The World According to EDW

I'm back on Weight Watchers after an absence of six weeks. At least. Sometimes I made the motions of tracking, only to throw it up in the air. Other times I actually tracked the 50 points I ate for the day. (Note: I don't get that many points a day, not by a long shot.) That was progress.

But as of yesterday, I am really, truly, back on. I've got to drop the holiday weight and get back to where I was before a friend showed up the day after Thanksgiving and I ate a stuffing sandwich. That was the moment of my downfall, and while I went up and down a bit before this last, long tango with indulgence, I know it started there.

It was a heavy social scene this fall. A lot of going out, a lot of drinking, some incredibly embarrassing visits to the Windmill, where drunken people eating cheese fries is the norm. But it was fun. A lot of fun. And happily, I learned I can do that. Yep, I can lose all sense and still lose or maintain my weight. What I can't do is self-medicate with food, and that's exactly what I've been doing.

Thanksgiving, my girls trip, and Christmas were one thing - well, a lot of things, but also, doable things. And then January 2nd came, and I was ready. Ready to kiss the cookies goodbye. Until I got that phone call from my mom. And the truth is, peanut butter cups do make me feel better. They work. Maybe "vigorous" exercise would work, too - people always say that - but it's January. And it's cold. And all I want to do is sit on my couch, get lost in a story - TV, movie, blog, book - and have some happy making chocolate. I don't want to sweat it all away, and I sure as hell don't want to feel it.

So here I am.

I'm still in the same size, a 10, but in the jeans I kept at the very back of my closet, the "high" 10's. You know them. The ones you wear the day after that holiday dinner. Not the skinny, smoking hot dark wash ones you wear out. I want to be in those skinny ones.

I've been going through pictures, because I want to remind myself where I was last year at this time. I'm startled by the pictures, again and again. I'm pretty, to be sure, but heavy. Who was this girl that missed the prettiness of herself and the heaviness? Did I not see any of myself clearly, at all? The weight loss has had the opposite effect on me. Instead of being pleased by my progress, I'm critical of how much farther I have to go. Instead of being the woman who didn't see how heavy she was, I am, nearly without fail, the woman is is trying to be realistic about what she still has to lose. So these pictures are an exercise for me. A little, hey, look at how far you have come! Look at how much further you are right now then you were a year ago! Look at you!

So here we go.

Me, a year ago, going out in Vegas with Richelle and Lisa:


And me, the weekend before last, taken by Courtney.


I'm going to try to get some more pictures this weekend, when I'm with Michelle and Molly, my girlfriends from college. And I'll subject you all to those, too. So. how are your exercise and weight loss efforts going, post-holidays?

I am in awe today.

If you're over it, if you're at work, if you're otherwise engaged, do yourself a favor and watch the coverage tonight, the clips on the internet. I just saw the the incoming President and his wife meet the outgoing President and his wife. It was a lovely gracious moment, and it was done without fear for anyone's life from a rival faction.

A peaceful transfer of power. We are so blessed to live in a country where this is more than possible, but expected.

Don't let this one get away. Tune in. I'll be on Twitter, commenting like I would if you were in the room.

The cars are moving! Our current President and our future President in the same car, sitting together. It's just amazing to me, that we do this with such civility and peace. We are truly lucky.

Wow. I had no idea the Fergie post would spark so many comments...it was akin to my very own de-lurking day, which I completely skipped this year. So thanks for the Fergie input. We are listening to "Clumsy" daily now, once on the way to school and once on the way home. It's Emily's current favorite song. I even had to buy the clean version of "London Bridge". Which isn't super clean if you're say, 14, but if you're 4, I don't think you notice the glaring omission of "fuck" and "whore". And the replacement of "oh shit" with "oh snap" doesn't even register. Thankfully.

So it's been a few days, and that's mostly because I haven't been in my house. Thursday...is a blur. What did I do Thursday? No idea. Friday I spent with my friend Kim, which I kind of think I might be writing about tomorrow. Friday night Courtney arrived, and she left today...right about now. We had fun. We did a lot of stuff. We went out, we stayed home, we saw live bands, we ate pad thai, we drank beer, we shopped. We shopped a lot. We saw Slumdog Millionaire, we watched Grosse Point Blank, we watched nearly all of Ocean's Thirteen and much of Ocean's Eleven.

Here's some of her pictures:







And Courtney's photostream, so you can see the rest.

We had a really good weekend. And today, I am super excited about tomorrow morning. History being made and all that. It's just amazing for me to see the tears in the eyes of people who never thought they'd see the day when a black man would be President of our nation. The rest of the stuff is still there in my life, but this makes me happy. Really happy.

In which I confess to buying a Fergie album.


