I just wanted to point my readers to the new commentary policy for the blog. I’d love to hear any feedback about it.
Thanks in advance for your thoughts!
Pre-breakfast sugar: 185
Pre-dinner sugar: 158
Breakfast: Grits and sausage
Lunch: Chicken nuggets, red beans and rice, and oranges
Dinner: Chicken tenders, fries, and stir-fry veggies
“When I think about you, I test myself” was the pick-up line Jeff tried using when I was testing my blood sugar before dinner, then going on about how he is more true to the song he was referencing.
What lines have y’all heard or tried? How successful were they?
Now that you’re groaning, I’m off to get last-minute stuff done for G.’s brithday party tomorrow. I will caution you all that tomorrow’s post is most likely going to be sappy.
Edit: I really did weigh myself for Weigh In Wednesday, but forgot to post it. The magical number is….282.0 pounds. Only lost half a pound, but the bottom line is it is going in the right direction.
Pre-breakfast blood sugar: 205
Pre-dinner blood sugar: 160
Breakfast: Blueberry muffins with peanut butter (and extra fiber!)
Lunch: Chicken pot pie
Dinner: Ham, 1/2 baked potato with cheese and sour cream, several helpings of green beans, 12 oz. Sierra Mist
“I had tried to keep her
From what she was about to see.
Why should she believe me
When I told her it wasn’t me?”
-Shaggy, “Wasn’t Me”
Given the upcoming presidential election, the internet has been (partially) all abuzz about Newt Gingrich’s supposed request for an open marriage prior to the divorce from his second wife, 6 months after her diagnosis of MS, 6 years after the flames of an affair with his current wife began. Generally the more conservative-leaning media has been all in a tizzy, calling it his failed adventures into polyamory, while the more liberal-leaning has made great strides to distance those in open relations from him, and slapping the label of “hypocrite” on the adulterous man who attempted impeachment of another elected official for doing the same thing.
But really, it doesn’t matter at all as to what relationship variation it is. Whatever he did, he did it wrong. The way I see it, he most likely thought he was getting caught with his pants down, and the request was his way to scramble to repair what he had with Marianne for appearance’s sake while maintaining the status quo with his mistress. From this poly chick’s standpoint, the attempt was as lame as saying it wasn’t him with Callista.
When you enter into a commitment with another, whether it be exclusive or open, romantic or sexual, boundaries and trust are established; it is completely possible to cheat on a partner, whether you are open to other relationships or are limited to just each other. Regardless of the nature of the relationships, there are certainly limits. Those limits can healthily and happily change, but communication, fully-informed consent, and honesty are needed to make this happen. The heart of the problem with cheating is once you are discovered, you destroy all trust your partner had in you – you violated the agreement, your commitment to the relationship is questionable, you knowingly risk hurting your partner both physically and emotionally. If you don’t like the current boundaries of your relationship, talk about it and put some work into your relationship; your partner often cannot help fulfill your needs if you do not make them known.
In our initial exploration of loving more than one, my husband and I both know we cannot be everything and anything for each other. Did either of us find someone in secret? No, over the years we had many a series of discussions, tears, laughing, stammering, hugs, yelling, and finally, agreement. THEN, and only then, we sought out others like us, and we did have to revisit and revise our agreement a few times, but we both know, we both freely consent, and we both are honest to each other. We haven’t done the seeking for long and we’re not intimately aware of how our poly friends came to apply their feelings, but I’m pretty confident our way is a whole lot more successful, healthier, and is more typical of the average committed couple embracing polyamory as opposed to fooling around with someone in secret and then forcing another partner to an agreement. Our trust in the each other has not been violated, and our marriage still stands. My relationship with my boyfriend is similar, and we are happy as well.
Communication, honesty, consent. THAT, Newty-Fruity, is how you do poly, mono, open, closed, sexual, romantic, long-term, short-term, same sex, opposite sex. It is how you do relationships right. Remember that next time you consider dropping your uptight tighty whities* for a random aide.
*Disclaimer: No, before anyone asks or makes wild inferences, I do not know what he wears, nor do I care. If you do know, please know I wish to remain ignorant of this factoid.
