Herself speaks.
I have slightly difficult relationship with food.
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I remember that certain campers at the all-girls sleepaway camp I attended as a tween, were supposed to go up to the main cabin after the mandatory rest time midday, to have milk and cookies. These were the skinny girls who apparently were judged in need of extra calories, in contrast to the campers who were all assigned to the "diet" table in the dining room. There was a nebulous pride around being a milk-and-cookies girl, and a much more distinct shame in being a diet-table girl. How early we start policing girls' bodies, I think now.
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I was a milk-and-cookies girl. I was a scrawny, buck-toothed thing as a tween. My body was perfectly acceptable to me, though -- it worked just fine, I had no complaints. I was a child. It could climb trees, swim, canoe. It was good. I ate when I was hungry. That was all.
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I remember standing on the back porch as a teenager, as an adult relative hissed at me, "I know you are anorexic. I wish you'd get help." I had no response, because I did not have an eating disorder, and in fact had a relatively healthy sense of self for a teenage girl. I just shook my head.
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My body continued to be fine throughout my teen years. Puberty was no worse for me than it was for any other of my peers. I developed some curves, but remained svelte. I ate when I was hungry. That was all.
It was fine in college, and in professional school too -- all that walking around campus, and not keeping snacks in my dorm room, meant that I stayed essentially the same shape-wise. Not quite milk-and-cookies, not diet-table. I ate when I was hungry. That was all.
Somewhere along the line, though, things changed.
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I remember being pregnant, and so hungry, and the cravings, and having to step on the scale every month, every week, every day. And nursing babies, and being SO HUNGRY, and having to figure out what shape I was supposed to be post-partum and as a mother. This body was a little foreign -- it had been through a battle, and I needed to re-learn how best to care for it.
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Being a young mother is so difficult on the body. Not just the growing, delivering, and nursing of the baby, but the messages we got from the media, and somewhat shockingly, the myriad comments from other people on our shape and our weight and what we were doing or not doing, eating or not eating, throughout pregnancy and nursing and well into parenthood.
Add to that, working and trying to care for the family, and somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to tend properly to my body. Eating on the fly, eating baby's leftovers, feeling exhausted and sad. Feeling a momentary comfort in food.
That might be where it began.
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"I was SO GOOD, I didn't have any cake." I stare blankly at the speaker, wondering when not eating something tasty became a Good. And then -- discussion of Keto. Intermittent fasting. Middle-aged women comparing diets. Suddenly food was no longer safe -- it was a guilty pleasure, an indulgence, a moral failing to eat more than one 'should'. And at the same time, the culture of wine and "treat yourself".
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Now, as I try to navigate this middle-aged body, it finds new ways to remind me that I should not eat certain things. Having high cholesterol, as well as food-triggered migraines, has caused a renewed concern about what I do and do not eat; and that does not even begin to address the fact that I need to lose ten pounds before I am no longer considered medically overweight. Every meal is a tiny bit fraught. Can I balance what I need, with what I want, to eat? And why do I want to eat that, anyway? Am I just eating my feelings? Oftentimes, yes. I need not to do that.
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"Just eat big salads. And jump rope." -- the thyroid doctor
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As we enter the holiday season with its pies and fresh breads and seasonal delectables, there is so much guilt over eating some foods, as well as over not eating particular "beneficial" foods. The guilt is compounded by speaking with the people close to me: those who pursue rigorously vegan diets or happily consume a plate of chips without self-loathing. I know that it is a ME problem I have, because their actions -- which are not in and of themselves problematic -- make me feel a particular way about myself, and I do not like how I feel.
Calorie-counting does not help; though it might in the long run facilitate shedding a bit of weight, so closely scrutinizing every morsel lends itself to disordered thinking about food. I wasn't anorexic as a teen; I don't want to go down that road now, either.
As I am, though, being overweight feels like a moral failing. Which is ridiculous. And yet, how I feel -- not for others, but for myself. How have I managed to not even think to judge others for their weight, and yet judge myself so harshly for my own?
I miss those days when I just ate what it seemed like I needed, and that was all that mattered. When the body functioned fine, and I was reasonably happy living in the body as it was.
I need a re-set: a change in how I view food. Food is morally neutral. Body shape, too, is morally neutral. Let's focus on eating nutritious meals when the pangs are hunger pangs, and on not eating when the pangs are feelings.
Maybe I should start with taking the time to just feel the feelings. That might be difficult.
It's going to be an even bigger challenge as we enter the holiday season.
One day at a time.
