Monthly Archives: May 2013

Green Summer Smoothie. No Pictures. You’re Welcome, Caroline.

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My mom can eat the exact same meal every day for a month and never burn out. I admire this, because it means she doesn’t have to think about what to eat.

I do not have that ability.

Remember the yummy green smoothie I was telling you guys about? It took a half gallon of almond milk for me to get sick of it. Not even a full half gallon, because the middle child loves almond milk. She was siphoning it off when I wasn’t looking. As a result, this morning I was out of almond milk and frankly, a little tired of peanut butter, so I punted.

Touchdown! (That is the appropriate sports term, right? I typed home run first and that didn’t seem right. You bunt in baseball. Right?)

I call it the Green Summer Smoothie and this is how to make it:

1 cup of orange juice, 1 cup of frozen strawberries, 1/2 a large banana, 2 cups of spinach and 1 tablespoon of flax meal in the Vitamix and you have a delicious breakfast. It’s tart and a little sweet and very, very yummy. It also looks like fetid swamp water, so you feel really good about yourself. You can be all, “I’m a badass. I will drink this, even though it look like the pus from Mother Nature’s carbuncle. Go me!”

No pictures. I worked out before breakfast and was feeling a little wrung out. I know, I know, but Pilates on a full tummy is definitely NOT a good idea. Trust me on this.

One warning: this smoothie isn’t protein-rich. I strongly recommend eating an egg, in whatever iteration your prefer. Maybe a stick of string cheese. Or a spoonful of peanut butter, if you’re not heartily sick of it. When I can find time to get to the store, I’ll add a scoop of protein powder to the blender.

What are you having for breakfast today?

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Someone Didn’t Think This Through

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And for once, it wasn’t me! YAY!

Last week, I saw an ad for McDonalds that said “Think with your mouth,” and featured a picture of a Big Mac.

Let’s think about that for a minute. With our brains, just for kicks.

Basically, McDonald’s is admitting that you probably shouldn’t think too hard about their food if you want to eat it. Am I the only one getting that? Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy the occasional Quarter Pounder, with a side of minor indigestion. I’ll even eat a McNugget or two, knowing full well that they start life looking like a neon-colored slurpee. I always regret it. Kate claims that McD tummy ache is internalized guilt. She may be on to something.

I’m not one of those fast food mommy nazis that tell their kids “We don’t eat there because I. LOVE. YOU.” (I know a woman who tells her kids that. Really.) I readily admit to have bought my share of Happy Meals. In fact, Andrea and I have a theory that if you’ve got more than two toys in any particular Happy Meal series, you might be eating there too often. This isn’t about hating on the Golden Arches.

But, this advertising slogan gives me pause. Because let’s face it: if thinking about is going to make me not want to eat it? I don’t want to eat it. And if you’re telling us that as an inducement to eat at your establishment? Well, your cluelessness is first hilarious, then alarming. It’s stuck with me. I’ve chosen not to eat there at least once because it echoes in my  memory.

Think with your mouth.

If I’m really thinking with my mouth, I’m going to wind up at Selland’s or Whole Foods or even Great Harvest.Because that’s where my mouth likes to be.

It’s About Juicing. And Smoothies. And a Little About Algae.

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I did another Pilates workout yesterday. Because apparently, I like pain now. I’m in love with it. It’s my new boyfriend.

No it’s not. I hate pain. Actually, I hate discomfort. Of any type. But pain too.

Ouch.

Okay, complaining portion is over. I swear.

Let’s talk about juicing and smoothies. A good long while ago, my husband found a info-mentary on Netflix called Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead. In it, this man who lost a bunch of weight by juicing, convinces some folks to follow his plan and juice-fast themselves to slimdom. Needless to say, I ran out and borrowed a juicer the next day. Eventually, I bought one, buoyed by the success of a weeklong juice fast.

JUICE ALL THE VEGETABLES! (Credit to Allie Brosh, author and artist at Hyperbole and a Half. Any time you see that image of a primitively drawn person, holding a stick arm out in victory, with the caption *blank* all the *blank*, that’s from Allie’s original artwork. It’s all funny, but never as funny as her original post, which I’ve helpfully linked for you. Follow that link. Now.

Finally back? You’re fucking welcome. I told you.)

Anyway, I’ve not reached slimdom.

At the time, I recognized the “documentary” as a naked attempt to sell Breville juicers. I bought a $40 GE juicer at Walmart and it did the job. I felt great. But I missed real food. A LOT. 2 years later, I’m still fat, not sick and not even remotely dead. My juicer is dusty. A year ago, my husband bought me a Vitamix. So I’d start juicing again. What a lovely and expensive way to tell me to get off my fat ass and lose some damn weight. As a middle finger to  my thoughtful spouse, I gained ten pounds. Because I’m me.

