Food Revolution Fridays - Blueberry Pie Redux

I know it's not Friday, but the blueberry pie post I wrote last week got some enthusiastic response! As such, I thought it deserved an update once the actual pie-making took place. Which happened today.

Hence, this little photo-essay:

First, have your toddler stir together the ingredients.

Make sure he has a beverage handy.

Keep him at it until it looks more or less like this.

Spread waxed paper on a damp surface.

Place pastry dough in the middle of the waxed paper.

Prepare for rolling out.

Unorthodox rolling pin technique or salute to the pastry gods? You be the judge!

Expire of the cuteness.

Remove top sheet of waxed paper,

and transfer rolled out dough to pie plate.

This is what the flour/sugar/lemon juice looked like, proportion wise, this time.

Pour the filling into the pie plate and set aside. Somewhere out of your toddler's reach, preferably, because if you don't...

...this is what happens.

I did mention that I like to overfill my pies, right? And you're not suffering double-vision from the length of this post. We had to make two pies for dinner tonight - 11 people.

Dot with butter. Mmmm, butter.

Not my best lattice top, but it'll do.

Have your toddler tidy up a little while pie's in the oven.

Finished product.

However, the possibility does exist that I may have used one or two (hundred) too many blueberries. You should see the bottom of my oven.

Off for dinner, pies in hand. Happy Sunday, everyone!

Food Revolution Fridays - Of Waffles, and Smoothies, and Grocery Carts, and Yams

Every morning, The Imp crawls into bed with us for a cuddle before we start the day. Last Tuesday was no different - he appeared at our bedside and doggedly clambered up, worked his way in between us, and tenderly rested his head on my chest for a moment. Bliss.

Then he raised his head, looked at me very seriously, as only an almost-two-year old can, and said, "Waffles." Still half asleep, I said something super-intelligent.

Me: Huh?
Imp: (with purpose) Waffles.
Me: You want waffles?
Imp: (a hint of exasperation) Waffles. Help Mummy waffles kitchen.
Me: What?
Imp: (for fuck's sake, Mummy) WAFFLES. Help Mummy waffles chair kitchen.
Me: You want to help Mummy make waffles standing on the chair in the kitchen?
Imp: YEAH!!
Me: We don't have time to make waffles from scratch this morning, sweetie. But we froze some of the waffles we made last time, so we can heat them up in the toaster if you'd like.
Imp: Waffles!!

Pause.

Imp: Smoothie too!
Me: Okay honey, smoothie too.

Thoughtful pause.

Imp: (determined) All done cuddle. Waffles, smoothie too.

After which Very Serious Pronouncement he bailed off the bed and headed straight for the kitchen chair to pull it up to the counter to help make waffles! and smoothie too! I could barely keep up with him.

 The Imp helps Mummy in the kitchen

As we dug out breakfast stuff and put it together, I had visions of the future: The Imp being the most popular kid in his dorm at university because he knows how to throw together waffles from scratch at the drop of a hat, wowing friends with his delicious from-scratch cakes, travelling the world seeking out fantastic new foods... And I smiled as I looked at him and said "May you never know the taste of an eggo, my darling boy."

Yesterday we stopped at the grocery store on our way home from daycare. I can't get over his excitement about all things food. He threw his hands in the air as we pulled into the parking lot and shouted "Hurray grocery store!" As we walked through the produce section he pointed at different fruits and vegetables, naming them as we went. The yams, however, stumped him. "Whassat?" he said as he pointed. So I picked one up and handed it to him.

Me: Yam.
Imp: Yam. Yam?
Me: Yes, yam. You've had yam before when you were little and mummy made mushy yam for you.
Imp: (turning it over in his hands, looking at it very seriously) Yam!

And then he threw it with somewhat surprising vigor into our shopping cart.

This is why Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution is so important. I know it's a tv show. I know it's pop culture. I know there are those who dismiss it. But as I strolled through the grocery! store! with The Imp and saw his unabashed toddler delight in all the varieties of food, I was keenly reminded of the first grade kids in Huntington who couldn't identify even a potato or a tomato in their raw form, despite the fact that they ate fries and ketchup every single day. I was at once sad for those kids and elated for my own.

