When I'm not playing Candy Crush on my Kindle, I'm reading a very interesting book called A Year Without Sugar by Eve Schaub. As someone who struggles with a sweet tooth (especially after 7:00pm) and have only managed to go three days without some kind of dessert, I just had to read how the author lived without sugar for an entire year.
It turns out, she wasn't alone in this quest. She convinced her husband and TWO CHILDREN to go on this little journey with her. Although the kids weren't initially keen on the idea (they actually burst into tears at the mere thought of giving up sweets for 365 days), their parents built in a few compromises to keep everyone on track. The family would be allowed to have one dessert per month and birthday party behavior would be at the discretion of the invitee.
I haven't finished the book yet so I'm not sure what my final response will be to the very scary facts presented within. I will say that I'm reading labels much more carefully (do you know how much sugar is in ketchup?) and I'm rejecting a lot more purchases at the grocery store. (Goodbye, Frosted Mini-Wheats; Hello, Cheerios.)
The author talks about how it's nearly impossible to find a cereal without sugar (shredded wheat and/or oatmeal being the lone holdouts) and how much waitresses hate her. Her observations on the struggle to abstain from fructose are funny and enlightening and I'm learning a lot. I still haven't watched the YouTube video that started her experiment, "Sugar: The Bitter Truth" by Dr. Robert Lustig but it's on my list of required viewing. Maybe he'll be able to scare me off the sweet stuff for good, too. With statistics like "Our generation is on average twenty-five pounds heavier than our counterparts from twenty-five years ago" and "Americans are currently consuming sixty-three pounds per person of high-fructose corn syrup per year" he's made me sit up and take notice. Maybe I'll have to find a way to live without donuts. Maybe I'll have to find a substitute for double chocolate brownies. But, even if I do, there's always one sweet treat I can still indulge in.
Candy Crush might be another addiction but at least I can turn to that without gaining a pound.
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Monday, June 16, 2014
Careful What You Wish For
When I started writing this blog a few years ago, my goal was to document my transition from full-time mom to whatever I turned out to be when I grew up. (Still waiting.) Since my original mission statement, "All I ever wanted to be was a mom; now all I want is to get my kids out of my house") still resides on my page, you could easily conclude that a) Not much has changed and I'm still eagerly awaiting their departure or b) Things have changed but I'm just too lazy to come up with a new sound-bite for my weekly journal.
As of yesterday, it's a little bit of both.
I've known for awhile that my son has been contemplating a major life change. I got a big clue when he moved back in with us in December, a week after our daughter packed up her stuff and vacated her room for good (or so she says . . . married, pregnant offspring have been known to show up on their parents' doorsteps . . . or have you not seen Father of the Bride Part II?). After living on his own for two years, I knew he wasn't heading back to the ranch for my home cooking or sparkling conversation - he was coming back because he knew it was the quickest way for him to save up the cash he needed to get out of Dodge for good. All this togetherness would be temporary; he had made up his mind; he was finally going to relocate to his habitat of choice - Colorado.
And now we have a date.
On August 9th, my husband and I will become empty nesters. We will help our son pack up his belongings (a lot of clothes, a laptop and several crates full of Legos) and load them into a POD bound for Denver. We will stand on the driveway and wave as he pulls out of the cul-de-sac, knowing that we're going to go from seeing him every day to seeing him two or three times a year. We'll walk back into a quiet house and realize that that day I so glibly wished for when I started writing this blog, has finally arrived.
Funny. I don't think I'll feel like celebrating.
As of yesterday, it's a little bit of both.
I've known for awhile that my son has been contemplating a major life change. I got a big clue when he moved back in with us in December, a week after our daughter packed up her stuff and vacated her room for good (or so she says . . . married, pregnant offspring have been known to show up on their parents' doorsteps . . . or have you not seen Father of the Bride Part II?). After living on his own for two years, I knew he wasn't heading back to the ranch for my home cooking or sparkling conversation - he was coming back because he knew it was the quickest way for him to save up the cash he needed to get out of Dodge for good. All this togetherness would be temporary; he had made up his mind; he was finally going to relocate to his habitat of choice - Colorado.
And now we have a date.
On August 9th, my husband and I will become empty nesters. We will help our son pack up his belongings (a lot of clothes, a laptop and several crates full of Legos) and load them into a POD bound for Denver. We will stand on the driveway and wave as he pulls out of the cul-de-sac, knowing that we're going to go from seeing him every day to seeing him two or three times a year. We'll walk back into a quiet house and realize that that day I so glibly wished for when I started writing this blog, has finally arrived.
Funny. I don't think I'll feel like celebrating.
Monday, June 2, 2014
Who's on First?
I'd be the first to admit that I sometimes take sports just a little too seriously. When the Cubs were a couple of outs away from getting into the World Series and blew it (I know it wasn't your fault, Mr. Bartman); when the Bears failed to beat the Colts (and that no-talent Peyton Manning) for their second Super Bowl; when the Europeans stole the Ryder Cup from us at Medinah, I let those crushing defeats get to me in a way that was only marginally less than how it must have affected the actual participants. I know it's only a game. But it's a game I often get way too emotionally invested in.
Take last Monday.
After watching my favorite hockey team lose Game 7 at home in overtime (after coughing up several leads), I'm sorry to say I had a rough time sleeping. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing that stupid puck bounce off our defenseman's shoulder into the goal. Crazy, right? The next morning, still bummed out about an event that had no affect on my actual life, I had to ask my bleary-eyed self one question. Why do I care so much? Why do I take someone else's endeavors so seriously? Why do I let a sports disappointment affect me in such a negative way?
I'm not sure if I know the answer but I think I know what I have to do about it. I have to try to use some of the energy I expend watching and worrying about whether my team is going to do what I'd like them to do and start worrying about how (and when) I'm going to start focusing on what I want to accomplish in my own life. It's not as if Jonathan Toews is worrying about whether or not I get my book edited. It's not as if Patrick Kane is tossing and turning trying to figure out how I'm going to turn my love of writing into something that can pay a couple of bills. And, more importantly, not one of my beloved Blackhawks is going to help me deal with the fact that my youngest child is about to move very far away in the very near future.
Getting through that last one is going to be tougher than any Game 7 I can imagine.
Take last Monday.
After watching my favorite hockey team lose Game 7 at home in overtime (after coughing up several leads), I'm sorry to say I had a rough time sleeping. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing that stupid puck bounce off our defenseman's shoulder into the goal. Crazy, right? The next morning, still bummed out about an event that had no affect on my actual life, I had to ask my bleary-eyed self one question. Why do I care so much? Why do I take someone else's endeavors so seriously? Why do I let a sports disappointment affect me in such a negative way?
I'm not sure if I know the answer but I think I know what I have to do about it. I have to try to use some of the energy I expend watching and worrying about whether my team is going to do what I'd like them to do and start worrying about how (and when) I'm going to start focusing on what I want to accomplish in my own life. It's not as if Jonathan Toews is worrying about whether or not I get my book edited. It's not as if Patrick Kane is tossing and turning trying to figure out how I'm going to turn my love of writing into something that can pay a couple of bills. And, more importantly, not one of my beloved Blackhawks is going to help me deal with the fact that my youngest child is about to move very far away in the very near future.
Getting through that last one is going to be tougher than any Game 7 I can imagine.
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