\I have typed up bun-care instructions. Just in case someone else needs to do the bun work, if -- imagine -- I am otherwise occupied/busy/out of the house.
BUNNY
CARE
Morning and evening routine are the same. I usually
let them out twice a day, in shifts: Mustache and Smudge from 8-9 or 9-10, and
then Poppy and Cookie from 9-10 or 10-11. Evening is usually Mustache and
Smudge from 8-9 and Poppy and Cookie from 9-10.
1. Make
a “moat” around whichever buns are not out, using the big panels Offspring the Third made (e.g.,
put up the panels around Poppy and Cookie first). Let out one set of buns.
2. Put
all their toys (cardboard boxes, tubes, etc.) on the floor if they aren’t there
already.
3. While
they are hopping around, clean the litter boxes. Remove any of the litter that
is wet and the poop (you can leave in any litter that isn’t dirty). Put fresh
litter in to replace what was removed. Put the litter boxes back in the same
corners.
4. Empty
and refill the carrot water bowls.
5. Put
crunchies in the leaf bowls. They don’t need much –a quarter cup of crunchies
per bun.
6. Check
the hay in the various containers. If it looks at all low, add some. There is a
big bag of timothy hay, and smaller bags of special hay for variety. You can
mix and match, giving them some timothy hay and then a handful of special hay.
I tend to put the special hay on one edge in the litter box – for some reason
they like to eat and poop at the same time.
7. When
you’re ready to put a set of buns back in their pen, get some greenery – a few
large lettuce leaves or half a bundle of cilantro – and put it inside the pen. [They
also like broccoli, Brussel sprouts, and carrots, but those should be given
only once in a while.] They will
eventually go in and eat it. Then you can close both doors to the pen.
8. Repeat
the above steps for the second set of buns.
9. Remember
that they like to hide in the recliner chair, so watch out if you sit in it
while they’re hopping around! Also, they will chew on everything so try to keep
them from chewing on the house!
If you have things to do and don’t have time for a
particular morning or evening routine, that’s fine. Just be sure to do the
other routine that day and try to give them some extra hopping around time
during that one routine.
If anyone looks ill or won’t eat, you can call the
vet at [NAME NUMBER ADDRESS]. The bunnies are listed under my name, by each of their names. They can
give you advice or have you take them in. Use the credit card as needed.
.....
It seems like a lot, but really, it's not any worse than cooking meals for small dogs.We do the best we can for the furry critters.
Offspring the Third and his kitties enjoy some relaxation on the couch. It is very nice to have them here.
Herself speaks.
I... am struggling to find holiday spirit this year.
Perhaps it is because I am so very worn from Year 2 of the Pandemic. So little fun and so few adventures, and so much Avoiding of People and Germs. Perhaps it is the looming projects at Work that must be completed before the end of the year. Perhaps it is the forthcoming travel between Thanksgiving and Christmas. The endless tidying of the lovely bunnies, who are charming pets and who do not give a fig about me except for when I provide greenery or prevent them from destructively chewing on all the Things.
Or perhaps it is because Offspring the Second is not here -- he is still Adventuring on his own in points Northwest, and I am happy for him that he has spread his wings and is trying new things and new places. He has always been here for Thanksgiving previously, though, I believe; so this would be the first time in over a quarter of a century that he has not been with us. Yesterday when opened the door to his room to put an item in there, I caught sight of the extremely elderly sneakers that he has worn in the house for years and years and years -- he left them here when he went forth on his Adventures. What a pang in the heart. I hope you are doing well, Offspring the Second. I miss you.
And perhaps, too, there is the echo of the few years when Cherished Friend joined us for Thanksgiving. I am happy for him, too, that he is in Oceanside, working to make his aspirations come to life. I miss his proximity, and especially his Thanksgiving kitchen companionship, very much, though.
I have many things to be thankful for this year: the health and wellness of the people I love; all the necessities of life; a few projects I enjoy on the horizon, that give me Purpose and Meaning. It's a lot. Still, every now and then, I wish for just a tiny bit more. Does that make me ungrateful? Or perhaps it is the gratitude for things I had in the past, that is making me wistful now.
Regardless: at least there is pie.
Eleven trips around the sun ago yesterday, we watched the moon come up over Aden Crater. And today more than ever, I am thankful for that day and that company in that beautiful place. I may not be able to recapture those moments, but I will always remember and be grateful.
I spent much of yesterday taking apart the much-too-small bunk beds in Offspring the Third's room and reorganizing his lair for when he comes home for the holidays. His room is more of a storage-quarters for the gear he is not using at the moment since he spends most of his time living at his apartment near school, but I did the best I could to make sure he and his kitties would have comfortable beds and a space to call their own. It will be nice to have him here.