Wow, I really haven’t been with it lately. Looking back at my posts I seem to have misdated a couple, including yesterday’s. All the incorrect dates that I’ve noticed have been corrected in their titles, but not in the URL. Someone should buy me a calendar or something – oh wait, someone DID buy me a calendar for Christmas. If you are indeed what you eat, then someone’s been growing ginormous peanuts, covering them in chocolate, and feeding them to me without my knowledge because I am a big goober. 🙂
Pre-breakfast blood sugar: 176
Pre-dinner blood sugar: 157
Breakfast: Cereal and yogurt
Lunch: Cheese quesadilla with salsa and sour cream (2 tortillas total)
Snack: String cheese, 5 multigrain Club crackers
Dinner: Grilled cheese sandwiches, veggie soup, and onion rings
Yeah, I know the onion rings aren’t the best choice, but I’m applying a bit of the principle of harm reduction here. I wanted a side dish different from what I have planned for my other meals, and from yesterday’s adventures I discovered the kids might like onion rings more than just a random bite. And the last time I checked, having the occasional onion is better than continuously having potatoes (i.e., the fries Jeff wanted for tonight….which he got, but had to encourage the kids to want the onion rings). To continue in the spirit of harm reduction, I chose to bake them and not fry them. Bottom line: I know I have a (slightly) healthier alternative to fries for them. Still working on Jeff in the that department.
Last night in preparation for tonight’s dinner, I send Jeff out to get “veggies for veggie soup” and some non-tomato vegetarian broth (looking back, considering he doesn’t do tomatoes AT ALL, and there is no hope to changing his mind – I’ve tried – that was kind of silly to make the non-tomato request). He comes home with: a can of corn, a parsnip, an orange bell pepper, a yellow bell pepper, a zucchini, and a 12 oz. bag of pre-washed broccoli and carrots, and the believable explanation that our grocer did not have any such broth (given the time of night and the weekend we’ve had I didn’t feel like arguing with him even if I wanted to).
So, this afternoon I washed/drained/chopped all the veggies he brought (except the yellow pepper, as after looking inside it, it didn’t look right to me), threw it all in the crockpot with 8 cups of chicken broth (I know it’s not vegetarian but this is as close as I without a car or cash is going to get with this soup). Threw in a tablespoon of dried basil and a half tablespoon of black pepper, assumed the broth will give it all the salt this dish should need, and let it cook on high for 4 hours.
And…..it was awful. I put WAY too much pepper. No, scratch that. “WAY too much pepper” covers it about as much as saying Jayne Cobb likes guns to describe his obsession. I love spicy, but I had trouble eating it. And poor G., whose soup had been absentmindedly peppered in addition to what was already in there, managed to spill my bowl onto his lap while I was up getting him more to drink (thankfully it was cool enough to not burn) – the second thing he’s spilled today, with the first being half a cup of iced tea next to the computer (everything important is safe). I might try to drain the veggies in hopes of being able to salvage it for future meals, and the next time I try this, I think I’ll just let everyone salt/pepper to their own taste.
Now, off to my Monday night routine of date night with Jeff.
Breakfast: 2 cinnamon rolls
Lunch: a small sack of onion rings and a spicy chicken sandwich, all from Burger King
Dinner: hot dogs wrapped in cheese and ramen
It would be an understatement to say that this not exactly a healthy eating day. Jeff took care of breakfast and has been so sweet to me I couldn’t refuse when he let me lay around this morning. We were all over the place today, so stopping at BK was convenient. And at the end of the day I was so tired after fixing the kids a decent meal I didn’t want to put out much effort for my own dinner.
To counter it I’ve been doing a lot of extra exercise, despite sore back/hips/knees/everything from slipping everywhere. G., being the average 2 year old, can’t just say what he wants for his birthday, but will certainly let you know what he does and doesn’t like when you show it to him. So part of the day involved roaming the toy aisles of Walmart and Toys R Us showing him toys and almost all of them be thoroughly rejected, and explaining to his brother that we simply cannot buy the whole store. We also finished up grocery shopping.
While at Walmart, N. got a haircut, and for the first time allowed use of a razor on his head. He looks so fuzzy – I love it and am really proud of how well he did there.
But I am really tired, and my thinking meats are rebelling. In fact, I made the mistake of mixing up the Green Hornet and the Green Lantern when telling Jim about one of G.’s birthday presents. The dang Fisher Price figure is holding a green lantern, so this really is a no brainer that I failed at. Hopefully tomorrow will be a bit more calm.
