Tag Archives: happy

I’ve Had Worse Weekends…

Did you have a good Easter? We had a lovely weekend away but I’ll tell you what, I’m so glad I’m off work for the rest of this week, I am knackered. I adore my mum, and it was so nice to spend some time together and make some memories, but she’s so frail these days I feel like I’ve been on pins for the whole time we were away, in case I broke her. We have laughed a lot, but it feels like the last four days have mainly involved me running around with a stressy on, trying to make sure that the right pills were dispensed at the right time, and that mum didn’t trip over the dog, or fall out of bed, or scald herself on the kettle.

And don’t even get me started on the nightly trauma of helping her up the stairs to bed, in a cottage housing the longest and steepest staircase I’ve ever seen, which required at least three rest stops on the way up, me following two or three steps behind mum with my shoulder wedged under her bum to try and provide a little support and forward momentum. Fortunately there was a downstairs loo, or we would have been royally buggered.

We did have one or two trips out to the beach, but mum tires really easily so to be honest we spent most of our time just curled up in front of the fire, in companionable silence you know? Mum with her feet up watching the snooker and me reading my book with Charlie snuggled up to one or the other of us on the sofa. I’ve definitely had worse weekends.

The people who owned the cottage had very kindly left us a bottle of wine in the fridge, and a big box of chocolates by way of a welcome, and you don’t need me to tell you that those fucking chocolates have nearly driven me to distraction. They sat squarely in the middle of the kitchen table, and they didn’t move all weekend, but boy did I ever know they were there.

Mum, having eaten the three little cellophane-wrapped cookies which had been part of the welcome provisions on the first night, put in a request for some more, and I’ve never been able to say no to my mum so we picked up a box of assorted biscuits to bring back to the cottage and they added their ten-penneth to the Asshole voice’s daily seduction routine…come on Dee, just have one…you know you want to…

By some miracle, I resisted. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to face plant into all things wicked, but I knew if I started on either one of those things I wouldn’t be able to stop. So not starting was the only way to go really, you know? I did have a treat on Easter Saturday, in the shape of the biggest fish you ever did see, encased in crisp golden batter and smothered with salt and vinegar from a chip shop in Filey. Holy fuck it was orgasmic.  I used my weekly points and vaporised it without one iota of guilt, and that made up for not starting on the chocolates. Well, almost. The chocolates were Milk Tray. Not my favourite. If they’d left us a big box of Black Magic we might have been having a different conversation.

Here’s the thing though…it’s weigh-day today. And last night I slept easy in my bed because I knew I’d done my absolute best. There was no pacing the floor or wringing of hands at the prospect of my conversation with the Shitbird Scale…I mean yes, okay I always feel like I’m walking the green mile when it’s time to step aboard, but I knew my input had been bang on the money. I wasn’t worried.

And did you see..? Four pounds off. Four! I’m going to struggle not to punch the air with every second step today, I’ve never lost four pounds in a week before! It was a best of one situation…that was my very first reading and I whipped out my phone, took the picture and had that Shitbird Scale back in it’s corner before it had a chance to change its mind. No second or third of fourth hop-on for me this week, even though it’s usually the third or fourth go that gives me the best number. I’ll take the first reading thank you, it’s the only one I need 🙂

 

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A Nice Problem To Have

I think I mentioned didn’t I, that I was going away for the weekend with my mum? We’ve rented a little cottage near the sea, just for a few nights and when I went up to help her pack her bag last night she was almost beside herself…she does giddy almost as well as I do. To be fair, I think she’s just excited about spending four days with Charlie dog, who she utterly adores, but she doesn’t seem to mind that I’m tagging along too.

Mum’s packing was easy. She only has a tiny wardrobe, housing a few carefully selected clothes. My packing on the other hand, is proving more difficult, and it boils down to the fact that there’s just too much choice in my wardrobe these days. My first cut would have kept me comfortably clothed for a month, so I fannied around for ages putting things back and trying to second-guess what the weather’s going to do so I could pack just the right amount of stuff. Yeah, epic fail on that front by the way, my bags are stuffed to bursting point and anyone would think I’m about to leave home.

I’ll tell you what though, how much more enjoyable is it, packing for a trip when you’re excited to wear the things you’re taking with you? I know I won’t wear half the things I’ve packed but choosing which ones to leave behind is impossible because I want to wear them all so I’m unashamedly dragging a ridiculously large suitcase with me because you know what, I’ve earned the right to revel in these clothes. I’ll try them all on and do a fashion show for my mum every morning and then decide what to wear.