Have you ever seen Office Space? There's this incredibly hilarious scene in the beginning where the main character, Peter, is meeting a hypnotherapist.

Peter: "So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized, ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's on the worst day of my life. "
Therapist: "What about today? Is today the worst day of your life?
Peter: "Yeah."
Therapist: "Wow, that's messed up."

But hilarious.

So, for reasons I cannot blog about and some I already have, I was less than perky the other day. And it's weird for me to be anything but basically happy, so when I'm not, I really feel it. And I apologize for it. And then I get into whether or not I have permission to feel my feelings and it gets very very tangled. So instead of going there, I bought a Fergie album.

The thing is, I have always mocked Fergie. Skanky, I think, is the word I used for her. But if we are being honest, and we are, I only started to dislike her when she took up with Josh.

Josh Duhamel. He's one of my fictitious boyfriends. He's on my list. He's so cute when he smiles!

So when they got together and then engaged, oh, the horror. I did the most base girl thing and just hated her. And then I did the music snob thing. And then, Sunday, I was in Macy's with Jodi and the MAC counter was playing "Clumsy".

And I fell in like.

Not to mention, the deed was done. They had, in fact, gotten hitched that weekend. While I was grooving against my will, Mrs. Josh Duhamel was heading to her honeymoon with her gorgeous man. I can't begrudge her that. She does have excellent taste in men. And her HP commercials are strangely watchable. And the album, I...like it. It makes me happy. Almost as happy as watching a Josh-heavy episode of Las Vegas on TNT.

I tried to explain the situation to Nick.
Me: "It's all over. He got married this weekend."
Nick: "Who?"
Me: "Josh. He's still on my list though."
Nick: "I got news for you. You're not on his."

Thanks, babe. But don't fear, MJ came through for me, posting about how he likes The Dutchess, too. The album is strangely addictive. Emily, for instance, is insisting on dancing it out to "the tumbling song" once an hour. And despite being so freaking hot and married to the man of my dreams, I find Fergie rather likable. Oh. My. God. It's gotten to me. This is like that time I kept watching the "Jenny From the Block" video. Remember it? It was the paparazzi stuff. Do you think J Lo ever watches that and is like, Damn, remember when I was with Ben and he looked good? No? I think she does.

Sorry, gotta go groove. Weigh in and we can talk guilty pleasures.

It's been five years since my aunt left this world, since she died from a long, hard fight with cancer. The sadness has been around me for a few days, like my body remembers. My mind does. My heart does.

I think of Sarah, who is old enough to remember. Jack, who has fewer memories of her. Owen, the miracle baby, the sweet angel who didn't get to meet her but who I am sure she knows. My cousin, especially my cousin, who lost the most important woman in her life. Her mom was her confidante, mentor, and friend. They had an amazing relationship. A daughter who couldn't have loved her mother more, and a mother who appreciated her daughter.

My aunt had a natural curiosity about people. She made friends everywhere she went. I never once went anywhere with her where she didn't run into someone she knew, or barring that, made a new friend. Not even a trip to the grocery store was complete without her chatting with a neighbor, school friend, or distant relative. It makes me smile to remember her meeting and greeting.

My cousin taught me everything I would ever need to know about surviving grief in those early months. It was a privilege to know her then, as it is now. I am so proud of my cousin, of who she is, of who she has become. I know her mom is proud of her, too.

And I know my aunt lives on. In her grandchildren, in her daughter, and in a world without end.

This was this girl in high school who had perfect hair. I'm sure if I asked my guy friends from that time, they'd say she was "hot", but that seems a bit too crude for what she was. She was pretty, maybe beautiful. But it was really her hair. She had perfect hair.

I was on the way home from dropping Emily off at school, and the Nada Surf song "Popular" came on the radio. It made me think about this girl, and her perfect hair. In an interesting twist, I was listening to the same frequency I listened to in high school, 106.3, although the station it used to be is long gone. And I was coming from the same campus where I went to high school, as the preschool Emily attends is next to the high school I went to.

So there I am, driving along the same streets essentially, listening to Nada Surf, and the lyric about washing your hair hits me. The lyrics are from an old guide to teen popularity, and one mentions washing your hair at least once every two weeks. I'm thinking, how weird is that? How we wash our hair has changed so much. Who in this day doesn't wash their hair all the time? And then she popped into my head. Girls with really great hair don't wash it every day. I distinctly remember She of the Great Hair discussing this once in class. Probably on day two of her perfect hair, when instead of wearing it down and swimsuit model style, she wore it twisted around with a headband in.

The sad thing about this girl was that she seemed a little sad. She was a bit apart from everyone else. I remember seeing her in class, boys trying to joke with her, and her very carefully held response. I always thought she moved like royalty, but not in the way other high school girls did. Popular girls always move like they deserve something, but this girl moved like she was apart. Above, and apart.