Pre-breakfast blood sugar: 173
Pre-dinner blood sugar: 135
Breakfast: Toast and bacon
Lunch: Turkey sandwich with cheese, grapes, celery with peanut butter, a half-dozen Sun Chips, 8oz. bottle of Sierra Mist
Dinner: Hot chocolate, rotisserie chicken, cheesy broccoli, and mashed potatoes
Overall, I had a fun and productive day. Jeff and I took our boys to the Cincinnati Museum Center, despite the icy weather, icy van, and icy outside steps/sidewalk. We had a great time – the kids got to touch a box turtle named Pokey; they got to play store, diner, construction worker; G., not quite 2 years old, valiantly dragged me through the advanced cave trail that most kindergartners tend to avoid; N. had quite a conversation with youth volunteer Kyla about the mammoth skeleton at the entrance, as well as listened closely to a veteran youth volunteer’s (i.e. my) preschool-sized tour of the Ice Age trail (as well as several other visitors not with our group). We managed to have a healthy-ish lunch while not spending a dime (well, we got some pretzels as a snack for the kids and we picked up some heavily discounted holiday ornaments, including a couple of dinosaurs, so not spending a dime on lunch), even though Jeff and I shook our heads thoroughly as the kids decided the peanut butter we set aside for dipping was meant for their Cheetos, not their celery. (I even decorated personalized paper lunch sacks for them – is this dorky or what?) As this is the weekend we go grocery shopping, we ran by our local Sam’s to pick some things up and slip-slided home.
Once the boys snuggled down for a nap, just as I begin to start a post ripping Newt Gingrich a new one, Jeff checks our bank account, and there are several mysterious transactions of significant amounts. A few calls here and there and we find that someone has decided to steal our account information to buy medium-sized suit and cell phone parts, among other things. I’m at the very busy end of the period I call “Birthday Madness”: G.’s birthday is in 5 days, N.’s is in 2 weeks, and my best friend and Jim’s birthdays follow shortly after – essentially everything last-minute we need for both boys’ parties needs to be taken out of this check, in addition to other bills. I’ll admit I’m a little nervous about these gatherings, as they will be the first time my best friend and my mother-in-law will be meeting my boyfriend, and as a mom and rumored awesome planner of events I’m having a little performance anxiety too, but now this crap has to happen? Needless to say, I am beyond livid at this point, and the one whom I shall call Medium Sized Stealing Boy had better be thankful that my religion prohibits me from purposely harming others. The bank was barely any help beyond keeping him from using our card anymore, so in an effort to get some justice, Jeff talked to the good folks of the Cincy PD and things are underway. (A note to businesses: When the uber-stressed out police outperform you on customer service on a Saturday night, it’s time to rethink how you do business.)
Now, I’m at a point where I could just stew in my being violated; I could wish my hardest for revenge; I could just flip out, drive to one of the possible locations one order was going to be shipped to; I could decide to be pessimistic and cancel all parties I’m planning, withdraw RSVP’s to other birthdays, and beg for Jim to not be anything less than content when his birthday present is late. With the biggest thing being the kids’ birthdays, as they are the most financially heavy issues and ones where there are people too young to understand involved, I’m just going to wait it out tonight. Why? If you haven’t figured it out by now, I live in Cincinnati, the city I’ve lived all my life. It is my belief that weatherpeople, especially during winter, tend to predict the weather by throwing darts at random weather terms, and it can change between forcasts. It is very possible we will have to cancel either party not because of finances, but because the weather makes it difficult, so it is silly for me to wait, plan, and prepare anxiously for when Mama Nature will come by and mess even those plans up. I’m just going to geek out with my husband, a mug of hot chocolate, and Stargate Atlantis.
However, Medium Sized Stealing Boy better put his head between his legs and do some kissing because he will have to deal with me. And Newt, I haven’t forgotten about you either.
Everyone else, stay warm!
Pre-breakfast blood sugar: 154
Pre-dinner blood sugar: 168
Breakfast: English muffin, scrambled eggs, bacon
Lunch: Last night’s leftovers (ate 2 hours later mthan my normal lunch time)
Dinner: Slow cooker cheesy chicken, rice, and green beans
For those of you who don’t read news like these pieces, who have taken the SOPA/PIPA protests way too seriously and haven’t caught up, and those of you who live under rocks, Paula Deen has finally come out to say she’s diabetic with her promotion of the medication she takes to manage her condition. Since this is the first day I’ve had a chance to gather my thoughts about it since the SOPA/PIPA protest (two little ones will keep you busy), I feel I should really throw in my two cents now.
There’s plenty of shame to go all around this story. Yes, Mrs. Deen should have promoted healthier eating in her work. Yes, the timing of her decision to announce her diabetes and her new paid promotion of Victoza seems pretty sketchy. Yes, her age and weight may have contributed to her situation. Yes, for diabetics who have the disease running heavily in one’s family, it may even seem a little dramatic to go on the Today Show and make a big to-do about it. Yadda, yadda, yadda, pot, kettle, black.
However, the open season of fat jokes and snark about all of that is uncalled for. There are plenty of old, fat, non-diabetics as well as young, skinny diabetics; take the time to learn and educate yourself about the disease before you open your mouth in schadenfreude – genetics, activity level, quality of care (I know people whose doctors neglected the care of their patients’ diabetes issues until some big, money-making, issue came along), etc. also play key factors.