I have this wonderfully romanticised picture in my head, of me, gliding along the promenade with the gentle sea breeze ruffling my hair, looking so stylish in my new duds that folk take a moment from their busy day to just admire the look. Come on, that’s never going to happen. I’m more likely to be battered by the hoolie blowing off the east coast, which will whip my hair into a frenzy as I try to control a hyper-excited cocker spaniel and prevent my tiny octogenarian mum from blowing down the beach.

It doesn’t matter, does it? Whether anyone notices I look nice or not, I’ll feel nice. I’m about to go work out, and as I grit my teeth all the way through my muffin tops and bingo wings class, I’ll be thinking about those size eighteen linen pants hanging on the outside of my wardrobe. For my friends in the States, that’s a fourteen in your neck of the woods…I know, right? I’m five dress sizes down from where I started. I don’t care that there’s barely room to squeeze out a trump once I’ve put them on…they fasten, and I can still breathe if I sit down so as far as I’m concerned, they fit.

I hope you all have a wonderful Easter. Keep your eye on the Facebook page for postcards from the East Coast, and I’ll see you on the other side 🙂

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Mission Interrupted

Have you ever got mid-way through something, only to lose interest and  wonder what madness inspired you to start in the first place..? Yeah, me too. That was me this weekend, having a bit of a sort-out. Spot the inappropriate use of the word bit in that sentence. I massively underestimated the size of the task, and now my bedroom looks like a clothes-bomb went off.

I ran out of steam after I’d been going at it for three or four hours and proceeded to find all manner of distractions. I even did some ironing which tells you how desperate for a distraction I was…anyone who knows me would tell you that I never pick up the iron without a gun to my head.

So anyway, the upshot is my low boredom threshold means I’ve only scratched the surface of what needs to be done. All the stuff in my wardrobe fits me – or is about to – and anything that’s too big has been evicted but I haven’t been near the stuff I have in storage yet, to see what gems are waiting to be rediscovered. There are definitely things amongst that lot which will fit me now, but the buggeration factor is that I don’t remember packing it away in any kind of order, you know? It won’t be as easy as just grabbing the bags I need, because I’m an ejit and that would be too simple.

I came across a bunch of skinny stuff too, when I started emptying drawers…I couldn’t decide what to do with it, so I just put it back and did nothing. I mean, should it stay? I’m working my way down the sizes so it seems a waste of effort to pack it all up and put that in storage but on the other hand I’m barely in the ‘burbs of Skinny Town and I won’t need it for a while yet. Months, in fact. It probably needs to go. If I’m bringing stuff back here I’ll need the drawer space. Fucks’ sake, swapping all this stuff around is going to take forever.

Still, it’ll get done when it gets done. I’m working until Thursday but then I’m off work for about ten days. I’m taking my mom away to the seaside over the Easter Weekend but I have almost a whole week off after we get back so I’ll make it my mission to crack on and finish what I’ve started. I’ll allow myself a couple of lazy days towards the end of the week if I get my arse in gear and do it as soon as we get back. To be fair, I am looking forward to being reunited with some of the stuff I liked enough to pack away in the hope that one day it might fit me again.

I had another positive conversation with the Shitbird Scale yesterday, did you see?  One and a half more pounds evicted from my pants. That’s the fourteenth week in a row where I’ve lost weight, and I’m still completely in control of my food plan so I’m now breaking new ground and I can’t begin to tell you how good that feels. Just a few pounds more and the number will read sixteen something and God was a lad last time that happened.

Can I just mention too that the sun has been shining this weekend, and my arse has been a black-pants-free-zone. How about that 🙂

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Let’s Never Speak Of Them Again

There’s something about new clothes that makes you feel epic, don’t you think? I wore a new shirt for work yesterday, one of the ones that’s been hanging in my wardrobe for a while which hasn’t just quite fitted me. Until now all of a sudden it does. I bloody love that feeling. I got a compliment from two different people at work, and when I walked in the kitchen back home at teatime my boy looked up from what he was doing and said blimey, you look skinny today…I bloody love that feeling too.

It’s been a while you know…at one point towards the middle of last year, folk started to notice that I’d lost weight and were fairly generous with their compliments, but when I started going back up the scale again those same folk were gracious enough to keep their gobs shut. Well, most people do, don’t they? I can think of one notable exception in my circle of friends who thinks nothing of fat shaming where someone’s gained a little weight but she’s never been brave enough to call me on it. Just FYI I’ve got three dozen one-liners lined up ready in case she ever does, and trust me when I say whichever one I pick will be delivered with relish, possibly accompanied by a smack in the chops.

