I'm divorcing my food

I've always had a rocky relationship with food.

I became intimate with Macaroni and Cheese at an early age. We'd hang out all the time between the ages of 13-19. Good ol' Kraft and I shared many home-alone lunches and dinners. In fact, when I had my jaw wired shut in high school, it was Kraft's yummy cheesy milkiness that maintained my will to live.

During college, food seemed to be my only friend. I have vivid memories of the Holmes' Student Center McDonald's at NIU. I think I ate there at least twice a week.

Things started to get rocky about 7 years ago. Thanks to a bad break-up, food's arch nemesis -- exercise -- started to woo me stronger and faster. Exercise would ply me with ripped muscles, a tiny waist, and shoulder blades to die for. It also helped me secure a few phone numbers at bars and quite a few drinks every where else. During this time I'd separated from food. We were barely on speaking terms and I only used it for Diet Coke and Coffee purposes. I abused caffeine like a junkie on meth. I would ingest anything that would curb my appetite.

When exercise and I fell on hard times during a sprained ankle, food was there to comfort me. It helped keep me warm and didn't yell back at my body when I was in too much pain to move.

Food and I rekindled our romance. We were like peas and carrots. We were in love. When I met my husband, food and exercise were competing equally for my attention. It was probably the healthiest balance I'd ever had.

Food loved my couplehood. I started having menage-a-Twinkies on date nights. Four and half years of that kind of three way has left me in an awful mess. I can't do it anymore.

I must divorce my food.

My husband is open to sharing me with exercise equipment. He loves watching me work the pole I got for Christmas and nothing gets him hotter than my sports bra.

How do I break up with my food? Despite the fact that food beats up my stomach and makes me carry around its weight, I've been in love with food for 32 years. I'm defenseless against it.

Or am I?

I despise my fat self

I was going to write a post about how my new job and my nervous stomach had made for strange -- but welcome -- bedfellows this week. I've not had much of an appetite this week and I'm hoping that the feeling remains.

I was going to write about my nervous stomach until I saw the copy of Star Magazine my stepdaughter brought home today (editor's note: her Grandma bought if for her). The magazine contains a picture of former Wilson-Phillips/gastric-bypass famous/Celebrity Fit Club star Carnie Wilson.
I try to be understanding off all types of people, save for the scumbags that have dumped me or cut me off in traffic. When I saw the picture I felt two things instantly: pity that she'd ballooned up and fear that it's what I looked like, too. She's wearing the same Land's End jacket I have and her hair looks a lot like mine. Her weight is even around what I fear mine might be. I felt instantly sick(er) to my stomach.

I'm inspired by overweight women who've lost weight whether it be through conventional means or not. Riki Lake looks awesome (see link), Sara Rue does, too. Carnie even looked like a total hottie, too.

I'm taking action.

Seriously.

I'm going to do something about fat self. No more second helpings, no more cookie snacks even if they're in the pantry for the kids. Workouts nearly every darn day.

This was never intended to be a weight loss blog but it may turn into one just so I can have some accountability attached to it.

Seriously folks. I despise my fat self.

Yes, I'm trying. Deal with it

When I left my old job, one of the editors mentioned that he didn't feel like he'd lose touch with what was going on in my life because he read my blog. That admission almost made me feel a little nervous because I often write about my struggles with infertility and wanting to be pregnant.

It made me wonder if everyone at work knew that I was reproductively challenged. I realize I don't reveal a lot about it on here or to a lot of people so I guess not everyone knows Clomid and I aren't getting along so well.

What people might be able to guess is that I'd been feeling sad and depressed about my infertility. I was happy on the outside for those who were pregnant or giving birth, but secretly envious and self-deprecating about it on the inside. It's something you can't help but feel when you've seen the promised land but were told to go back to the otherside of the mountain. Anyone who thinks you're a bitch for feeling that way can go suck an egg as far as I'm concerned.

Somehow, if by magic, my disposition changed last week. I realized no one likes a sore loser and good things never come to those who hate. I changed my attitude.

When a friend asked how getting pregnant was coming along I was frank with her: If it doesn't happen, I'll be okay, but I won't deny that it's what I want. It's been great to be an addition to another family (first my mom, stepdad and brother/sister; then my husband, his two kids and his ex-wife) but I'd like a little family to call my own. It's like the 21st century, stepparent equivalent to having land to build a house on: it's more meaningful if it's all yours.

