Category: Diet

Holiday in Covid-19

Here in Alabama, we are 2 days into spring break. So far, we have…..we have…..we….um….

Ok, we haven’t done anything. I’ve been putting an hour of work into getting my vegetable garden started, so that if we make it to May, our little 18×23 Liberty Garden, Corona-Edition, will keep us fed. Here’s hoping we fare better than last year.

My gardening skills sort of come and go. Some years were super successful, while others were not so great.

Last year was one of those “not so great” years. As the first gardening season in Alabama, I had tremendously high hopes. I had a 3 season plan that would keep us in veggies from February through November. There were just a few issues.

The sad and lonely, gardenless arbor.

The first being, our Tigger-like pup, Emma, loves to help. She digs a mean hole, and is a professional at weed pulling. Of course, she doesn’t know the difference between a week and an actual plant, so everything gets yanked out, thrown around, and murdered by her. It’s so helpful. I bought some wire fence, some metal fence posts, and a gated arbor, to keep the garden monster out. I then spent a solid 3 months putting up the fence, the arbor, and digging out the grass.

The next issue was that I procrastinated like the true, Professional Procrastinator that I am. Once the garden was planted, I also noticed these little baby plants coming up in tidy little rows. I told Justin that we should wait and see (worst plan for any situation), because maybe they’re something.

Third, I took our kids to NY for a few weeks, and left my husband (who is often at work 16 hours a day, and sometimes as much as 40 hours straight) in charge of taking care of it. I came home to Jurassic Garden. At which point, not only was the entire space overrun with WILD MORNING GLORIES, but my little “Let’s see what these turn out to be” plants were really looking a lot like peanut plants. After 2 weeks of de-wild-morning-glorying the space, I decide to take inspiration from Jimmy Carter and become a peanut farmer……

…..Of course then it ended up my peanut plants were really some kind of weed that only looks peanutish, but is in fact a whole lot of nothing. Jimmy, I failed you.

My garden produced a solid 2 cucumbers. Which, in a space of 414sqft, is sad. I vowed that 2020 would be better than 2019.

February came and went. Every day I told myself that today would be the day I started this garden. Ok, maybe tomorrow. Ok, maybe Monday.

Then the world started freaking out and buying up meat and toilet paper. Nothing like a little Pandemic Panic to Prompt Produce Production. Let the planting begin!

Today is day 4 of my Garden jumpstart frenzy. I have just under 1/2 of the garden planted. According to my fancy Alabama Garden App (it’s a thing, don’t be jealous that you don’t live near a major agricultural university. We can’t all be this rural), I should start having vegetables by the beginning of May.

In the meantime, I guess it’s back to honing my “gathering” skills. Which, aren’t great. Justin told me he doesn’t think my giant dandelion plants are actually dandelions, so I should probably halt all attempts at feeding my family weeds. And since I’ve never shot a gun (don’t gasp. Just because I’m married to a gun-owning soldier does not mean I care to have anything to do with them myself), the hunting portion of this Covid Apocalypse is going to have to go on the back burner–where it will stay until the Zombie Apocalypse, at which time I suppose knowing how to shoot a gun will be a necessity.

As for the rest of spring break? Well, I’ve taken my usual social distancing and really kicked it right up into homebound recluse status. Are we almost out of juice? Yes. Have I decided that they can wait 2-4 months for our garden to start producing and then we can enjoy some fresh-squeezed tomato juice? Also yes. Pandemic Paranoia is Prominent.

This Little Piggy has an Eating Problem

Self-sabotage is my name, and unhealthy eating is my game.

I have decided that, starting tomorrow and continuing through the month of February, I will be giving up complex carbs. I should probably go ahead and give up over-eating.

But first, I had to say goodbye to all of my friends:

Donuts, bagels, sushi…yes, sushi is pretty healthy, but when you eat until you’re full, and then take 3 more bites, it loses its healthfulness.

I’m sitting here right now, having just finished a massive sushi platter, and then followed it with a Panera At Home Broccoli Cheddar Soup. I was full before I even started the soup, but I had already heated it up. In fact, the sushi only happened because I’m at work, and Xander asked me to get him lunch. I ran to the commissary, and then foolishly let myself walk by the sushi kiosk.