I can’t really pinpoint the moment where I started to care again, about what I looked like. When I was way north of three hundred pounds there didn’t seem much point in spending too much time in front of the mirror because no good ever came of it, you know? All it did was open the door for the Asshole voice in my head to wheel out one put-down after another, to the point where some days it was hard to lift my head.

I only had a handful of clothes, all of which I’d bought because they fitted me and not because I liked them. A few tops that I’d kidded myself made me look a bit smaller than I was. That’s the difference you know when you’re locked in battle with a fat body…you don’t decide what to wear because the colour suits you, or because something’s on-trend. You pick anything that you think makes you look smaller. In my head it was sole criteria, the only thing that mattered. I’d like to point out to anyone who actually knew me back then, that most of those hideous garments were not worn by choice and let’s agree never to speak of them again.

It’s different now I’ve evicted poundage from my pants. To be fair, there’s a lot more choice and I’m choosing things that I like. And that’s why it’s so lovely when people take the time to pay me a compliment…it’s nice to be noticed for the right reasons and it definitely spurs me on.

I have a little jar you know, where I store my compliments. I scribble them down on a scrap of paper and put them in my jar, and if I’m having a day where it feels like this fucking diet will never end and I’ll never reach my goal, I tip them all out and take a moment to bask in the sunshine, and it never fails to lift my mood. My jar has been gathering dust for a few months but it saw a bit of action yesterday, and it did me a power of good 🙂

 

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Choosy Is Good, Right?

So, I had two things to navigate yesterday. One buffet lunch straight out of the 1970s with no healthy options whatsoever, and then a working dinner with some colleagues last night. I did okay, in fact you would’ve been proud of me. At lunchtime I did eat half a rather greasy sausage and a couple of fat sandwich quarters, but really only enough to stave off starvation and see me through the afternoon. And last night in the restaurant, I watched everyone else eat their appetisers but because there was nothing suitable on the menu for me I didn’t order one. Yes, you heard that right…even though I was ravenous I said no. I would have had one, but I was choosy, and choosy is good, right?

I practised behaving like a skinny girl. Squid? Awesome, I’ll have that, I love squid…oh hang on just a minute, deep fried in batter with a garlic mayo dip? Nah not for me…what else…oooh look, mini ribs with homemade slaw…I’ll have that! Oh blimey, hang on a sec, that barbecue sauce is probably loaded with sugar, and there’ll be half a tub of mayo in that slaw…shit, move past the ribs, come on we’ve got this. So I ordered a big fat juicy steak for my main, and passed on the starter.

The steak was alright, I mean it won’t go down in history as the best steak I’ve ever had but it was okay. It wasn’t big, and it wasn’t even particularly juicy but to be honest by the time I’d watched everyone else eat their squid and their ribs I wasn’t about to send it back. I’d ordered a side order of healthy greens, and I carefully transferred all my fries into the bowl my veggies came in just to get them off my plate.

I did catch my hand reaching out a couple of times to grab one of the fries…I ate three in the end. Which isn’t going to kill me, so there’s no drama and it’s a hell of an improvement on other similar meals in my chequered food past, where no chip escaped unscathed. Not on my watch. Don’t get me wrong, if I was in diet mode and trying, I would’ve just as carefully transferred the fries off my plate in a great show of willpower but over the course of the meal they would have gotten eaten anyway and that’s not willpower as much as geography. But not last night.

I was waiting, you know for the all-consuming desire to kick in and press the override switch on my willpower, but…nothing. It didn’t happen. And I didn’t eat dessert, although I can’t claim that as a victory because nobody else did either so that wasn’t willpower as much as circumstances. 

Interestingly enough though, when someone said does anyone fancy dessert? and the rest of our party shook their heads, my usual visceral reaction of wanting to beat to a pulp all the crazy people who passed on pudding meaning I couldn’t say yes either was also conspicuous by its absence…I didn’t want dessert. And thinking about it, I haven’t eaten anything sweet for over a month now. Saying that out loud almost makes we want to run to the mirror and make sure I’m still me.

I’m taking some comfort from all the above, and feeling rather hopeful that I might continue in a similar vein on my forthcoming trip…not having to fight with the asshole voice makes dinner out with friends a much more enjoyable experience, you know?

Have a great weekend everyone 🙂

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