A Few Of My Favorite Things

“When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad. I simply remember my favorite things and then I don’t feel so bad.”

Just so we’re clear, I’m not feeling particularly bad. It’s just limbo. When I find myself in this neutral free-falling space, I like to focus on happy things. And when I do, Julie Andrews’ voice always pops in my head.

So, now that I have that song lodged in your head, too, I’m going to inject you with even more sugar-crusted sweetness with these photos, the first of my list of favorite things this week:

Claire and Luca (who cut his first two teeth today! Little bugger told no one.) had their first official photo shoot with a professional photographer last week. My friend Pam is a gem. Has a real eye for people and their emotions and gestures. Check out this photo that I had printed in poster size and will frame for my living room. Not just because this is my granddaughter, but because it’s a lovely piece of art.

And of course my daughter loving Luca and vice versa isn't so shabby either.

The scale is not usually one of my favorite things, but on Saturday, it delivered some really good news: I’m not a water-retaining mess anymore! Whoohoo!

Another favorite thing: my bike. Oh what I’ll do to ride my bike, especially this time of year.

Here’s Larry dressed and ready for our bike ride last weekend.

Here’s me.

I’m dressed like I’m hiking the Andes and he’s ready for a romp on Padre Island. It was not even 50 degrees outside! Guess who wasn’t freezing five minutes into our ride? Hint: it wasn’t me.

A few food favorites. Remember how I said I’d cleaned out my homemade recipe books? I discovered the Dijon roasted potatoes recipe I’d totally forgotten about. Since last Saturday (as in 9 days ago, not 2), I’ve made them at least four times. Heaven!

Mix 1 T Dijon mustard, ½ to 1 tsp crushed dried rosemary, ½ to 1 tsp dried oregano, and a few shakes of pepper. Put it in a plastic bag with 6-7 ounces of potato wedges. Shake it all together and put it on a baking sheet sprayed with cooking spray. Spray the potatoes. Cook for 17-18 minutes. Flip. Cook for another 17-18 minutes. Serve with ketchup and/or mustard and or/fat-free sour cream. I do all three.

I’m heading to Pittsburgh tomorrow and will partake in four of my other favorite things: watching the grandkids, seeing my daughter, shopping at Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods, and listening to NPR in the Jeep. I might even stop at Starbucks and get me a vanilla rooibos latte. It’ll be darn cold tomorrow (barely 50 for a high and 40 mph winds). I’m breaking out my favorite sweaters, that’s for darn sure.

And finally, two other recipes that became my new favorite things today.

Sautéed Asparagus

1 pound asparagus, cut into 1 1/2–inch pieces
1 T light butter
2 cloves minced garlic
½ c veggie (or chicken) broth

Sauté asparagus and garlic in butter for about two minutes or until the butter is mostly absorbed. Add the broth, cover and simmer until asparagus is tender. (3 points for the entire dish. 1 point for half.)

Lentil Vegetable Soup

(I apologize for having no clue where this came from. If it’s one of you readers, please let me know so I can publically bow in your presence because this is really good stuff.)

1 large onion, chopped (1 cup)
2 t chili powder
1 t ground cumin
2 (or 5 like I use) cloves garlic, finely chopped
3 cups veggie broth
1 C dried lentils, sorted and rinsed
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes (or use 2 cups diced fresh tomatoes with skin removed)
1 can (8 oz) tomato sauce
1 can (4.5 oz) chopped green chilies, undrained
1 C frozen corn
1 C sliced carrots
2 C zucchini, cut in quarters

In Dutch oven sprayed with non-stick spray, sauté onion, garlic, cumin, and chili powder for about a minute. Add tomato sauce and cook until onion is tender, about 2 minutes. Add everything else and simmer for 30-45 minutes (depending on if you use fresh or canned tomatoes. Fresh require a few more minutes.)

Makes 6 2-cup servings. 180 calories, 1 gm fat, 8 gm fiber, 11 gm protein per serving. (3 points)

Good stuff. No lie.

And finally, one of my very favorite veggies is beets. And last week, Claire tried them and now loves them, too.

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It’s Amazing What Foods You Can Find (and can’t find) In Podunkville

I had good food news and some not so good food news today. First, the good news.

God love the owner of our local “health food” store, Sage Meadow. Because of Pat, there is tahini in Podunkville! I can make this hummus recipe this weekend rather than wait until after Tuesday when I hitch up the wagon and travel 90 minutes to Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods for provisions.