About what she cooks: Did we all seriously think that’s all she eats? No – just because you like to cook and can throw down doesn’t mean you have to and want to every single meal. Let’s say she eats a peanut butter sandwich, an apple, and some celery. How entertaining would a cooking show be if we watch someone smear some peanut butter on bread and slice up an apple and celery? Unless you feature a purple singing dinosaur and direct the show toward preschoolers, that ain’t going to sell. The novel is what sells, and often that means indulgent for many people who love to cook. Any TV cook with some sense knows that not every recipe is going to appeal to every viewer; for example every time dear Paula throws in mayo in a recipe, I know I can’t bring myself to make or eat it; when Rachael Ray sends me shrimp recipes, I don’t bother looking at them. This industry is not meant to dictate what you should eat at every meal, but to inspire unique dishes for special moments. Are cooking celebrities forbidden to occasionally eat food that isn’t exciting to watch being made? I must be confused.
In regards to her timing, who says other factors weren’t into play around this time? Just because she’s a celebrity doesn’t mean every thought and emotion she experiences has to be out there for us to soak in and comment. If we respect Beyonce’s decision to rent out an entire floor of a hospital, keeping hospital beds and service from women and newborns who might have needed it, to delay other parents seeing their own babies in NICU because her daughter was there, then darnit we should let Paula Deen disclose her medical information in her own time, and allow her to disclose what she wishes. Anthony Bourdain et al., until you open up a free, open source to your medical records, ALL OF IT, as well as a continuous feed of your thoughts and feelings, and I mean even if you are thinking about holding in a fart you tweet about it, you have no room to attack. Get back to your own show, buddy, and stop using her condition to booster your own publicity and franchise. Atleast some of her compensation is going to charity.
Most importantly of all, so many people are missing the important lessons she is trying to impart to the rest of us: that diabetes “is not a death sentence” unless you let it and that eating in moderation is important.
Partly due to many diabetics from over the decades, there are plenty of horror stories of diabetics having lost limbs or use of an eye, risk problems with their newborn children if they’re “allowed” to have children in the first place, very life-restricting limitations, whining on commercials about how painful testing one’s glucose level is, etc., and many people use those stories as their heuristic of diabetes, a guideline as to what is and isn’t in store for them. Guess what? Research and awareness has increased, medicine and medical techniques have improved, and patients are more empowered to not make it the evil overlord of their lives. To make this happen, some of your habits have to change, you have look at what is currently going on, and you have to allow yourself to not wallow in self-pity over your diagnosis. However, if you continue bad habits, if you continue to allow old diabetic folk tales of yore and self-pity to limit your life, it will be a death sentence even with the best of health care, because you allowed it to be, you allowed yourself to not live.
Ah, moderation. This reminds me of a unit in my high school philosophy class when we discussed the differences between the original Greek version of Epicurean hedonism and the Roman version. (Note to philosophy experts: I may be oversimplifying or not being 100% accurate, but this was about 13 years ago, a 50-minute, 5 days a week class for a semester covering all of the history of philosophy using the Socratic method of teaching, so please pardon my explanation if it is not up to your standards.) To sum everything up, pleasure is the greatest good. Originally it meant overall pleasure, not just the pleasure of the moment. Have those six chocolate kisses on Christmas and not worry about it – eat, drink and be merry in moderation – enjoy that little bit of life but not to the extent to harm yourself or others. However, the Romans essentially twisted it, eating all the time between visits to the vomitorium (maybe those spaces weren’t really used like that, but you get the point), drinking until one passes out, and being merry until their genitals bleed, and much of American society follows suit. We either extreme diet to fit into a size 0, or we eat five of Paula’s infamous donut burgers a day; we either are all quiet about human sexuality or we let it all hang out; we either don’t play Skyrim at all or we are on it every practical waking moment; we expect all new mothers to breastfeed directly from the tap or to stock up on formula before the baby even arrives; either way we then wonder why we’re sick, troubled, and unhappy. Diabetes is not an allergy to sugar – everyone needs some sugar to survive; however despite what my grandparents among others have been taught to believe, you can’t just eat 10 trips worth of food at the buffet, take your pill and be okay either. It is that fine balance between the two extremes that all of us should live by, diabetic or not, and not just in our health-related habits, either. Our choices of hobbies, relationships, parenting decisions, how we spend our money/time/resources, how we view people alike ourselves and those who are differ, etc., could all stand a little bit of balancing among extremes.
Life is not so much just black and white, but many wonderful shades of gray. A good, fulfilling life is grey, or rather, silver. 🙂