Real food matters.

So yam it is for dinner tonight, in the form of oven baked fries:

Peel & slice yams into french fries.
Toss them in a small amount of olive oil (garlic infused is lovely) and some dried or fresh herbs. I rely heavily on dried herbes de provence. I can't imagine cooking without them.
Squeeze some lemon juice over them too, if you'd like.
Place them in a single layer on a baking sheet in a 400F oven for 20-30 minutes, turning them over once halfway through.
Salt & pepper to taste, serve hot.

***UPDATED: NOW WITH PHOTO***

Some of them got a little singed when I got distracted by The Imp's antics. 

Given the sweetness of yams, it gives them a caramelized flavour, so it's not necessarily a bad thing.

There's really (again, me with the intuitive cooking) no rules. Use whatever spices you prefer. Curried yam fries! Mexican yam fries with cumin, chilies & cilantro! Rosemary & orange juice! Whatever suits your palate. Go!

Note: these do not get as crunchy as regular old potato fries. I think the not deep frying combined with yam's higher water content is to blame. But they're way tastier than generic potato fries, so.

This post is part of Food Revolution Fridays at Scattered Mom's Notes From the Cookie Jar. Be sure to head over there and see what other people are saying about great food!

Wordless Wednesday - King of the World

At the Aquarium (thank gawd for the Aquarium, 5 minutes away by bicycle and saver of sanity on rainy days), The Imp channels his inner James Cameron in front of the dolphin tank.

This post is part of A Lot of Loves' linkup for Wordless Wednesday.  Head on over there and see what others are posting today!

Things I'm Doing - Fit By Forty: Week 3

If you're new here and want to know more about my Fit by Forty efforts, you can go here and here for some background and also check out Week 1 and Week 2. 

Week 3 - The New Normal

They say it takes three weeks to form new habits. They, the mysterious they that seem to be not only experts on everything that ever existed anywhere in the universe, but also have been behind every cabal, plot, scheme and conspiracy with new ones being hatched daily. They are very busy people. Whoever they are.

By the end of Week 3 I no longer had cravings for The Bad Food, unless I watched TV. (Because those ads for too-sweet, over-salted frankenfood will simultaneously repulse you and make you want to eat that crap Right! Now!) My body had grown more accustomed to the exercise; I felt stronger, I had more energy, I was (when The teething Imp would let me) sleeping better longer. We didn't have to buy the Costco-sized Advil container this week.

Eating
Portion control: what a negative way of phrasing it. The word "control" implies restriction, policing of food intake. Like "crowd control" it doesn't have any fun connotations. It also sounds far too clinical to describe the joyful act of eating. Food is such a primal thing. Feeding yourself, feeding your family is one of the greatest sensual experiences in life. And by sensual, I refer to "of the senses", not "in the bedroom". Although breakfast in bed has its joys too.

Rather than the dietician sounding, desensitized phrase "portion control" I prefer to make it simpler. I'm not measuring my food. I'm not counting calories or calculating grams of fat. I prefer to say I eat only when I'm hungry and I stop eating when I'm no longer hungry. I make healthy choices ninety percent of the time. I'm not depriving myself, after all, this was the week of The Awesome Chocolate Birthday Cake of Doom. And yes, I enjoyed a slice of it, without apology and without regret.

Side note: maybe "Without apology and without regret" is what should go on my non-tombstone bench memorial thing. Must tell HWSNBN.

Takeway:
Eating is enjoyable. It's family time as often as possible with HWSNBN's long hours. It's one of those most basic things in life that bring us happiness. I will not let a get-fit-lose-weight plan take the focus off the fun, the joy, or the chocolate. But not hoovering back everything The Imp leaves behind on his plate does help with the goal-achieving.

Exercise
More of the same, except better, faster, stronger. Made it up a couple of hills I'd been struggling with - when I shifted down into the granny gears on my bike, but still. Added more stair climbing this week to up the cardio challenge. But for the most part, my trusty bicycle remained my go-to exercise choice. I also was fortunate enough, this week, to meet and have dinner with the awe-inspiring four time winter Olympian Sharon Firth. Listening to her speak about the work she now does in the small communities of the Northwest Territories to inspire youth to achieve excellence was incredibly humbling, and made me even more determined to model healthy, active living for The Imp.