How good does this look?

Sun-Dried Tomato Hummus (From “1,001 Low-Fat Vegetarian Recipes” by Sue Spitler. It’s like my vegetarian bible)

8 servings (about ¼ cup each)

1 can (15 oz) chick peas, rinsed and drained
1/3 C fat-free yogurt
2-3 T tahini
3 cloves garlic
4 sun-dried tomato halves (not packed in oil), finely chopped
1 t each: dried oregano and mint leaves
2-3 t lemon juice
Salt and pepper to taste

Process chick peas, yogurt, tahini and garlic in food processor until smooth. Stir in tomatoes and herbs; season to taste with lemon juice, salt and pepper. Refrigerate 1-2 hours for flavors to blend. (Nutritional info: 73 calories; 1.7 gm fat; 256 mg sodium; 3.6 gm protein; 11.4 gm carbs)

More good news, we haven’t had a freeze yet which means the local farmer who raised a field of late summer/early fall strawberries is still at the market. These are better than the early summer strawberries by far. I call them god’s apology for such a cold and rainy summer.

The Swiss chard was lovely and I couldn’t resist. So were the brussels sprouts. I also picked up some old-fashioned cranberry-type beans. Aren’t they pretty? The farmer I bought them from said to cook them like a butter bean. Okey dokey. I’ll find a recipe and check them out.

The not so good news is that the Wal-Mart here in Podunkville discontinued yet another one of my favorite foods. And unlike Greek yogurt (I protested) and garlic cloves (I protested again. How can a “grocery” store not sell garlic cloves?), my beloved hearts of palm won’t be back.

I was in the canned vegetable aisle – the same place they sold hearts of palm just last month, right next to the artichoke hearts. I looked and looked. Didn’t find them. I asked the guy straightening the shelves, “Where are the hearts of palm?” He looked at me like my head was on backwards. “The what?”

Happens all the time.

“Hearts of palm. They used to be right by the artichokes.”

“I don’t work grocery. Let me call someone,” (he was very helpful) and he grabbed his James Bond 007 walkie talkie and paged Jess. Jess came over and looked for the hearts of palm, then said, “Wait. I think we discontinued these. Let me check.” (To her credit, she’d at least heard of them.)

She paged the Wizards of Wal-Mart – the decision makers they keep hidden behind the doors all around the building – and found out that yes, hearts of palm had been discontinued. Crap.

“Thank you so much for checking,” I said and I pushed my cart slowly away.

“What are they?” asked the guy I originally talked to. I stopped and explained what they were – a chunk of the heart of a palm tree – and he asked if they were a “vegetarian thing.”

Hunh?

I told him no, hearts of palm are not exclusively for vegetarians and are very good on salads. He looked perplexed, but let me go.

I left the canned vegetable aisle and walked toward the freezer section. A few seconds later, Jess walked up behind me and said, “Look what I found in our discontinued section!” In her hand were two cans of hearts of palm. Eureka!

“Are there more?” I asked. Yes, she said. Four more cans. Whoohoo! And they were marked down to $2 each. Bonus. I got six cans of hearts of palm for $12. To quote The Who, “I call that a bargain.” Maybe not “the best I ever had,” but close.

I heart hearts of palm. I’d never heard of them until my friend Heather in Chicago tossed them on a salad she’d made for us last year. I fell in love. Now every time I slice one up and throw it on my salad (which is almost every day), I think of Heather. Do any of you have people/food associations like that? Come to think of it, when I shave my legs I think of my junior high choir director. I have no idea why. It’s not sexual or anything, just an odd association.

See how my mind wanders? It’s a wonder I get anything done sometimes.

Anyway…When I followed Jess back to the “discontinued items” section, the guy I’d originally talked to about the hearts of palm was close behind.

“So, do they taste like anything ‘normal’?” he asked.

I felt like an evangelical preacher reaching out to a lost soul looking for salvation. I could have a hearts of palm convert on my hands, right there in Podunk Wal-Mart! I was a little nervous. How do I describe them well yet vaguely enough to get him to try them?

“Do you like canned marinated artichoke hearts?” I asked.

“Yes, I do,” he said.

“Well, they’re kind of like artichoke hearts with a smoother texture,” I said. “Here. Have one of my cans.”

“No, that’s OK,” he said.

Dammmit. I lost him. Either he didn’t want to make the $2 investment or he was being a good Wal-Mart employee by not taking anything away from the customer. I’m new at this conversion thing, but I realize I should have gone back to see him after paying for my groceries and slipped him a can of hearts of palm.

