Socal Mom by Donna Schwartz Mills

Vacations

 

I love our vacations because the stressed out, overworked, rigid man I've been living with the last couple of years relaxes...

...and once again becomes the funny, sweet, sunny man I married.

Of all the photos I've ever shot, this one may be my favorite. It shows him in vacation mode, thoroughly relaxed and playful.

Vacations bring out the best in both of us. I wish we could take them more often.

Orthodontia

I have bad teeth.

I tweet a lot from the dentist's chair - because I have to visit fairly often. I trace my problems back to a hellish third grade dental checkup when my parents were informed that I had 21 cavities.

Looking back, I try to imagine the horror they felt at that news; what that must have done to their budget. But back then, all I really cared about was the discomfort it caused me. Over the next few months, I went back to the dentist several times to get those cavities filled - four or five at a time. Back then, the silver amalgam material that was used was tamped down and held in place with screws, so I would have to keep my mouth open for quite a long time with these long things coming out at different angles.

The following year, the dentist told my parents that I only had one cavity - but my sister had 20.

They marched her off to another dentist for a second opinion. He only found three.

We switched dentists. I think my parents may have sued the original one. I don't know what, if anything, came of that.

But the damage to my mouth was done, and my own bad habits haven't helped. Over the years, those old fillings in my teeth decayed further. I've had root canals and crowns and bridges and teeth pulled. I have issues with my gums. And as I get older, I have a lot of guilt and remorse and fear and dismay.

The dentists and hygienists I've used over the years have given me a lot of explanations: My enamel is unusually soft. The chemistry in my mouth has a tendency to create more tartar than average. I need to be more vigilant. It's probably hereditary.

Apparently, I've passed these traits on to my daughter. Which makes me feel even more guilty.

I never had braces (which is obvious if you have ever seen me smile). So I've had no personal experience to fall back on while my daughter has been undergoing orthodontia.

After 18 months of wearing braces, her orthodontist had to take them off, because the metal was staining her teeth and eroding the enamel. From that point on, I took her for regular dental cleanings every two months. In fact, we are both on the 2-3 month dental cleaning schedule, which is more often than our insurance covers. I'm just grateful to have any dental insurance at all and feel that every little bit helps. And it's a small price to pay if I can avoid more root canals and deep dental cleanings.

Our hygienist gave my daughter a paste that helps rebuild enamel. She applies it religiously.

"It's not totally her fault," her dentist told me. "Her teeth are just really soft. It probably runs in the family."

After close to a year, her enamel had recovered enough to allow the braces back on - but the damage to her teeth is permanent.

"You'll be able to fix that with veneers," our hygienist said helpfully.

Another expense that's not covered by insurance - which, of course, I'm going to want to do. I realize that all I'm guilty of is wanting my beautiful daughter to have a beautiful smile. But I did pass my lousy dental genes on to her, and I feel guilty for that, too.

We spent an hour yesterday morning at the orthodontist, where she had rings and rubber bands put in. I think this is the final phase. She's in a lot of pain.

There's not a lot I can do for her, except to let her know I sympathize while I slip her an Advil. And wallow in my guilt.

When Times Get Tough, the Tough Get...

...superstitious?

How else to explain the fact that I received THREE chain emails this morning promising me luck, prosperity and the granting of wishes?

Money Angel

This is a money angel Pass it to 6 of your good friends, or family and be rich in 4 Days.

Pass it to 12 of your good friends or family and be rich in 2 Days.

I am not joking. You will find an unexpected windfall. If you delete it, you will never know!

SHE REALLY WORKS!!

I am ashamed to say that I passed one of the emails on to a few friends who I knew would not be irritated by it.

Like just about everyone else, the continuous barrage of bad economic news has made my anxiety level go sky-high.

It is getting to the point where I need to turn off the news. As long as I don't know that the Dow has hit its lowest mark since 1997, or AIG posted the largest corporate loss in history, or check what's left of my portfolio...

...I can go about just living my life: making my daughter's lunch, doing the laundry, driving her to school and gym. If I don't pay attention to the news, I can reflect on how nice it is to have a comfortable home in a nice neighborhood. I can appreciate my friends and family. I can be thankful that we all have our health.

As long as I can make like an ostrich and stick my head in the ground, I will be fine.

As long as my husband can hold on to his job, we will be fine.

As long as the woman who employs me as a virtual assistant has work for me to do, I can help make up for our budget shortfalls.

As long as we can resist slipping back into old spending habits, we have a chance of riding this out.

I am fortunate to have married an optimist. My husband is one of those people who always sees the cup as half-full, looks at crises as challenges, and rarely allows his determination to flag. Research shows that people like him live longer, healthier, happier lives.

This is good, because I will need him to take care of me when I get carted off to the asylum.

My upbringing taught me that fortunes can change in an instant and that your life can go to hell when you least expect it. Because of the way I grew up, I am never able to enjoy my life when times are good, because I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The misfortunes of my childhood have been a driving factor in the way I've raised my own daughter. I was a lonely, friendless, unhappy kid and a mess of a teenager.

It did not help that the year I turned 13, my dad lost his job - and as a result, we had to sell our four-bedroom house and move into a two-bedroom apartment while he rebuilt his career.

Nobody suffered physically from these changes. We continued to eat three square meals a day, kept a roof over our heads and stayed healthy -- but it took an emotional toll on all of us.

I have spent my time as a mother trying to make sure my kid doesn't grow up with the same problems I had, and so far, I've done a good job. She's secure, confident, successful and happy -- and has lots of friends at school and gym.

But now, we have this global economic disaster, just as she's hitting 13. Everything is spiraling out of control, and I'm afraid that my worst nightmares are coming true.