Takeaway:
Don't fix what ain't broken. I like the bicycle, the bicycle is easy to implement into my daily life. And The Imp likes the bicycle too. If it ever starts to feel stale, I'll find something else. Right now, it's exactly the right thing.


And now, for the numbers:
Starting weight: 149 lbs
Week 1 weight loss: 3.5 lbs
Week 2 weight loss: 3 lbs
Week 3 weight loss: 2 lbs
New weight: 140.5 lbs

Also, I need to find a trusty-steed type name for my bicycle. Any suggestions?

Things I'm Doing: Fit by Forty - Week 2

Week 2 - Settling Into a Routine

During Week 2, I started to get used to the new regime. I wasn't hungry all the time, and actually started to feel physically stronger already. After just a week, I was able to get further up hills before I had to hop off my bike. The muscles still ached, the ibuprofen was still regularly ingested, but things were noticeably improving.

Eating

My body started to adjust to the lower levels of food intake, and the healthier meals. I only felt hungry at regular meal times. For the record, I'm far from starving myself, I'm eating at least five times a day:  breakfast, mid-morning snack, lunch, mid-afternoon snack, and dinner.

As far as eating goes, I've realized I'm more or less following the Weight Watchers points system model. (I'm not actually following Weight Watchers, but after hearing a friend describe it I realized I'd sort of stumbled onto their model in my efforts to find a way of eating that made sense.) A good variety of foods, nothing forbidden, but an awareness of how much I eat each time affects my intake for the rest of the day's meals. I eat as much as I want of vegetables, eat some, but not as much fruit, try to get some protein at each meal, small servings of carbs like bread or pasta, and minimal fats and processed sugar. And drink lots of water.

Takeaway:
Portion control: not just buzzwords.

Like everything else that gets repeated ad nauseum in the lose-weight-get-fit canon, it actually works. I don't hesitate to put mayo on my sandwich. (Actually I hate mayo, I use Miracle Whip.) But it's a smaller sandwich than the giant servings you get in a restaurant. I put butter on my toast in the morning, but I only have one slice. Like almost all North Americans, I was eating far more than was necessary. When I cut my intake down to reasonable levels I very quickly started to feel a lot better, physically, and saw instant results in weight loss.

The Imp on one of our water-proofed outings

Exercise

Bicycling became more a part of daily life, especially when The Imp began to insist on it to get to daycare. One morning it was pouring down rain, and I thought, "Well, I'll show him how miserable it is to be out there in the rain." We bundled up into more or less water-proofness and headed out into it. The Imp, of course, loved it. And honestly, it wasn't as bad as I'd thought it might be. (Note to self: add fenders to wishlist. And by fenders, for once, I do not mean guitars.)  So there went any excuse not to get on my bike at least once a day. The return trip to daycare and back is just shy of 5kms. Looking for some exercise to do not in the rain,  I downloaded a yoga workout from iTunes and have added it to the mix. I have to say, The Imp, who imitates me as I work on my poses, has a far more vigorous yoga practice than I do, which somehow involves a lot more climbing on the coffee table.

Takeaway:
My decision to try and build exercise into my daily routine and not place it on some rarified pedestal requiring Time, and Money, and Commitment was the best choice I could have made. And using the bicycle more is the best way imaginable for me to do this.


And now, for the numbers:
Starting weight: 149 lbs
Week 1 weight loss: 3.5 lbs
Week 2 weight loss: 3 lbs
New weight: 142.5 lbs


Thanks so much for your comments, suggestions, and words of encouragement, both here and on twitter! I wanted to hold myself accountable, so I made this public. What I hadn't counted on was how much inspiration and motivation I would draw from your feedback. Thank you, thank you, thank you! (And the bicycling Imp thanks you too.)