Maybe next time.

In the meantime, I’ve got some hummus to make. And Swiss chard soup. And chili. And pickled beets. Yup. I said pickled beets. I’ll let you know how that goes.

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One Week? Establish Food Boundaries

Everything and nothing was on my mind yesterday. You know how you can be discontented for no apparent reason? Yesterday was one of those days that in the past I’d have mindlessly eaten whatever – and lots of it – just because I was bored/stressed/fill-in-the-blank. Instead, I got a haircut and a pedicure (my feet look like a Florida Christmas tree!).

A few hours at the salon shook off the food demons and I felt like a new woman by dinner. I made the spinach salad I’d planned and all was right in my food world. (BTW, you can get a haircut and pedicure in my little Podunkville for $60. My friends in a very large city that I won’t name here but is located in the midwest and on a lake could pay for roundtrip airfare to Pittsburgh and still get their hair cut and a pedi cheaper than their salon downtown big city. //word)

Anyway…defeating the food demons made me think about an article I read on CNN a few weeks ago: “One week to a slimmer you: Focus on the little things.” It recommends small strategies you can use to lose weight like yogic breathing during cravings, eating more colorful foods and foods with vitamin C, and taking a photo of your meal before you eat. But it wasn’t the strategies part that made me remember the article. It was the headline, specifically the “One week to a slimmer you” part.

One week.

What’s one week? When I was 300 pounds, one week of dieting didn’t make a visible difference, even when I lost 5 pounds. But it was that first week that laid the groundwork for success this millionth time down the scale.

In 2005, I didn’t know about yogic breathing or eating a rainbow, but I did know that in order to do it right this time – to make it my last time losing a large amount of weight – I had to have a much clearer goal and the mental tenacity to overcome those moments when I’d otherwise cave in to the cookie/crackers/ice cream/chicken nuggets…and the list goes on.

One week.

For me, the first week was the most important and the most dangerous. I call it the honeymoon phase. It’s the week you feel really good about your decision and think nothing can stop you because you’re so gosh darn enthusiastic. This is the last time! This is it! I can do this! Then real life sets in and you begin to wonder and wander. The new pedicurist at the salon reminded me of this yesterday when she told me how she’s lost and gained a lot of weight because she was so enthusiastic the first week and then old thought patterns slipped in again. “Just one cookie won’t hurt. I worked out all week…” You know the story.

So I started thinking, “What was different for me this last time? What was different that first week of my ‘diet?’” And I realized (and this shouldn’t surprise me, but identifying it and giving it words did) that I established “food boundaries,” which is WAY different than demonizing certain foods. I didn’t rule anything out. I didn’t say, “I can’t have _________! I’m on a diet!” I simply established boundaries. I’d tell myself: “I can eat ______ in a reasonable amount if it’s what I really want to eat.” Just saying this opened up the space for me to think about my relationship to food, something I’d never done before. In the past I would set up a list of things I “could” eat and disregard the rest. That is, until I made my “goal,” and then every food was game again. Thus the cycle.

Beginning with that first week in 2005, I remain living week to week, planning what I’ll eat and eating what I plan (for the most part – life does throw us curve balls now and again, does it not?). I still “crave” chicken nuggets, but I know they’d make me sick so I don’t eat them. I still love my mother’s chocolate cake and so I eat a small portion and am satisfied because it’s special. I adore mashed potatoes. But I also love roasted cauliflower and parsnips and carrots and broccoli; and they give me as much “comfort” as my old standard.

One week. If anyone asks me what made it “different” for me this time, I’ll tell them it’s food boundaries.

Amazing what you can learn while getting a haircut and pedicure, isn’t it?

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Purging (no, not THAT kind of purging)

Sometimes a girl just needs to purge. To send stuff packing. Create space and start fresh.

Purging, at least for me, isn’t usually planned. It comes from an overwhelming desire to clean, toss and reorder after coming off a particularly stressful period (or sometimes right smack dab in the middle of one). A good purge can involve things like cleaning out a file cabinet, clearing your Internet browsing history, or having a garage sale and taking what doesn’t sell to Goodwill. It just feels good. The space you created is physically visible, yet it’s also like you’ve opened up space in your head.

I had no particular plans yesterday. I met a stressful deadline last Tuesday and so I’m in that place where I’m lost for a few days. Never sure what to do with myself as I try to acclimate to my surroundings. I walked to the farmer’s market, hauled produce home on my back like a pack mule, and then rather than stare at the computer all day, I took out my four homemade cookbooks and purged.