I think, had you asked me then, she was the one and only girl I would have traded places with. I'd have taken her hair, her acccessories, her birthright of popularity. But even then, I wondered if she was really happy. Maybe she was. But I know that in general, I was, unpopular state and all. I'd rather have my frequently frizzy hair, my goofy way of moving, and the friends I still speak to.

But damn. That hair.

This is the post where I say that I'm thankful for my inlaws.

Sorry. I hope you were sitting down.

Of course I love my inlaws. Everyone loves them. Sean loves them. Courtney loves them. Erika and Lyz and Kat would love them if they met them. Jodi and Greg, Jackie and Andrew, my mom and dad. Everyone loves them. Molly and Michelle met them for the first time on New Year's Eve in 1996. My future mother-in-law was tipsy, and she kicked back some wine with us. Who doesn't love a woman who drinks with you? I seriously believe that some of our best times are she and I and a bottle of wine.

As you might remember, all of us went on a cruise in August, a cruise that they very generously shelled out the money for. And more than that, they paid our bar bill. Now, that's generosity. To put it in perspective, on day four of the cruise I was with Nick in the gift shop. A woman walked by and said, "Hey, Nick," to which he replied, "Hey, Irma". Who was that, I queried. "That's Irma, the waitress at the Biergarten," my husband replied. "She knows your name?" I said, incredulously. Yes, she did. And, to be fair, I think the bartenders at the champagne bar might have known my sister in law and I on sight.

So there's lots of reasons to love my inlaws. Besides the cruise, and the general friendliness they display to every friend I have ever had. Besides my mother in law frequently telling me that I don't need makeup, that I look cute when I'm in sweatpants, a thermal shirt, glasses, and with a scarf around my throat. Besides the way they love my daughter and support my husband. Besides the way my father in law will laugh with me, or listen to me, or come over immediately when my basement is flooded.

In the end, you don't love people for what they do, but for who they are. And tonight, I am grateful for who they are. When the shit hits the proverbial fan, it's who you are that comes out. And while our family, and by that I mean the family I married into, isn't exactly between a rock and hard place, there is a fan and there is some shit.

So tonight I am thankful for my inlaws. I might not say it a lot, and I sure as hell blow it off as a joke in their presence. And I have been known to make my feelings known on anything I might possibly disagree with them on. In other words, I'm a handful as a daughter in law. I'm just what you would expect from me. I'm not nice, I don't sugarcoat, I never bullshit them. But somehow, that doesn't matter.

We are truly family, and for that I am grateful.


All my love, N and A. xoxo.

Last night I started a post, promising to reply to comments and return calls and generally be in the land of the living, starting today.

Me thinks I was a bit too hasty.

It's not that I don't love you. I do. I'm just sad. And I don't have a lot to say about being sad.

If you are one of those friends reaching out to me, go read Jen's post where she mentions NOT emailing me. It's scary how on target she is. Almost as scary as my friend Lisa leaving me a message where she explains that she knows I'm not picking up, but that's okay, she'll call back. Or Courtney leaving like five messages and a daily email, checking in.

I know, I know.

On the plus side, I did go to Weight Watchers and weighed in after my super scary lack of any balance or judgment. It wasn't too bad, really. Up 4.4 pounds from my two weeks of complete abandon. I take that as a victory.

After that, I went promptly to the gym, where I did a yoga/Pilates class in which I was the very fattest person in the class. I so wish I was kidding. It was the class of Amazingly Skinny Women. There was no sign on the door announcing this; it seemed a bit unfair to have every non-working woman in my town with great legs in the room at once. I kind of suck at this class as it is. I'm not the pro that some others are, with their perfectly coordinated moves and did I mention their skinny, skinny legs? Because their legs were pretty skinny. So to be uncoordinated and the heaviest, well, that just seems wrong. It was a big old case of second best. Or possibly 25th best. The room was pretty full.

If you're not already depressed, a class like that will make you blue.

Blue it did make me, but today I soldiered on. I went to the bank, and didn't withdraw all my money. (Do you ever want to do this, just for kicks? It flits through my mind, but with a close edge of panic.) I went to the grocery store and bought good food, not one piece of ridiculous junk I keep just in case, but end up eating because the truth is, I cannot be trusted with Smart Food or dark chocolate in my house. Their siren call is too loud for me to ignore.

And then I went home and replied to a few emails. I'd tell you that you're next, but the truth is I don't know. Maybe if the sun starts shining in this state, I'll be able to throw out a few more promises.

