The Inevitability of Salad

I’ve been watching these youtube videos, recommended to me by my mother-in-law.

Last night, during yet another sleepless night, I read “The Calorie Myth.”

Both of these people are saying essentially the same thing, and that thing is this:

If you want to be thin or even just not fat, and if you want to be healthy, wave goodbye to bread products for the rest of your life.

It’s extremely depressing.

The basic theme of the nutrition facts guy is: go vegan. 9 servings or more of veggies every day, plus beans and oatmeal and berries every day.

The basic theme of the calorie myth guy: you can have meat and eggs and low fat dairy but you’re looking at ten servings of veggies every day, plus five servings of protein and 3 servings of healthy fats. No sugar. NOT EVER ON THE SUGAR.

In addition, the calorie myth guy has a fast and simple workout plan that consists of four exercises once a week. Why is it only once a week? Because you’re meant to be so sore from that exercise session that you can only do it once a week.

In essence, I’m going to live my life sore and without cake.

In other depressing news, I had the worst therapy session in quite some time last week. I almost consider this to be positive news, because we’ve been having a lot of easy sessions, and you can’t really grow and change with the easy sessions.

On the other hand, this particular session involved me and my therapist talking at cross purposes and one of us crying and we left it on a very unsettled note and I’m still not really sure what I think about it, so there’s that.

Basically, her feeling is that I have an (incorrect) narrative in my head that I have to work harder for everything than other people, and she thinks that’s not true.

I said, well, there’s evidence for it, yes? I have to fight the school every year for things like report cards and picture order forms that other people get to have easily. And she says, those things don’t matter, and probably other non-custodial parents don’t get those things easily. You’re only struggling because you want custodial perks and the world isn’t set up for that.

And I said, so I should just give up? I should accept that I’m not like the other moms? I can’t be like the other moms? I have to be less, like some deadbeat dad who spends his life with his new girlfriend and barely has any involvement in his kid’s lives? And she said, don’t try to be like the other moms, give up on that, yes. Focus on what matters.

But I don’t want to give that up. I think it’s important to be a mom. Ever since the day the first child was born, I thought of myself as a mom and that self-image comes with all these other images and components. What makes a person a mom? Does it include helping them with their homework and being involved in their school? Does it involve knowing their teachers? Does it involve putting their report cards and pictures up on the refrigerator and the wall?

What am I, if I don’t have the time with the children that I deserve, and I spend huge portions of my life without them in the house or with me, and I don’t have access to their schoolwork and their teachers, and I can’t order their school pictures or see their report cards? What am I if, as happened last year, my contributions for the end of year slideshow were ignored?

HOW AM I A MOM?

I feel like that scene from the Simpson’s, when Milhouse’s parents get divorced and he starts calling his dad “weekend dad.” I don’t want to be a “weekend mom.” It’s bad enough that their stepmom tells people she’s their mom, it’s bad enough that she takes them on “mommy daughter dates” during the half hour on the weekend that I get to talk to them, so I have to talk to them as they are on break from whatever that entails, how much more can I give up and still be a real mom?

I don’t know. I’m crying now, just thinking about it.

Sliding Backwards

My weight is up, my bank account is down. This is a failure of a week.

We replaced the alternator on the car, but the car refused to start this morning, forcing me to clear my schedule, rescheduling a lunch date and my foot surgery.

Meanwhile, we’re still digging out from the hole we were in, which is exacerbated by the car problems, still unsolved, which will likely require more money to fix and that has to happen sooner rather than later, because OBVIOUSLY I need a working car.

I ate more than I should have this weekend, and my weight is up nearly five pounds from my low weight. Not all of that is from what I ate this weekend, most of that is inexplicable and may be just hormonal water weight, maybe? But this isn’t a time I would expect to bloat. I don’t know.

Also meanwhile, my mom is coming into town and wants to stay with us. This, despite the fact that she tells everyone all the time that my therapist has hypnotized me to not like her or appreciate her enough.

Humana is discontinuing my medical plan for next year, so I have to try to find another similar plan, but the new plans aren’t up yet so I have to wait for it.

All of this is happening during my fertile week, which cannot possible be good for my odds of conceiving.

Like A Knife to the Heart

We had an incident here yesterday. I had a conference with the younger child’s teacher and we looked at her writing notebook. She had been told to list important things in the front of her notebook, things she could use in her writing. They were divided into categories: People, Life Goals, Places, Activities and so on.

Under people, she listed her Dad and her stepmom, her stepmom’s sister, her next door neighbors, her sister and that’s it. Not me, not my husband, not any member of my side of her life.

When confronted about it, she lied instantly. “That’s you, that’s you and your husband!” but it’s not, of course. She never calls him “Dad” and the fact that the only other people on that list came from her dad’s part of her life reinforces that.

This isn’t the first time this has happened, where she’s “forgotten” us. And it hurts every time. She’s old enough now to know better, she’s old enough now to think about things. I know that she wasn’t thinking because realistically, she wouldn’t think her neighbors are more important than me, but it still hurts and there’s no real way to fix it. I don’t know how to pound into her head that this is incredibly hurtful and terrible and cannot keep happening.

I welcome any thoughts or suggestions on this.

Wins and Losses

So there are some good things and some bad things.

After lo, these many weeks, the weight is starting to move downward again after stalling at around 214 pounds. I was down to 210 flat this morning.

We went on vacation and saw my family and my family was mostly nice to me, which is not always the case.

My therapist says I’m continuing to make tremendous progress and she’s really proud of me.

I’m socializing more and making new friends, which is hard for me and I call it a victory.

Unfortunately, highs come with some lows.

The first month of trying for another baby was a failure. I spent a good part of the week sad about that.

The new gig mysteriously disappeared. He paid me for two weeks of work, and said he was going to pay me for the next two weeks, and then disappeared completely. For over a week. Then he texted me an apology and asked for me to re-send the invoice and so I did, and it’s been nearly a week with no response or sign of payment from him. I am so disappointed.

The money we were looking forward to getting from him is, obviously, not happening, so I’m back to doing the smaller, less interesting stuff. Also, the vacation cost us quite a bit of money. We didn’t buy our airline tickets and stayed with family, but there was still costs. We had to rent a car and there was a couple of admission fees and some food costs. I’m glad we got a vacation (kid-free, no less!) but I’m nervous about the money now.

We win some, we lose some. But the good news is, it looks like my reproductive system is working like normal, which it was not last month and which concerned me. I’ve seen a dermatologist and a podiatrist and the skin and feet problems are almost completely resolved, and the ones that require ongoing treatment are pregnancy-safe, assuming we can get the job done.