As I wrote back in February, I own a lot of cookbooks. Most are in a big box ‘o books in the basement. Before I store them, I tag the recipes I make the most and make copies at Staples. Then I put them in the corresponding homemade recipe binders I created.

These three-ring gems save me from recipe hell. You know the place: that abyss of clipped snippets of recipes from magazines, soup cans, applesauce jars, flour bags, the underside of Cool-Whip or yogurt containers, and the sides of rice, pasta and cereal boxes? All those recipes you say you want to try just pile up in the junk drawer until you practically go insane trying to find “that one recipe” ten times a week. You can also go insane promising yourself you’ll try all the recipes you save and never do. And so I purged.

I probably tossed 100 recipes. Recipes that I forget why I found them appealing (they sounded good at the time, I suppose) and recipes I tried and thought, “Well, maybe if I change this or that…” knowing full well I’d forget about them like the garbage. It took four hours, but my cookbooks are now lean, mean fightin’ machines – ready to give me the perfect recipe when I need it.

The best part was that I discovered some old favorites, like the WW roasted potatoes recipe. Mix Dijon mustard with some olive oil, oregano, rosemary, pepper and salt. Stick some wedged potatoes in a plastic bag. Add the mixture and shake. Put on a cookie sheet sprayed with Pam and roast for awhile. I forgot how much I loved this recipe. I forgot because it was lost among the minutia and forgettable recipes I didn’t need anymore.

Purging is what energized me to cook this weekend. I roasted the roma tomatoes I bought after my bike ride this morning and they’re now in a sauce on the stove (for the recipe, see “Chillaxin’ With Some Old Recipes”). After attending my neighbor’s piano recital (which was spot on and gave me goose bumps: see “Even Blythe Danner Makes Mistakes Sometimes”), I threw together my veggie chili with butternut squash, zucchini, carrots, red peppers, fresh tomatoes and mushrooms. It involved a lot of chopping, but my iPod kept me company. My husband watched the Steelers’ game, but was serenaded by my rendition of David Cook songs.

It might sound silly, but I feel rejuvenated. In control. I cut through the mass of unappealing recipes, leaving in my books the ones that mean the most. Do you ever go through your “favorite” websites that you’ve stored on your internet browser and think, “Why was that site important?” It’s kind of like that. Sometimes you have to clear things out so you can breathe again and see what’s really important.

I have to go check the sauce and chili. That’s all that’s on my agenda tonight. That and eating the chili. And maybe checking Facebook. I feel back to earth. Don’t know how long this post-purge feeling will last, but I’m grateful for the time I have with it now.

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Searching For My Inner BadAss

Here I sit in Starbucks listening to John Coltrane and wondering where my BadAss went. Was it something I did? Something I said?

I didn’t realize how quiet BadAss had gotten until I read Shelley’s latest blog entry over at A Forty-Somethings Weight Loss Journey. She says she feels like a badass when she lifts weights. I used to, too. …sigh… I miss BadAss and I want her back.

BadAss has been my companion ever since the day in 2006 I walked a 12-minute mile. BadAss was with me when I joined a gym and the first time I got on the elliptical and arc trainers. BadAss dared me to get off the Nautilus equipment and walk into the macho muscle-filled weight room and lift. BadAss fed me adrenaline at my rehab appointments in April when I learned how to use TheraBand and the proper push up to strengthen the muscles around my shoulder and tendon injuries.

BadAss doesn’t want to hear my excuses. She’s only interested in my full attention and dedication to my goals. So maybe that’s why she’s gone. My attention and dedication have waned a bit lately, as my weight and lack of enthusiasm for exercise attests.

BadAss was with me last weekend, so I know she’s not gone far. She made me walk to the farmer’s market and carry beets, carrots, apples, broccoli, lettuce and red onions in my backpack on the way home and then get on the elliptical for another 20 minutes just because. She made sure I averaged 13 mph on the bike trail on Sunday and not be shy to tie my TheraBand to a post at the trailhead and do my routine no matter who walked, drove or rode by. I got a lot of funny looks, but my BadAss said, “Hey, see these biceps? Yeah…they could kick yer ass!”