Now, I’m too full, and while I’m sitting here thinking, “oh my gut,” I’m debating if I should just sit back and wait to digest all of this, or if I should have one more bite.

Because one more bite will definitely fix the situation!

It won’t. I used to do the same thing when I was pregnant, but with acid reflux. “Oh, my acid reflux! Maybe I should have ice cream, because the Oreos are killing me!”

Step 1: Announce to Terry the Torturer my plan, so that in 3 days when I walk past a bagel and cry longingly, I will be less likely to grab it and cram it into my mouth as fast as possible. Because, if he found out, ooh I would be in so much trouble–which really means an hour of burpees on top of everything else he makes me do that day.

Step 2: Also admit to Terry the Torturer that I have been sabotaging myself these past few months. I know, we had this same talk this summer, when Water Park fried food was working against me. His words: “You work way too hard to sabotage yourself eating that crap.” He’s right. Sadface.

So long, tasty snack friends. Ben, Jerry, I’ll miss you too. But you’re making it too hard to reach my goal. We need a break.

My mouth will miss you, but my waistline will thank me for kissing you all goodbye…and then immediately devouring you.

Ok, my waistline (and scale) can start thanking me tomorrow.

Food Karma

I love food. I really do. My love for food outweighs my desire to be thinner, and I would REALLY like to be thinner. I can’t even attempt to deny it. Sweets will forever be my downfall.

Monday night, I let the kids each choose a place to get “special dinner,” which is a nice way of saying Fast Food. Justin was flying home from California (lucky–he never lets me go in his place on any work trips. Every time I say, “this time you stay home with the kids and I’ll go to,” wherever he’s headed, he just laughs at me. Not cool, Steeves), and we were at gymnastics until 6pm. So, after stopping at McDonald’s for Xander (his only requirement for fast food is a toy), we went to Taco Bell for Shea (her only requirement is Taco Bell. Every. Single. Time). Even though I told myself I wouldn’t do it, I went ahead and ordered a dozen (don’t judge me) Cinnabon Delights. They are so flipping amazing, and I really can’t help myself. Halfway home, I popped one in my mouth. And it was so……..

SPICY!!!!!!

What just happened!? I waited a minute and tried to figure out what exactly was wrong with my taste buds. I smelled them.

Taco seasoning?

I ate another. Sugary goodness, followed by a definite Tongue-on-Fire sensation.

This is the Universe punishing me for deciding to eat those super unhealthy, amazing balls of empty calories.

Xander said I looked like a princess from Candy Land. I have a hard time being normal.

This is also not the first time Food Karma has gotten me. Back in early December, toward the end of my grocery trip, I decided to treat myself to a (small) container of Nutella. Did I need it? No. Did I have to be able to fit into my military ball gown in less than a week? Yes. At the register I realized the top was broken-no big deal, I’ll probably eat this little baby container in one sitting (I told you not to judge). Of course then the cashier opened it and pointed out that the foil was broken, and asked if I wanted to go grab another one. I knew right there, this was my dress sending me a warning across the universe. Stop. You don’t need to be “treating” yourself to a tub of Nutella days before cramming yourself into a dress that is already a tight squeeze!

Thanks, Karma. As it was, I spent the military ball breathing shallow, and by the time we got home, I was pretty sure I just might pass out from the lack of oxygen. How in the world did women wear corsets!? I like my oxygen plentiful, and my lungs to be able to fully inhale. But my dress sure was pretty.

This time, the universe was probably telling me to stop whining when the number on the scale goes up. Or stop eating things like Cinnabon Delights. Instead, Shea helped herself to them.

“Shea, someone made a mistake and used something spicy when making these. Are you sure you still want one?” She then ate it and told me it only tasted spicy because she had eaten Fiesta Potatoes. The next morning she asked for a couple more, and then told me they were only spicy because I warmed them up in the microwave. She does not believe in Food Karma. Obviously I’m just doing something to make them taste spicy.

I should probably stop telling the Universe my intentions. I send my skinny thoughts out into the world, and they aren’t coming back in the form I would like them to. I would prefer to just lift weights and run and eat unhealthy deliciousness, and still lose weight. Instead, it comes back to me in the form of food sabotage. Thanks, Universe. Maybe I should appreciate and accept my Food Karma. Maybe I should practice a little more self-control.