When I saw that there were more subscribers to this blog I got worried that the folks at my new job would read about my pregnancy ambition. Would they automatically cut my contract? Would they reassign me because I was hoping for maternity leave in the next year?

But then I realized I don't care if anyone knows that I'm trying. It took major guts to admit to my husband that I was on Clomid and that it's heartbreaking to be told it's not going to work this cycle during the day-14 ultrasounds.

I find peace in reading or hearing that other people don't have it as great as I thought they did. There are plenty of mommy sites and blogs out there, but there aren't enough people in the world who admit to having problems getting pregnant or how sad it can be.

So I am admitting. Yes, I (I say me possessive because I have the failing ovaries) am trying to get pregnant. This blog will probably sing a different tune a year from now. Either I'll be rattling on about baby formula or the next exotic destination my husband and I are going on.

Deal with it.

I'm Unemployed. Day 2. Someone please rescue me from my stepchildren

I've spent the last 36 hours with at least one of my stepchildren; I've spent 18 hours with both of them.

I'm officially ready to run screaming from my house.

Yesterday, day 1 of my 2-day unemployment break, was supposed to be a peaceful day spent by myself rearranging all of the files and junk I'd accumulated over 3 years in my last job. What it turned into was my watching my stepson all day and then running back and forth between schools to watch a track meet and signing kids up for sports. We finally got home from everything around 8 and I got to see another friendly adult -- my husband -- around 10:30 last night. I was pooped, so was he. We barely saw each other for 30 minutes.

Today the kids and I slept in a little but it's been chaos ever since. I'm helping my husband with a project that took 2.5 hours longer than I'd hoped. In those 2.5 hours, my stepdaughter has consumed an entire container of trail mix and almost refused to eat a more nutritious lunch because she was full. My stepson just wants a buddy to play with and his sister just doesn't want to be bothered. There actually was a brawl earlier that I had to get in the middle of.

Add to that a lovely freezing rain that has coated the streets and you've got one frustrated stepmama.

I love these kids but all I wanted during these two days was peace and quiet which I'm not getting at all. Regardless of their step status I would have wanted to the same peace and calm -- even if they were my own biological children -- during the very few hiatuses I get between jobs.

I just have to hope my husband comes home early so he can wrangle them up and take the somewhere...anywhere...and give me my well deserved time off!

thirtysomething

I had a shameless addiction in my teens: thirtysomething

Not 30-year-olds, not 1930s garb, but the show that aired on ABC on I think it was Thursday nights.

I used to watch the show on ABC and then again on Lifetime when it ran in syndication.

I don't know what drew me to the lives of these chracters. None of them were like me and I was no where near the age of any of the characters yet for some reason I was captivated by their day-to-day life dramas.

I'm admitting to this addiction mostly because I wish I could find reruns of this show now that I'm in my 30s. To the best of my knowledge (and Google searches) they haven't released the show on DVD or on Nick at Nite or Lifetime.

Now that I'm in my 30s I wonder if I'd understand themes and conversations better. Would I be able to empathize with the marital problems or job stresses the characters had? I don't recall any of them being step-parents so I know I wouldn't glean anything from that.

I'd like to bring back thirtysomething or turn Stepmom into a prime time show. Give me something I can empathize with during my evening t.v. veg-fest.

Today I am unemployed

Seriously. I don't know if I'd ever be able to be a stay-at-home mother.

Today was supposed to be a true day off for me. I don't start my new job until Monday and the kids are with me tomorrow for Good Friday. I purposely chose a mid-week end-date so that I could get a couple of days to myself.

I should have known it wasn't going to work out as planned when I started receiving requests to sign so-and-so up for this sport and attend spur-of-the-moment track meets. I was somewhat satiated by the fact that the stepmom-to-do list didn't start until later in the day.

Enter puking stepson at 10:30 p.m. last night. Aaron got the call last night and automatically I was delegated the job of taking care of him today. I love my stepchildren with all of my heart but the thought of taking care of one of the kids really didn't fit into my plan for today -- I wanted to workout for a couple of hours, really clean some of the neglected areas of the house and just have peace and quiet.

True to the saying, life just didn't workout the way I'd planned.

My stepson's puking has travelled to the other end so he's still home with me today, but he's content with his Nintendo DS and isn't acting extremely sick. We still have to head to a track meet this evening and then sign someone up for a sport right after that. Lucky Aaron gets to live it up in a skybox at the Bulls game tonight :-) I'm completely envious -- I love sporting events like that.