Nonetheless, BadAss has been unusually quiet. I will log my usual 300+ workout minutes this week, but the feeling isn’t the same. Too much on my mind, maybe? Too much attention paid to the scale? I’m up four pounds since May and I’m determined to lose them by Thanksgiving (down .8 for the week as of today), but when I dug out my Guess Daredevil low-rise boot cut yesterday – my favorite jeans of all time – and they were a little snug around the middle, I got really sad. (Why do I always accumulate fat in my gut? Why can’t it go to my boobs just this once?) Then I did something I haven’t done in years. I went online and ordered a pair of jeans one size bigger.

I’m sure that didn’t make BadAss very happy.

I eat about the same. I work out the same. So what’s caused the scale to go up this summer? I’m guessing it’s my age and (probably) my hormone levels. I think I’m turning into the quintessential poster child for perimenopause. BadAss isn’t sure how to handle that.

I won’t freak out. I mean, I’m fine with my age and body circumstances (except maybe the boobage issue). But when I ask myself, “What do I do?” I mean, do I reduce calories? Work out more? Both? Join a convent? Seriously. This is uncharted territory for me.

There’s so much out there about menopause and weight gain and how to avoid it. But I’m already DOING all I can to avoid it (weight gain, not menopause). At least I thought I was. I read today that being a thin vegetarian with hypothyroidism can cause early menopause. But I won’t not be thin, I won’t eat meat, and other than take Synthroid religiously, like I do, I can’t do anything more for the thyroid. (And before you write and tell me all about soy and its potential affects on thyroid function, trust me, I’m well aware of the studies. I don’t eat enough soy to warrant concern.)

Since I can’t do anything about my age, then it must be my mood that has scared away my beloved BadAss. Time for an attitude adjustment, I suppose. Or perhaps your inner BadAss could talk to my inner BadAss. Any words of wisdom? Thanks in advance. Or as the “kids” say nowadays: KTHXBYE! (Decoded, it means “OK, thanks! Bye!” Who knew?)

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Even Blythe Danner Makes Mistakes Sometimes

My next-door neighbor, Paula, is a music professor at our local university. Her specialty is the piano.

During summer break, she was visiting her family in Memphis. Driving around one day, she heard Chopin’s “Barcarolle,” a piece she’d played in college, and decided she’d give a recital in the fall semester showcasing it.

It seemed like a simple enough idea at the time, but now, several weeks into her decision and just six days from her performance, she’s exhausted from practicing 3-4 hours a day and teaching a full schedule on top of it. She says she’s “not as young” as she used to be. But she’s a professional and as such, is committed to giving a spot-on performance on Sunday.

Aside from a major malfunction, if Paula makes a mistake, only the most trained ear will notice. The recital audience will hear each song nearly flawlessly from start to finish. However, what I hear next door every time she practices is something quite different.

To memorize a song, Paula plays a section over and over again until it’s familiar. If she messes up, I hear her say, “Ack!” and give the keys a quick smack before going right back to the section. When she needs a break, she mows the lawn or waters the flowers along her deck or logs on to Facebook to see who’s there, but always she goes back to the piano.

During one of her breaks yesterday, we were talking about making mistakes during a performance and she told me about a play she went to in NYC in which Blythe Danner was starring. She went with some friends including a drama professor, who’d gone along reluctantly.

The play was going along smoothly until out of the blue, Danner completely forgot her line. It stunned everyone, especially Danner. She called for “Line!” and got right back into the play, but Paula said it was clear that in that moment, Danner was disgusted with herself. However, Danner’s mistake was exactly what the reluctant drama professor needed to experience to help her understand that even the most seasoned veterans screw up sometimes.

There are days I get so stuck on a section of my book that I just want to delete the file, log out of Word and become a plumber. There are days I get so tired of caring about every stinkin’ thing I put in my mouth that I just want to eat cake all day and never weigh in again. But as the Buddha and my mother say, this too shall pass.

We all yell “Ack!” or “Line!” sometimes, especially when we’re losing weight or maintaining weight loss. How ridiculous would it have been if Blythe Danner walked off the stage in the middle of a play just because she messed up a line? Or if Paula quit playing because she missed a note? Or if you and I stopped paying attention to our fitness goals just because one morning (or four) we ate a bagel with cream cheese when we “planned” to eat grapes or took a day (or four) off from the gym? Is it worth chucking everything because we made a few “mistakes?”

It’s not easy, by any means, to ride out the feelings, validate the frustration and keep doing what you were doing. It sometimes takes the mistakes of others to help us see that even the most enthusiastic losers and maintainers among us lose their grip sometimes. I learn the most from bloggers and others who share their gains and weaknesses as well as their successes.