Food Revolution Fridays - Blueberry Pie Edition

I don't talk a lot about my husband on this blog. In fact, I think of him as He Who Shall Not Be Named when I'm writing posts. He's a far more private person than I am. I've always been an open book, freely sharing my hopes, fears, triumphs (and the many moments I fall on my face) with friends. To me, this blog is just an extension of that. By HWSNBN is much more guarded than I am. Out of respect for that, I don't write about him except in passing. I think even he would be okay with me saying that today he's celebrating a birthday, because the snippet I'm about to reveal involves possibly his favourite thing in the entire world: blueberry pie.

My husband married me because of my blueberry pie. It's true.

When we were first dating, he mentioned that he loved blueberries.

HWSNBN: I love blueberries, especially in blueberry pie. 
Me: Well then, I'll make you blueberry pie some day. I make really good pie.
HWSNBN: Every other woman I've ever dated has said she would make me blueberry pie. Not one of them has ever done it.
Me: Good thing I'm not every other woman you've ever dated then.

Time went by. Suddenly it was Christmas. We'd only been dating a couple of months. I surprised him with a home made, from scratch, delicious blueberry pie I'd made specifically for him. He was agog.

By Easter we were looking at engagement rings. Behold the power of a good flaky crust!

Today is his birthday. When I asked him a few weeks ago what he wanted as a birthday gift, he didn't hesitate: blueberry pie, please!

So here it is, the secret to my successful marriage:

Pastry
I've seen a few versions of this basic pastry recipe over the years in various cookbooks. This one comes from a newspaper clipping my mom had tucked into our family cookbook when I was a kid. I'm typing this out from memory, so forgive me if I don't use the right culinary terminology!

1 3/4 cups flour
1 tsp salt
1/2 cup vegetable oil
3-5 tbsp cold water

Mix flour & salt in a large bowl.  Add vegetable oil and mix with flour and salt until the mixture looks like pea sized crumbs. Add cold water 1 tbsp at a time and mix until you get the consistency you want and the dough forms a ball. Roll out the pastry out to the desired size between two sheets of waxed paper. (Wipe the rolling out surface with a damp cloth before laying down the first sheet of waxed paper to prevent it from sliding around while rolling.)

For an unfilled crust, heat oven to 475F. Flute the edge, prick bottom and sides of the pastry thoroughly with a fork. Bake 8-10 minutes or until it reaches the desired golden light brown colour. Cool & fill.

For a filled crust, bake as directed in your pie recipe.

I like a good solid crust since I tend to overload my pies with filling, so for a single crust pie I make one recipe's worth, and for a lattice top or two crust pie I make the recipe twice. I change it up by varying the kind of oil I use. If I'm not being fancy I use canola oil, but I've also used peanut oil and macadamia nut oil with great results. (I've never tried olive oil, it just seems like it would be too heavy.) For other subtle differences in flavour, I'll throw in a tbsp or so of brown sugar to the dry ingredients for a sweet pie, and for a savoury pie I'll substitute smoked salt for the regular salt or throw in some dried herbs as well. It's a pretty fool-proof pastry recipe, so I take all kinds of liberties.


Filling

I tend to fly by the seat of my pants a bit on fruit filled pies. My vagueness irritates people who ask for the recipe, but I honestly don't have one. I tend to let the fruit tell me what it wants, if that's not too flaky. (Flaky! Ha! See what I did there?) So for the purposes of this post, I'll say:

Use enough blueberries
toss in a couple of handfuls of flour
add sugar to taste
add cinnamon if you like it
and about a tbsp of lemon juice
and mix together in a bowl. 

I don't like super-sweet pies - I usually let the fruit flavour speak for itself as much as possible. Your mileage may vary.

Pour berry mixture into the pie crust.
Dot with small pieces of butter.
Cover with 2nd crust and pierce it, or make a lattice top.
Flute the edge, bake at 425F for 35-45 minutes.
Or until done.

That, to me, is the beauty of making real food. Based around a rock solid base recipe, you can try new things: experiment with ingredients, improve, and refine to fit your individual taste. It's a bit like haiku - rigid as to form, but endless variation in the subject matter or ingredients.

I don't have any pictures of the pie. My husband has to work late tonight, so the pie making will occur tomorrow. Since The Imp cannot resist helping me in the kitchen, I'm very much looking forward to showing him how to make his first blueberry pie! I'll try and update with photos tomorrow.