Right before the Pandemic, when other things were Awful.
First, I found what I thought would be a Very Good Gift Indeed, and I packaged it up carefully and mailed it off with that tiny euphoria that comes with finding just the right thing for the right person. Second, there was an extra smidgen of delight when tracking showed the package would arrive earlier than expected. And then third: the crushing blow of the tracking information showing that delivery was complete, but the package being nowhere to be seen. Fourth was the half-hearted planning of steps to take to recreate the Gift, accompanied by disappointment and idle angry musings about whether something nefarious happened to the package. Fifth, the denouement: the package belatedly and somewhat mysteriously appeared at its destination. Pleased relief, with a small black void left where all the previous feelings used to be. Don't fall in that void. Try to recapture the tiny euphoria of step one.
It seems a little odd, I know, to experience this roller coaster over something as relatively mundane as mailing a Gift. Ongoing Pandemic Life has been so Difficult, though, that the smallest of pleasures become magnified. Small stakes inadvertently seem like bigger stakes. It's all we have.
One day at a time, we go onward.
Marvelous sticker found here: https://www.theawkwardstore.com/
There was a cluster of deer down at the neighborhood park last night when we were out for an evening stroll. Easily a half dozen of them, silent in the shadows under the trees. Lovely.
Herself speaks.
After watching No Time To Die recently, Beloved Husband and I decided to plow our way through all of the James Bond movies. There are many. We've watched all of the ones from the 1960s so far, and it's easy to see the roots of the stereotypical themes of James Bond starting to form: the snazzy cars, the posh clothes, the mandatory chase across some exotic locale, the snappy dialog, the beginnings of fancy gadgets, and above all, the beautiful and ever-so-willing young women whom James Bond easily woos with his words and his physical prowess. It is all a little over the top, and a little silly. Sometimes, though, his one-liners to the women are just so suave.
I think back just a wee bit wistfully to years and years ago when I was young, taut, and cute enough that the occasional man would try a line on me. I always struggled with flirting (in part because I was never quite sure whether a statement constituted flirtation or not) but every now and then, it was clear enough that even I could tell what the point of the conversation was. It would generate a tiny little boost of self-confidence.
It was always a double-edged sword, though -- was someone interested in me as a person, or just me as a warm body? Young women of my generation were taught to be gatekeepers to physical contact, and as a result we were often both frustrated and distrustful. Raised with the statement, "Men only want one thing" ringing our ears; we felt suspicious and guilty, all at once.
In this time of middle age, I find myself wondering: what was so terrible about the idea of young women enjoying their bodies (whether alone or with someone else), that we were discouraged from doing so? I was fortunate enough to grow up in an age with birth control, so unwanted pregnancy was more easily preventable and not real the issue. There is something else there. Society doesn't smile upon independent, free-thinking women, not then, nor even now. And back then, it was positively shocking -- and punishable in James Bond movies by being quickly discarded, or by meeting an untimely demise shortly after a physical encounter. Oh, dear. That's a primitive morality tale that we would be better off without.
This is all a theoretical/mental exercise now, though. Middle age has taken me firmly out of flirtatious-comment territory (as has the 30-year-old ring on my left hand). I am left to hear flirtation vicariously through James Bond movies. Alas.
Oh, well. Onward we go, in invisible-middle-aged-woman-land.
Only another couple of decades more until I enter old-woman-harmless-flirtation territory. You know it well from movies and TV: the sort of flirtation that young orderlies use with gray-haired, hunchbacked little old ladies as they ferry them through medical facilities.
Things to look forward to!
Herself speaks.
Behold, the train of thought running around in my head while I try to determine what is currently causing my migraine-y status:
1. How long has the pandemic been going on? I have no sense of time any more.
2. Must be nearly two years, since this is the second holiday season with Plague.
3. I should get out some holiday candles because the ones we have smell so nice. And are not so pungent as to add to the migraine.
4. Cherished Friend always had a candle/incense/a pleasant aroma in his house.
5. I wonder whether his house in Oceanside has the same scent as his house in the desert did? Does house scent depend on location, or more on people?
6. I would like to see the ocean again someday, it has been a while. And to poke around in some tide pools. Tide pools are neat.