This little pep talk, in fact, is me trying to learn from…well…me. Sometimes I have to keep my own faith, or at least remind myself I have it. A few days of water weight, an undeserved gain, and an unexplained pain in my left shoulder have me frustrated right now. But I’m bigger, so to speak, than my scale, and I’ll work out the shoulder thing. I just have to trust that I am a “professional.” A professional of me. I won’t walk off stage or stop playing. I might wallow in a cup of vanilla rooibos tea and bitch about it with a good friend when we meet for coffee in a few hours, but I’ll get back on that maintenance pony and ride on.

I found this lovely performance of Chopin’s “Barcarolle” on YouTube. This is what I’ve been hearing, in fits and starts, for several weeks, but will hear all the way through (nearly) flawlessly on Sunday. (Wait till you hear what happens around minute 7. Oh. My.)

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Love Is Like Oxygen (and a good work out...you can’t lift a 2-year-old with it)

I cannot for the life of me get the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse "Hot Dog Song" out of my head. So in honor of Claire (and to share the “love”), here’s the song I’ve heard at least 100 times in the last 36 hours.

I officially took two days “off” from exercise, but my muscles want an official ruling on the meaning of “off.” They seem to think that “life” constitutes exercise. A few years ago I would have begged to differ because I was convinced that what we do in real life isn’t exercise, but now I’m not so sure. I don’t lift babies every day.

Grandbaby Luca now weighs 13 pounds. Claire is almost 30. I took care of them yesterday morning while their mom went to a meeting, then Claire came home with me and spent the night.

Luca, Claire and I had a three-hour sleep/play/run-around-like-crazy/drooly (that would be Luca) morning. Luca likes to be held high up on your shoulder so his head is even with your ears. Do that for a half hour while walking around and building a “fort” with a 2-year-old and you’ve got yourself a workout. I don’t normally sweat when I watch the kids, but yesterday they put me through my paces (in a good way).

When Claire was born almost two year ago, my arthritic wrists and torn rotator cuffs were so sore I had a hard time holding her. I often worried I’d drop her. My “only” option, according to the surgeon, was surgery. But I said no and opted for exercise instead. I’ve “buffed up” my upper arms and back, so to speak, and have strengthened the muscles around my wrists and forearms so I can hold Luca like a champ and take Claire where we need to go. (Note: This does not mean that surgery isn’t still an option, just not yet.)

When Claire comes to visit, we go places. Lots of places – the library and Wal-Mart because I have business there, and the hair salon, coffee shop and post office just so I can show her off. This means Claire needs to be lifted a lot – in and out of her car seat and then the cart at the grocery store, not to mention lifting her on to and out of her chair at the table for meals, helping her up on to the couch, and the always present “uppie peeez” (translated: pick me up, please) that I can’t resist. Lifting 30 pounds dozens of times in the course of 36 hours makes my muscles say “WTF?”, no matter how hard I work out. But the fact that I can do it each time without thinking twice makes me happier than anything I put in my mouth or any excuse I might use to not exercise.

I stay healthy for me – sure, yeah, whatever – but really I do it for my grandkids.

I know this isn’t the first time I’ve said that, and perhaps ya’ll are getting tired of hearing it, but seriously, every time I’m with them I am more convinced that what I’m doing to stay healthy is the right thing for me to do. I’ve never felt so sure of anything.

Dedication and commitment are key to diet and fitness. No doubt. But so is love. Have you ever told someone: “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you?” I’ve said it many times, but I never meant that I’d get or stay fit. Until recently. Now when I say “I’d do anything for you,” it includes staying as healthy as my body will let me. There’s no turning back.

I love me. How often do you say you love yourself? There’s nothing wrong with it. It doesn’t make you narcissistic. I used to think it did, and so not loving myself caused me to do a lot of dumbass things.

I love myself AND I love Claire and Luca a whole bunch, and because I do, I lift weights and take my blood pressure meds, and eat right, and get my ass on the elliptical/bike/treadmill – day after day after day.

OK, the “Hot Dog Song” is STILL going through my head, but unlike a really bad “juke box from hell” 70s song that gets lodged in my head, it makes me miss Claire. She really REALLY likes that song. It makes her smile soooo big and dance and concentrate on playing her little bongo drum. How can I not love that more than I not love “Hot Diggity Dog”?

I have to take Claire to Disney World now just to thank that damn mouse for making her so happy.

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