
Kiba and I headed over to Kari’s place yesterday to celebrate Sparky’s 10th birthday. All the dogs were decked out in their birthday best with Mardi Gras beads and birthday hats. The liver-flavored cupcakes with cream cheese and milkbone frosting were a big hit.
Chitter-Chatter
When I went in to see Amy the Dietitian this week, my mind was a little bit spin-crazy. The day before I had taken a spill on the ice and come down hard on my left knee, essentially all of my weight - which is not inconsiderable - right down on my left knee. Stairs for the rest of the day were a nightmare. Night. Mare. Stairs the next day were not any better, and it began to make me think any goals I had around exercise this week were now officially fucked over. I still struggle so much with activity and exercise; trying to incorporate it in to my schedule as a part of my self-care rather than as some kind of weight loss imperative.
Suddenly, a slip on the ice was a guilt-worthy offense. Quite possibly the worst thing I’ve done. Ever.
I was trying to explain all of this to Amy, because as my mind kept going over and over the fall and the pain in my knee, I became convinced that the pain would always be there. That this was permanent. This was my fault. I would never be able to exercise again (no, I won’t go in the pool, dammit!). No exercise means no fitness, means I could be fat like this forever, means I’ll never have a chance to be anything but this fat. This is my fault. There’s a causative link between increased weight and arthritis in weight-bearing joints. Dammit! My knee is a weight-bearing joint! Arthritis! Arthritis! I can’t exercise! I’m a failure. I’ve failed at this.
Of course, the longer it went on the faster I spoke and the higher my anxiety got until Amy finally threw out her arm, pointing at me, and yelled, “STOP!” I was startled enough by the gesture that I did STOP - dead in my tracks. She gave me a few moments of quiet to slow things down, and it was in that space that I could see just how far and how fast the eating disorder thoughts had escalated in my brain.
“Wow, Morgan. A lot of chatter going on there.” That’s one word for it. Satan tongue-kissing my brain is another way to put it.
But now that I’ve got some distance between me and the ice, I don’t think it was the lack of exercise that was scaring the hell out of me. I think it was the prospect that if I did have arthritis in my knee, it would mean that now the haters have legitimate fuel to criticize me. With arthritis in my knee, I could no longer fling my perfect cholesterol and blood pressure numbers in their faces, because they can always come back to my knee and how my weight (and me by extension) are to blame. I’ve been a self-righteous Fattie. I’ve been carrying around a dichotomy in my brain of Good Fatties (those in good medical health; shining examples of Health at Any Size) and Bad Fatties (those with mobility issues; the bingers; the ones who hobble around on arthritic knees and deserve to be hounded and denigrated). It’s a terrible state of affairs in my head, and I’m not sure I can blame the eating disorder entirely.
Maybe I did fail. I failed the Fatties.
Filed under BEDhead, Fat(Riot)Grrl | Comments (18)Fat Friday - Cures Corpulence Completely
Why is it that quack medicine from a hundred years ago retains this hilarious nostalgic quality, and quack medicine today makes me want to kick certain people in the balls? Simple. We have more reliable scientific understanding today and contemporary quacks SHOULD KNOW BETTER!
Anyway, thought you might enjoy the crazy testimonials for this product that will Cure! Corpulence! Permanently!
Another great find by the CCG. Thanks, darlin’.
Filed under Fat Fridays | Comments (7)Livin’ La Vida Hermit Crab
Stress used to be very easy to identify for me. Usually I saw it at the end of a great movie when I threw off the blankets I’d been buried under and looked out to see the detritus left behind after a binge: empty ice cream quarts, deli boxes that had been filled with chicken strips or BBQ meatballs or mashed potatoes, fast food bags spotted with grease and the last of a half-eaten sandwich - the last little bit I couldn’t manage to get down (not for lack of trying, mind you). I knew I was stressed when the eating went from normal everyday crazy to full-tilt Capital-C Crazy.
After years of stuffing the stress and anxiety down with food, I’m finally at a place where I’m not turning to food the way I used. What does stress feel like now? Very unpleasant, I can tell you. The problem is I’m not reliably seeing it for what it is. I’ve spent the past week struggling (a lot) with impulses to binge and take hours-long naps, to not go to work, and not talk to people. I’ve been shutting down - the depression and eating disorder have been screaming at me lately. I’m trying to do what I know…sit with the emotion for a while and see what happens. But I’ve been confused. I finally took the issue to Christina the Self-Righteous Drunk and laid it out for her on the table.