But Pinterest being what it is, I eventually caved and started making smoothies. Green smoothies. They look like swamp algae and taste like a peanut butter milkshake, so it’s been a mixed blessing in my life. And each smoothie has 4 servings of fruits and veggies. Yeah, 4. I’m a health machine, baby. But a stealthy one, because you don’t expect a health machine to weigh 240 pounds. I sneak up on you. Watch your back.

Sorry, I’m in a mood.

Because I’m nice and respectful of copyright, I’m linking you to the blog that has my favorite green smoothie recipe. It really is delicious. You can’t taste the spinach at all. I swear.

And now, I’m going to clean my house. We’re having friends over for dinner tomorrow and I find people eat more if your kitchen doesn’t look like it might give them gastro-intestinal disease. And fyi, I’m counting the housework as my workout today. Sparkpeople said I could.

Pilates, Workout From Hades

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Some time ago, an acquaintance was raving about Pilates. “It really makes you pay attention your core,” she enthused.

My core could use some attention, so her recommendation stuck with me.

A few months later, a friend gave me a couple of Pilates DVDs. She was having a lot of success with them and being a really good friend, was looking to share that.

I’ll confess, they spent a bit of time lingering on top (not in) my DVD player. I like the elliptical because I can listen to music while I do it. Flip side of the coin is I hate DVDs because there’s always some skinny bitch in coordinated workout clothes, talking through a workout that makes me pant like a sex worker. Also, there are NO piles of laundry to be folded behind the skinny bitch. I call bullshit.

But yesterday, I felt the need to change things up. I got a little crazy. I did Pilates. As usual, I’m about 5 years behind the trends.

You know why Pilates makes you “pay attention to your core”? Because people tend to pay attention to things THAT ARE ON FUCKING FIRE!

Hoooolllleeeeeeeeeee shitsnacks, my waist and abs are singing a pain opera today.

Yes, I know that’s good, I realize that means it’s working. Come closer so I can punch you in the gut and you can feel a fraction of the ouch that I am experiencing.

I’ll keep doing it because it’s worth the results everyone promises are a sure thing. And because Skinny Pilates Bitch is a lot of fun to cuss at. But I’m going to be crabby for a while and if you ask me to reach for anything, I’ll go for your throat.

 

What I Love

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Confession: This post started life as a rant. I lost steam about halfway through, and thought, “fuck this. I’m through letting a random shit head give me angry feelings.” Hear that, random shit head? I hope you have an awesome fucking day. I know I’m going to. Here are some of the things that make me smile:

I really love that the DMV sends me a letter saying, “CONGRATULATIONS! You can renew your license online!” It’s like they’re acknowledging what a huge drag it is to visit them.

I love that I’m not required to attend a conference with Selby’s teacher this term. It’s as if he’s given up on us. As it should be, Mr. C. As it should be.

I love that feeling when all the bills are paid and there is still a little money left over. I also love the times when there isn’t enough money for all the bills and I’m stressing like mad, then I get a nice little extra deposit of child support, via the DA lien on my ex. I’m a terrible person but the fact that he’s being forced to pay what he owes makes me extremely happy.

I love those mornings when I’m awake when my husband leaves and I get an actual goodbye kiss, not just a lovey-dovey text. I like the texts, but nothing, and I mean nothing, beats a kiss.

I love being 40. I also love being 41.

I love the first sip of a fresh cup of coffee in the morning, with a little sugar and a lot of half and half.

I love walking into my garden and seeing nothing but thriving plants, damp soil and a lady bug or four.

I love Target, especially the end caps where they keep all the clearance.

I love a new book full of old friends. I’m a sucker for series.

I love writing the last word of a perfect chapter and knowing, for a brief moment, that I am have a talent.

What do you love?

Also, I hope you too, have an awesome fucking day. The kind that makes a glitter-farting, chocolate-covered unicorn bearing great wine on a silver platter anti-climactic.

It’s Confusing For Me Too.

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This morning, I dreamed that I beat my son for waking me up at 5 am. Disturbing. So disturbing, I couldn’t back to sleep.

I got out of bed at 6, only to find the boy up and around, stalking me as I tried to find $10 for his oldest sister. She needed to buy a Drama Night shirt. Today. Ugh.

Cue a brief moment of terror and shame, wondering if my dream had not been a dream at all. Had I, in fact, spanked my son for being up at 5? I’m a sleep-walker, a sleep-talker, a sleep-kisser. Once I had sleep-sex with my husband and had NO memory of it. He was non-plussed, to say the least. I’m simply thankful I didn’t call out Joe Manganiello’s name.

Oh, I didn’t spank my son. It was a dream. Yes, I did have to ask him. He thinks his Mommy is really, really weird.

I did put him back to bed with a comic book, got back into my own bed and cussed my dad for cursing me with an early riser, now that he’s gone and can no longer drag me out of bed at 6 am to do chores.

I hope you’re happy, Dad.

He’s totally happy.