This post is part of Food Revolution Fridays at Scattered Mom. Head over there and check out what other people are doing with real food!

Things I'm Doing - Fit By Forty: Week 1

This space is where I hold myself accountable in my Fit by Forty efforts. I originally intended to post here weekly when I first started on March 1st, but... Well, it kind of got away from me. So I'll do a few posts to catch up in the next few days and then carry on with a weekly update.


For background on my Fit by Forty quest, click here.  And here is where I spelled out the ground rules.

Week 1 - The Unkindest Week of All

The first week was definitely the hardest. Although I was resolved to take real action to get healthy, my weight was at its highest while my morale was at its lowest. My clothing was all fitting too small, my cardiovascular condition was so bad that exercise was a struggle, and my muscles, unused to the exertion, screamed in agony for days after every workout. And for the first few days, as I cut my food intake back to healthy levels (fear not - no starvation diet for me; I love food way too much) I was hungry all the time, even though I was getting more than adequate calories.

Eating
I think we all know what healthy eating is. It's no secret that fresh vegetables, whole grains, and food that doesn't come in a crinkly package are healthier than frozen pizza, fast food, and consuming your own body weight in ice cream daily. So I filled the fridge with salad greens and fresh vegetables, and really started to opt for healthier choices every time I had something to eat. For the first time in a long time, I started really paying attention to what I ate, and most importantly: how much. 

I had been eating a lot. A lot more than I thought. Working from home, I got into the habit of snacking all day long without realizing it. I'd been eating too large portions at meals, and having seconds (and thirds - hey, I'm a good cook!), and finishing whatever was left on The Imp's plate too. And eating ice cream almost every night before bed. No wonder I was feeling unhealthy.

Takeaway:
I eat as much as I want - I've just made some changes to what I'm eating. Way more vegetables, less protein, less processed sugar, less fat. I'm not depriving myself; I have real butter on my toast every morning. (I hate margarine.) I did cut out the daily giant hot chocolate to start the day and instead drink a fruit smoothie. And I've eliminated all the pop and juice I'd been drinking all day and drink water and unsweetened herbal tea instead.

Best change:
Limiting portions to reasonable amounts. Within a couple of days, my body adjusted to the new intake levels, and I had way more energy than I'd had before.

Exercise
Fuck me, but that first week was hard.

Aching muscles, joints unused to exercise... I ate Advil every eight hours. I coughed up unlovely chunks of phlegm. I did the 30 Day Shred by Jillian Michaels - for one day. I got on the bike and had to hop off to push it up hills. I took the stairs up to the 21st floor and collapsed wheezing in the living room. But I got some exercise every day.

Takeaway:
I know me. I am the master procrastinator and I can justify anything. (Being an alcoholic makes you really really good at the justification game.) Every night for the last year or more, I've thought to myself, "Tomorrow I should get up early and do a workout before The Imp wakes up." Every morning I found a reason not to. But I also have an iron will when I choose to use it, so I knew that if I could just get through this first week, I'd be on my way. I reverted back to the "one day at a time" mentality that got me through when I stopped drinking all those years ago, and just made it happen.

Best change:
Using my bicycle more and more as my main mode of transportation. Biking with The Imp to daycare in the mornings allows me to build exercise into my daily routine. I don't have to "find time" to exercise. I just use the bicycle instead of the car. Time from the apartment to daycare in a car: about 6 minutes. Time on a bicycle: was about 12 minutes, what with all the hopping off & pushing up hills. Six weeks in, it's down to about 8 minutes.

And now, for the numbers:
Starting weight: 149 lbs
Week 1 weight loss: 3.5 lbs (!!!)
New weight: 145.5 lbs

Anyone else out there working to get into shape? What were some of the changes you first made? How did you feel about them?

Wordless Wednesday - Speed Racer

I am completely smitten with the Hipstamatic app* for the iPhone. That is all.

*Okay, not quite all. Full disclosure: I was neither asked nor paid to write anything about Hipstamatic. I heard about it from Sarah Funk at Silver Lamb Studios, paid for the download, and have been obsessively playing with it ever since.