7. Not many fish in tide pools, but hermit crabs and starfish and things. Nifty.
8. Is it consuming fish that is causing the headache problem? That would suck.
9. Maybe I need to find a fishmonger and get only really fresh fish.
10. I do like the word 'fishmonger'.
11. I do not like fishing, though. Beloved Husband and Offspring the Third do, even though it is frustrating when they don't catch anything.
12. Maybe ocean fishing would be different? How far out in the ocean does one need to go to fish?
13. That would involve being on a boat, though. Would that be really nauseating?
14. Don't think about nausea, it's right there behind the headache.
15. I would pay money to watch a YouTube channel with peaceful ocean views from a boat, though. As long as the seas weren't too rough.
16. I suspect sailing a boat involves a fair amount of cursing at things in general.
17. I have been cursing a lot more lately. Maybe it's the headache.
18. I think I will go lie down again.
Medical/body issues today. You have been warned!
Herself speaks.
It's bodily maintenance time! I gathered up all my various bloodwork orders from various doctors and took them in all at once to the lab this past week: cardiology, endocrinology, gynecology. Because I'm that person, I read all the results as soon as they are posted rather than waiting for word from my doctors. And the results were decidedly mixed.
Endocrinology (the thyroid doctor): I win! My vitamin D level is where it needs to be, and my thyroid levels are good, too, which means I don't need any adjusting to the meds I take to keep that thyroid nodule from misbehaving. Look, something's going right!
Gynecology: I... don't know whether I win or lose? Hormones say, looks like I am not near menopause. Which, on the one hand, is good because that gives me more time before potential bone loss (osteoporosis) /cardiac issues/risk of breast cancer increase. On the other hand, it means that I still get to struggle with PMS whenever a cycle decides to happen. And who knows when that will be? Meanwhile, this doctor's office and I have been battling the insurance company for two weeks to try to get a particular prescription for my chronic congenital condition covered. I do not have enough spoons to bird-dog this. Must keep trying.
Cardiology: I lose! Oh, how I lose. Despite all of my efforts -- exercise and diet, lean meat, all the green leafy vegetables, 30 grams of fiber a day, olive oil, all the heart healthy things -- my cholesterol is still crap. Such crap. I think it's pretty clear I'll need to address this with meds, no way around it. Need to protect myself from future disaster. But I am not happy. And in all honesty, I feel like a failure. Like it's a moral failing. I suck as a human being and am apparently incapable of doing the right things to make myself right.
(I will probably have to get past that sentiment. It's not helping. It is, however, how I feel at the moment.)
In the background to all this, let's not forget dermatology, because my face still is tender from the repair from the last MOHS -- and the repair was not ideal, as it has left an unsightly area that should probably be addressed again. I am putting that off because I just Cannot. Even. I do have a dermatology appointment at the end of this month, for the bi-annual skin review to make sure nothing new has popped up that warrants treatment, so I will bring this issue up again then. In the interim, I get to see it every time I look in the mirror. Good times.
Overarching all of it is the chronic migraine situation. It's really hard to be optimistic and let things roll off your back when your head hurts. So often. I might find a different neurologist and try again, because I am not sure that the current throw different meds at things and see what sticks is a good treatment plan. However, change requires spoons that I once more do not have.
Right now, I think it is my attitude that may be the most problematic. Being in A Funk is definitely not helpful, and I am not sure how to dig/climb my way out of this particular Pit of Despair. It also fuels that tiny ugly voice inside that whispers, your body is repellent and people are disgusted by your physical proximity. That voice needs to just shut the f*ck up and go away. I do not want to hear it any more. Am I really so terrible? Who knows? I can see only through my own eyes, and my view is very jaded at the moment.
Maybe I'll find a place to go for a walk outside today. That might help.
One step at a time.
Facebook ads gets it right with this "just for you": Renaissance Brocade Gown. HECK YES. I would wear this DELIGHTEDLY.
I did not dress up for Halloween this year; I just did not have the mental energy to plan a new costume in advance, and none of the costumes I currently own were adequate for various reasons. So alas. The best I could do was an anti-plague face mask with little pumpkins printed on it.
Next year, I want to do full costume. Something different, something new -- I don't go out or dress up terribly often, and it would be really nice to wear something that makes me feel pretty.
Herself speaks.
I have a lot of mental clutter that I'm sorting through at the moment, so please forgive the sparseness and lack-of-depth of the posts. I'll get back on track, as soon as I can.
In the meanwhile, please do enjoy how one of the buns has been entertaining us with his odd feet placements -- in the water bowl, and hanging out of the tube. Hee!
I still miss the small dogs tremendously, and these moments make me grateful to have these furry feeties in the house.
Good bun.
*