“I’m not really surprised,” she said. “You’re stressed out beyond belief and about to fall apart. Look at everything that’s been going on.” Thank the stars for Christina. It seems so obvious, I know, but to me it was one more in a long string of “A-ha!” moments. Where do you think this equation is heading:
Stress Piles Up + No Bingeing + No Comfort Eating + Experiencing the Stress Undiluted = ???
I’ll give you a hint. It equals trouble. What Christina said made me realize that even though I was experiencing the stress, I wasn’t processing it and letting it go. I was internalizing it. My brain has been running in circles and is about ready to ’splode. ‘SPLODE, I tell you! Oh, to be a lightning rod and have trouble shoot directly through me in to the ground. Alas, my wiring is faulty and without fail, the lightning shoots right up my nose.
Help me, people! If you’re not eating to calm the stress, what are you doing?
Filed under BEDhead | Comments (34)Month Three
I’m going to shamelessly steal the monthly letter thing from Dooce, because I think it’s a cute idea.
So you turned three months old today. You’re smiling spontaneously now, and when you smile, your whole face crinkles up and you usually coo in just the sheer joy of babydom at the same time. It’s so adorable that the rare times that you scream for no apparent reason completely disappear and I just sit and enjoy the cooing.
You’re also babbling and having “conversations” where you’ll babble with a look on your face like you’re telling me off, then pause so that I can coo back at you, then you’ll start Ah GAH aaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaa GAH GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-ing at me again. You’re also talking to your baby gym, though. Hmmm.
You can’t laugh yet, but you’re trying. You get a huge smile on your face and say,”Heh. Heh!” whenever the crazy noises I’m making at you crack you up.
You’ve discovered the joy of putting things in your mouth, and if you’re not sucking on your fists, you like to chew on my fingers or suck on my arm. It’s cute, even though I do get covered in baby drool.
You’re still a Stealth Ninja Barfer, and sneak a barf on me when I least expect it, and you do it completely silently, so I’ll be holding you and exclaiming over your utter deliciousness, and I’ll start to wonder why my shirt/hand/arm/leg feels wet all of a sudden. It’s extremely gross. Neither of your brothers barfed unless they were sick, so I was unprepared for having to keep barf cloths handy all of the time. The worst is the Silent Projectile Hurl, where you’ll be cooing and smiling, yack, then go back to being adorable. It’s not too horrible, it just means you go through a LOT of clothes.
I’m just really glad that you’re slowly getting over the fussiness of the first few months and are becoming much more laid back and happy. It would make me so upset to see you pull your little feet up and squeal in pain when you’d have gas so badly you felt like you were going to pop. You still have more tummy issues than your brothers did, but we keep Mylicon handy, and it’s much better than it was.
I do want to apologize to you, though. I feel like such a bad mommy. I didn’t know your carseat handle wasn’t locked when I picked you up and you fell out. I’m so, so, SO sorry. I was going to put you on the bed and change your clothes, which is why you weren’t buckled in, and the handle was already up and I really and truly thought it was locked. It wasn’t very far, about a foot, and you only cried for about two minutes, and you didn’t have a mark on you, but it scared you to death, and I feel horrible about it. Now when you hate me when you’re a teenager, if you’ve read this, you’ll be able to tell me that I dropped you on your head as a baby. I did, and I feel awful about it. I’m so sorry, sweet girl.
Your brothers still kind of see you as this small crying thing that takes up a lot of mommy’s time, but they do love you, and they both get diapers and your bottle and your Binky when you need it. Taylor will look at you and go, “Katie is cute. She’s got tiny toes, and I have big toes.”, and he’s right, you do have tiny delicious toes.
I look forward to next month, and all of the coming months. The baby stage is probably my favorite, with the cooing and the gummy smiles and how you curl your little body into me and pull your knees up into the fetal position when you get sleepy. I don’t even mind having to wake up in the middle of the night to feed you, because most times you reward me with a giant toothless grin, and those big squishy cheeks of yours are impossible to resist.
Love,
Mommy.
Filed under Roll Camera!, Yo' Momma! | Comments (6)Because I’m more comfortable being shot with my dog.
The Star Tribune article is out online now and I’m very pleased with it. I thought Kim did a wonderful job, and I’m excited to see the piece in print in tomorrow’s paper. I was also impressed with the quotes from Jillian of the Emily Program. This piece definitely took the bad taste out of my mouth from my previous experience.
And I like the picture they decided to use. That’s one perty greyhound…
Filed under BEDhead, Kiba | Comments (49)