What I'm Doing - Fit by Forty: Rules

Yesterday I wrote a little about the reason I started my quest to get into better shape physically. It was my most visited post since I started this blog - clearly reclaiming your physical self post-baby resonates for a lot of us. Amber over at Strocel.com wrote a great post today about making peace with your mama body, and Gwen at Left Coast Mama wrote a heartfelt piece about having an ugly day.

Let me be clear - as I wrote yesterday in response to some great comments, this is more about improving physical fitness than losing weight. Don't get me wrong, losing the extra padding I'm carrying around feels great, and I won't pretend my vanity wasn't thrilled when my mother-in-law asked me, "Have you lost weight?" at a family dinner a couple of weeks ago. But my primary goals are to a) feel better and stronger and b) model healthy active living for the almost-two-year-old Imp. I hesitated to include numbers in my post, for fear of placing inadvertent labels on people who weigh more or less than I do, or who want to weigh more or less than I do. In the end I did include them, because numbers are simply the easiest and most tangible way I can think of to measure progress.

On to today's post:

So, I knew I wanted to lose weight. Like everyone else with these first-world problems, I resolved to get into better shape starting January 1st. Like an idiot, I went crazy and managed to injure myself, introducing my left shoulder to the fun factory of bursitis. That was an interesting visit to the doctor.

Dr: You have bursitis in your left shoulder.
Me: Wha? Isn't that something your eighty five year old grandmother has?

Apparently it's just as common in overzealous yet seriously out of shape 39 year olds too. Damn.

So I fell off the exercise wagon, and reverted to my ice cream eating, television watching ways. Again.

I knew this time I'd have to be more strategic, think things through. Have a plan. So I came up with some ground rules for my Fit by Forty efforts:


1) It has to be realistic.

Rule: No extremes, in terms of means or ends. No crash diets, no skipping meals, no denying myself everything that tastes good. No exercise until I puke. No trying to fit into a size 4 in six weeks. Nothing ridiculous. If it's not realistic, it's not realistically achievable.

Implementation: I set myself the goal of eating mindfully, making healthier choices, and adding exercise to my daily routine. You know, the stuff that actually works. In terms of those dreaded numbers, I set the weight loss goal of 1 pound per week.

2) It has to be financially viable.

Rule: There's no money for gym memberships, personal trainers, fancy pre-portioned food, or loading up on the latest equipment. These changes have to be on the cheap, using what I already have at my disposal or can buy inexpensively.

Implementation: I already own a yoga mat, some 5 lb weights, and a couple of workout DVDs. I have a bicycle, which I took in for a tune-up and bought new tires. I spent $8.99 on iTunes and downloaded some yoga workouts. And living on the 21st floor affords me ample opportunity for stair-climbing any time I can convince myself it's a good idea.

3) It has to be easy to do, time-wise.

Rule: I run my own home-based business. I parent a very busy almost 2 year old little boy. There's no time for me to go to classes on any kind of regular basis. Or maybe I should say that I'm not willing to take time away from other things in order to go out for instruction. Either way, time's at a premium. Exercise and healthy eating need to fit into my daily routine, or I know, despite the best of intentions, I won't do it.

(Aside: I used to think I wanted, on my gravestone, "She had the best of intentions." Now I've decided cremation is the way to go, so no gravestone. But maybe a nice park bench somewhere with "She always did everything the hard way.")

Implementation: I've started using the bicycle instead of the car as much as my loathing of rainy weather will let me. For short trips in the downtown core it's almost as fast as taking the car, and no looking for (or paying for) parking (or gas, come to think of it). Having 30 pounds of Imp (who loves the bicycle so much he wears his helmet at breakfast most mornings) in the child seat does wonders for increasing resistance levels too. I've also been using the bicycle to get around and take pictures for my new Vancouver Daily Photo blog, which guarantees I get out for a ride several times a week. I take the stairs up to the apartment any time I'm not dressed up, carrying a ton of stuff, or with The Imp. All 21 floors of them. I try and fit in video workouts a couple of times a week. Given that I used to exercise, uh, not at all, this is progress!

4) It has to be flexible.