So I think twice before I delete emails that promise good luck if I don't break the chain. And while I don't believe in their magic, I can't help but dream of the miracle of a financial windfall that might give me some elusive peace of mind.

Excuse me now. I need to buy a lottery ticket.

Stress Eating

As some of you know, I recently lost a significant amount of weight. I am now trying to maintain that loss, and discovering that in some respects, it's harder than losing the pounds in the first place.

Tuesdays are the one night of the week when the whole family is home early; it's the night I actually have time to cook. As I'm still playing catch-up after all the business travel I did the last couple of weeks, I decided to make a turkey stew that is not technically low-calorie, but something I've enjoyed since starting maintenance (without causing any weight gain). The beauty of it is that it only requires me to work in the kitchen for about 30 minutes -- the rest of the time, I just let it simmer while I continue working on projects.

And since my work load right now is so overwhelming, I ended up skipping my time in the gym. Looking back, I think that was a major contributor to yesterday's problems.

Yesterday ended up being one major binge.

I started small. I had a second grande non-fat latte, in the afternoon. An extra 130 calories. No big deal, right?

But then, while cooking the stew, I found myself craving bread. Not just any bread, but this nice loaf of artisanal whole wheat that I'd purchased for the family for their dinner on Sunday. Big mistake.

I've been trying to make friends with carbohydrates again; telling myself that they are not ALL evil, and attempting to find the level I can consume without harming my maintenance. One slice of high fiber, really GOOD bread shouldn't do any harm, don't you think?

The problem was that I wasn't able to stop at the one slice.

This tends to be my issue with carbs. I'm like an alcoholic who thinks just one little drink isn't going to hurt. There are times when that one little bite of pasta sets me up for a lost weekend of major carb loading.

The problem with this particular loaf of bread is that my daughter (who likes that bakery's white bread) balked at the whole wheat loaf on Sunday. My husband liked the bread, but he doesn't have my carb addiction. So by last  night, I had a half loaf of this amazing bread (and it truly was! I am taking some small consolation in the fact that I did not sabotage my maintenance with junk calories). Another day, and it was going to go badly stale.

Yes, I know I could have stuck it in the freezer for later consumption, but by this time, all rationality went out the window. I WANTED that bread, even though at that time, I wasn't thinking that I would eat the remaining half loaf by myself.

That came later. After I'd had two servings of the stew, and I was still feeling hungry. After I'd said "yes" when my husband asked me if I wanted a glass of wine (and then said "yes" again when he asked if I was allowed a second serving. Don't get me started on how I feel when my husband questions my food choices).

By this time, that bread was the only thing I could think about, and I made a decision. I was going to finish the loaf -- AFTER my family had gone to bed.

Think about that. Since I started my weight loss program, I've managed to fight most of my cravings by distracting myself. I do something else (like play video games) and they pass. Last night, after dinner, I went back to my work project... but still, all I could think about was that half loaf of bread. And as soon as my family went to bed, I was on that bread like white on rice.

I scarfed it down as fast as I could, lest my husband get up and find me there. And as I ate, I wondered why I was sabotaging myself this way. I wasn't hungry. In fact, I've become so unaccustomed to such a huge amount of carbs that it was making me feel kind of woozy. And yet, I didn't stop until I'd finished every last crumb.

Past carb binges occurred when I was pre-menstrual. That wasn't the case last night. So why was I so out of control?

It was getting late. I turned out the lights and grabbed a pillow, so I could fall asleep on the couch with the TV on. I've been doing that a lot the last couple of weeks. The failing economy has affected my family. My husband works in the housing industry, and while he still has a job, he's worried about what the future holds. A writing contract that provided me with the money for our family's extras wasn't renewed this year. The only thing that keeps me from obsessing about our budget when I go to bed at night is falling asleep in front of the TV.

And that's when I came to the realization that I'm feeling stressed. Skipping gym yesterday didn't help (even though I did that so I could finish a paying project). And I remembered the words of my friends who had lost weight last year only to gain a lot of it back: Stress eating is what killed their maintenance.

Today, I am going to the gym, no matter how inconvenient it is. And I'm back to eating the lousy, low-fat, low-calorie, low-carb, diet clinic food until I lose the two pounds I gained between last week's New Jersey trip and last night's close encounter of the bread kind.

Thanksgiving

So last night, we celebrated Thanksgiving at my sister’s house.

I’ve been a bit stressed about this weekend. As I've written here before, I've been on a very strict weight loss regimen for the last four months, and I've been worried about the havoc this holiday would have on that.

Even more stressful was the prospect of seeing my parents.

I have a long history of weight issues with my mother, who says she watches her weight. I say she’s obsessive. I’m going to leave it at that. Let’s just say that I’ve done the yo-yo diet thing for such a long time that I didn’t want to open up that can of worms. So now, four months after my last visit, I was coming up here nearly 40 pounds lighter. And I didn’t want to talk about it with my mother, which sounds strange, because I’m usually delighted when someone notices that I’m losing weight, but that’s how twisted our relationship is.

“Maybe if I wear a big bulky sweater, she won’t notice,” I said to my husband. He didn’t think that would work.

I was helping my sister out in the kitchen when my parents got to her house, and I spent a lot of the evening maneuvering myself behind counters and tables so she wouldn’t notice.

And it worked. By the time we sat down to dinner, I was more relaxed, because I realized that my mother could not tell that I’d lost five dress sizes since the last time she saw me.

And it irked me.

Because even though I am still overweight, I think forty pounds is kind of a significant amount to lose. How could she NOT notice?

Is it because in her eyes, I am still grossly obese? Or is she just that self-involved? (My sister and husband ruled out the possibility that she might not have said anything out of any sensitivity to my feelings. That’s not in her nature.)

And how twisted am I, that I got what I wanted and I’m still upset about it?