This all reminds me of what I hear a day-in-the-life of some SAHM's is like. Frankly, I don't know if I'd be able to do it day-in and day-out. I crave peace and quiet like I crave my favorite Chipotle Burrito Bowl -- decadent to the very end.

Erin Go Bragh!

I cannot thank the Irish enough for this slogan. Without it, my house wouldn't have nearly as many fun pillows and placards with my name on them!

*******
For all those who've ever heard this phrase uttered around St. Patty's day and wondering "why are we telling Erin to go get a bra?" The phrase actually means Ireland Forever....

Divine Comedy

I'm convinced a higher power is sending me a message about my parenting, my relationship with my husband, and my inner peace.

My life has been one giant juxtaposition lately: my infertility treatments aren't working but my can-you-please-clean-your-room-for-the-fifth-time voice certainly is. It seems as though something bigger than me is trying to illustrate what life could continue to be like for the next 18 years should I continue to seek treatment for my uncooperative ovaries.

Have an Aaron and Erin spin-off............or have a calmer life in 12 years.

It's a difficult choice. And with each passing month the choice becomes more of mine to make.

I'll spare the details only to say that my pregnancy last summer was a total freaking fluke. As flukey as flukey gets. The kid never had a shot in hell of surviving what I can only imagine is the wasteland that is my uterus.

What isn't a fluke is that everything I'd done unto my stepfather is being done unto me now. God I was a little shit and if I could pick any time to return to it would be when my mom married my stepdad. I would have been an angel instead of a pain in the ass.

Don't get me wrong, my stepkids are well-behaved and will probably never write me a "Dear Mrs. Pain-in-the-Ass" letter similar to what I did to my parents when I was 13; however, these have been trying times around our house lately. More for me, Mrs. Control Freak, than anyone.

I'd like to blame the weather for my problems. The crappy winter that we were dealt has made me angry and vile to be around and I just started to get back to working out in the last week or so. I'm soft and flabby and probably undesirable to my husband.

Self-deprecating? Yes. But sometimes self-deprecation means the difference between get-your-ass-in-gear-and-change and get-your-ass-to-the-other-sofa-cushion.

Oh honey....about those chores

In the 4 1/2 years my husband and I have been together, we've had our fair share of long-standing arguments.

For the first couple of years, it was about video games and finances. He was a gamer, I was a spender. Through various tactical maneuvers, we've managed to fall into certain positive habits as it relates to those grievances.

In the last couple of years, our arguments have shifted to include my two favorite gripes: cleaning and organization. I'm the cleaning and organizing fool in our house; with particular emphasis on the "fool" sometimes.

I realized from an early part of my 20s that I couldn't control the world around me, but I could control my clutter; so I became an organizing junkie. Part and parcel of that -- and thanks to my stepfather's cleaning habits -- I've also become a bit of a cleaning junkie, too.

The problem is, my husband and stepkids are no where near as fixated on these priorities as I am and it drives me up the wall sometimes. In fact, I'll get so irritated, I have to spend time by myself just to get over it...

All of this said, my jaw dropped to the floor when I saw this lovely on ChicagoTribune.com today:
Men Who Do Housework May Get More Sex. I e-mailed it to my husband who didn't think it was nearly as newsworthy as I did. He did get a chuckle out of it though....I think.

So you see fellas, if you want your wife to give it up more often, you need to bend over, scrub and rinse; fold and wash; and maybe, just maybe, you'll get lucky :-)

Digital Erin

Last post I mentioned that I had a special announcement to make.

No, I'm not pregnant. I'm starting a new job.

I'll be leaving my role as a managing editor in the next couple of weeks and will become a digital editor for a new company. It's an exciting opportunity and I'm sure it will have it's fair share of ups and downs.

In looking back through my posts in the past year, there is no doubt that I've had my fair share of highs and lows. For as many times as I've lamented over my fertility fate, I've also contemplated my professional fate, too.

I'm awestruck at the fact that I'm making the switch; I'm breaking out of my comfort zone to do something I'm really fond of doing in my personal time, too.

Yey me.

Today's Horoscope

Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18). Today is an 8. Your self-confidence has grown by leaps and bounds, due to your recent successes. Go ahead and feel good about the person you've grown up to be.

Special Annoucement to come tomorrow!