Thursday, January 28, 2016

Two Weeks

Two weeks. That's how long I've been at this now. It's gotten a little easier. Still not easy most days, but it's not as uncomfortable as it was initially. And praise cheeses for that little blessing, because if I still felt the way I did 5 days ago? Yeah. I'd be preparing to start an epic slap fight with Kirk the nutrition guy. If I could have caught him, and considering I was a barge it probably wouldn't have worked out.

Fantastic husband is at a conference through Saturday and he left early this morning, so I'm flying solo with the spawn. Not long after he left this morning, C wandered down the hall and crawled into bed with me. I was laying on my side and he scooted up behind me and threw his arm and leg over me. It was cute as hell. Until he sneezed into my hair. Less cute.  A short while later P also found his way into my bed. I just heard a tiny voice say "Mommy? Can I cuddle with you, too?", and he crawled up on the other side. So instead of starting my morning with 60 minutes of bitching, I got to start it with 20 minutes of perfectly adorable...followed by 60 minutes of bitching. I'll take it.

I made breakfast, made lunches, and scuttled everyone out the door. Then I came home and made myself breakfast and organized my day. I was out of mushrooms, which is tragic, and had more than a handful of spinach left that was about to go over. So I said fuck it and just cooked all the remaining spinach with my eggs. Also sweet potato and berries. And coffee. Always coffee. I told nutrition guy that I'd limit myself to 2 cups per day, and I've been doing pretty well with that. The only time I deviated was when I was up for 30 hours. Now that I think about it, it still may have only been 2 cups in a 24 hour period.

I'm like motherfucking Popeye up in here.

Today's WOD was high(ish) burpee box jumps, muscle ups (which I can't do and have no desire to do so I do progressions), and a heavy clean and jerk.  Heavy is relative, of course, but I loaded up 95# which seemed safe. One of the coaches told me to up it by five for an even hundred "because it's cooler". So I said I'd give it a go. It actually went okay. I didn't shin myself and I had a couple of really good lifts. We also did some hollow rocks/superman holds and I worked on my handstand for a bit. I actually hit it pretty well a couple of times. I'm proud of myself. 

Unrelated except that I wore the shirt to CF yesterday-fantastic husband got me this shirt. It's super comfy and I think it's funny. He apparently showed this picture to a co-worker who didn't believe that I was his wife. Not sure what that means, but the story amused me. 

My arms look massive. They're really not that big, I swear.

I ran a bunch of adulty errands, including going to Costco for the eightieth time this month. You know what you have to buy when you eat a lot of food? A LOT OF FUCKING FOOD. I swear I've eaten about 100 peppers and 50 pounds of broccoli over the last 2 weeks. Also like $200 worth of out of season fruit. Oh well. It's all for the best. Why get paid a lot if you're not going to live well?

After I unloaded everything I made myself some lunch.

Chicken, chickpeas, and cucumber. Basic.

Then I did a little prep work for some schmancy Paleo baking. Then I picked up the kids from school and did the whole snack-homework-dinner prep dance.  I had a snack. Ezekiel toast with sunbutter and coffee with heavy cream.

That's right. Heavy cream. Gotta get all my calories, bitches.

Then shortly thereafter I had another snack. 

Get off me. You know how many boxes I gotta check?
A lot.

When we got home from school, my Paleo Samoas were on the oven cooling and waiting for their chocolate coating. Every single child, in succession, completely ignoring the answer I gave the previous child "Wow, those smell good! Who are they for?".  The answer I gave each child? "Not for you!" It's not that I'm averse to giving my children cookies, or that I don't want to share. It's that none of them will eat coconut, and I was damned if I was going to give them a (time consuming! expensive!) cookie only for them to nibble it and decide that they don't like coconut and/or dark chocolate. Invariably they've ruined whatever they're eating in the process of deciding they hate it, and since this recipe only makes 12-18 cookies (I got 18)? I'm not taking that chance.

Gods, these are incredible. Coconut cookie, caramel, toasted coconut, and chocolate. Sexy. I only ate 1, but one makes a lonely picture.

Samoas are the sluttiest cookie. #fact

I made dinner. If you're gonna be basic, be really basic. I totally had to force feed myself this dinner. I said it was getting easiER. Still working on it.

Chicken twice in a day. Ugh.

Later I will finish checking boxes with my standard yogurt-berries-and-chia-seeds.

Stock photo.

I got an odd letter the other day. It was from my Grandma's neighbor. Apparently she found some old pictures of me and thought I might like to have them.  It's throwback Thursday, so what the hell. July 1982, shortly before my 5th birthday (that's right, I was born in the 70s. Laugh it up, assholes). I think my aunt might have made this dress. Wasn't I an adorable child?

This is P's face. It's uncanny.

In other random "who cares" news: I sized down in Lululemon today. I ordered 3 pairs of pants, size 8, and not only do they fit but in one style I think I might need a 6.

Fuck me, I'm in single digits.

You know those crazy weight loss stories where the before photo is some chick who weighs like 400 pounds (or on TBL or whatever) and they show you the after picture and every goddamn one of them is all "OH EM GEE, now I'm a SIZE SIX!" and you think to yourself "Ain't no bloody way in fucking hell that bitch is a six."  No? Just me? Anyway, I find myself figuring that she must own like ONE THING that is a size 6, so she just tells everyone that that's the size she wears. It's not exactly a lie.

Well I have FOUR things in a size 8 (I also got a running dress) that fit. Therefore I am a size 8. And tomorrow I'm gonna wear the shit out of some size 8 leggings as PANTS. Because leggings are totally pants. 

Nevermind my favorite jeans are a 12. Details, details.

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