On another note, I am so glad to have addicted some of you to Twilight. If you're not sold, and especially if you are a fellow addict, check out this article. It's pretty spot-on, and not snooty. I'm so over snooty, unless I'm the one dishing it out.

Thanks for hanging in here with me. xoxo.

Do you ever open up your fridge and think, I want something really good to eat, but you don't know exactly what that might be? So then you paw through the contents of your fridge, wondering who exactly bought all this shit and why there's not a perfect snack just waiting for you. And then, sadly, you realize that you bought all this shit.

Grown-up life. It's not the 24 hour party we'd thought it'd be, is it?

So, we got good news today. And that was pretty wonderful. Not about my mom, but that's okay. I only need one thing to work out perfectly, to be easy. Only one. The rest, I'll take the uncertainty and the worries.

So I have a serious question. (I'm watching The Bachelor.) Why do women my age all look so old on TV? I'm only 34. Why do these 34 year olds look OLD? Like, a good ten years older, at least. If not 20 years. Do I look that old? Would I, on TV? Is it just all the makeup they have on? Thoughts? Opinions?

Also, I am still obsessed with Twilight. I have now seen it four times, and am rereading the series. I am trying to hook every girlfriend I have on the series. I am twelve. Maybe fifteen. But it's fun! Are you not hooked yet? Then, please, come over to the dark side. I'll even go to the movie with you!

By the way, the lyrics the last few days have been from Crowded House's song "Now We're Getting somewhere". Today it's U2, "Walk On". I think I feel a playlist coming on.

So, I'm wallowing.

It gets very exhausting, being positive. Tomorrow Christmas vacation will be over, for me and Emily and Nick, too, who has been off since December 23rd. We're back to work and school tomorrow, and I guess I'm back to my functioning self.

Or not.

I have greatly enjoyed eating anything and everything in my sight. The lack of balance has been pretty nice, actually, when I've spent the good portion of a year working on balance, balance, balance.

The truth is, there are things bothering my besides my mom. Things I cannot blog about, because they are not mine. But they affect people I love, and it's not good stuff. It's sad and it's hard, and if in the end, we all walk away, fine. But pieces of us will be missing. And that's the saddest part, the loss of possibility, the loss of future. I can only keep my fingers crossed, offer up a prayer, and hope and wait.

So in the midst of this, and in the spirit of the new year, and because it's a recession, I decided to do something women all over the world do when faced with difficulties in life. I changed my hair.

I've held out on this for a while, refusing to pay the money to the salon when my color was perfectly good, perfectly functional. But I was browsing through Harmon yesterday, which is this awesome store that sells all beauty and cosmetic stuff, and has a really, really kick-ass travel aisle. I could spend hours there. Seriously. It's very soothing to be surrounded by the promises of better skin, better hair, and longer eyelashes.

I was shopping the aisles, getting only the things on my list, when I turned down the hair care aisle. And there they were. Rows and rows of hair dye, colors not found in nature, and hawked by stars who have never self-mixed in their life. I was drawn to them like a bug to light.

I started texting.

Kim and Mike voted for Cardinal, aka Rich Auburn, aka L'Oreal Feria #67. Jodi assured me that dyeing my hair at home, by myself, possibly beer in hand, was not insanity. I was sold. I threw it in my hand held basket, and headed to the checkout.

Hours later, we had a house party. Friends over, beer flowing, poker being played. Kim and I headed upstairs to commence the dyeing. Of course we took pictures.

Would you let this woman dye your hair?


Me, before. Note the beer, and the piles of food next to me. Party!


Mixing it up


No turning back


How will it look dry?


Final product!


I like it. I like it a lot. And I swear I have paid good money for this same exact color at the salon I go to. Now, I love my hairdresser. Adore her. But really. Did I need to pay her to do that?

Here's the set, if you're so inclined.


I thank you, too, for your support. I can't promise happy, but I swear I'll work on returning the phone calls and emails. xoxo.

There is absolutely nothing more exhausting then telling people, again, that your mom's cancer is not out of remission and that she starts chemo on the 7th. By email, phone call, Facebook, or blog, it all sucks.

I know 2008 was a hard year for many people, but I was happy at the end that we were all healthy and well. And I hate that this is my first message of 2009. This is almost a yearly conversation. I had half a mind to call a friend who posts on this blog sometimes and ask her to write this, because I don't want to tell people again.

I don't want to field concerned phone calls, to hear my mother in law cry over the news, to get choked up by the sweet replies to my mass emails and the love that pours out.

But mostly, I don't want my mom to go through this again.

Yet, I am grateful that she is still alive, that she had a few months of remission, that research makes it possible that when this round of chemo is done, there will be a new drug to help her stave off the next recurrence, or even help cure her. We're lucky. Despite this news, we are lucky.