Rule: We all lead busy lives. Plans change, children get sick, or climb out of their cribs and fall on their heads and then refuse to sleep in their new bed. (Imp, I'm looking at you.) I need to be able to adapt my efforts as I dodge the sucker-punches that get thrown in my general direction.

Implementation: One of the benefits of not relying on scheduled classes or appointments with a trainer is that when my plans go all askew, I can still take the stairs and get in a workout. Although I discovered that my self-care takes a nose-dive when The Imp gets sick. Gotta work on that.

5) I have to somehow be accountable.

Rule: In the past, I've let deadlines slip and not met fitness goals, and nobody knew so I could pretend it didn't matter. I need to do this in a public way.

Implementation: And here we are. I've been on twitter with #fitbyforty updates at least once a week, and this week I've put it out there in this very public space. I've meant to write about it here since the process started five weeks ago, but something always got in the way. (*cough* fear *cough*)

So here it is:

I started at 149 pounds on March 1st, 2010 and I turn 40 on August 24th. I want to lose a pound a week.

Goal, measurable: 25 weeks from A to B means a goal weight of 124 by the time I hit the big four oh.

Goal, intangible: As much as I've talked about numbers so far (it's hard not to get fixated on them) the name I've given this process is Fit by Forty. What's most important to me is fitness, which as a subjective term is much less measurable. When will I consider myself fit? When I no longer have to get off my bike and push it up the hills close to my apartment. (Downtown Vancouver has more hills than you'd think!) When I can run across the playground with my son and not feel too tired to keep chasing him. When I can see an improvement in my posture because my core is stronger. When I can go on an hour-long bike ride and not feel too sore to move for days afterward.

And most importantly, I want to model a healthy, active lifestyle for The Imp. I'm mounting a pre-emptive counter-offensive for the years of junk food advertising, and the sedentary nature of spending hours a day in front of a screen (TV, computer, video game, any kind of screen) that are sure to come.

Anyone care to join me on my quest? Any advice? What are your fitness goals, and how are you working toward them?

What I'm Doing - Fit by Forty: Background

In August I will turn forty.

I'm not freaked out about the number. Forty. Four-tee. 40. Four-oh. Whatever. Doesn't faze me.

Thirty was much harder. Somehow leaving my twenties behind had far more emotional impact on me - in terms of the milestones by which we measure our lives, it was a much bigger deal. There was a lot more taking stock, comparing where I was with where I thought I'd be, thinking about what I'd accomplished and what I'd let slip by. But my thirties have been great. Better than great: I got married, I had a baby, I started writing again. (I have a half-completed BFA in Creative Writing I really must finish one of these days.) In the last year, I started my own business.

As I creep up on forty, I have a much stronger identification of who I am, and what I am about than I ever have before. I am much stronger in my convictions. I feel more confident that the life experiences that have shaped me - the difficult: overcoming alcoholism, recovering from a abusive relationship, and the wonderful: meeting my soulmate, becoming a parent - have made me who I am, and that what I've learned, what I have to share is of value to others. After the insecurities of my twenties and the whirlwind of my thirties, this is a good way to feel. So forty, in and of itself, is not scary; it's just what comes next.

What IS freaking me out, however, is the physical aspect of being firmly ensconced in the land of middle age. (The first person who says the word "cougar" gets a punch to the throat. Just sayin'.) I am 5' 5". When I was thirty, soaking wet I weighed 120 pounds. When I got married, I weighed 115. I looked like this:

And now, well now I don't. Let's just leave it at that.

Let me be clear: this is not just about how I look, although it certainly plays a big role. I haven't been in very good shape for quite a while now. I get winded going up a simple flight of stairs. I don't like that I struggle with the physical demands of parenting a very busy little boy, that my back hurts after carrying him any real distance, and that other minor aches and pains prevent me from being the kind of parent I want to be.

Granted, I'm ten years older. Granted, I had a baby. And my work now is nowhere near as physically demanding as being on my feet on a film set for 90 hours a week. Still, I'm not pleased with my physical condition. I've crept up from a size 2-4, to a 4-6, then an 8. And then into the double digits: a 10. And I can't blame it all on having a baby. I started to gain weight long before The Imp was born. Just a few pounds a year, but it added up. By the time I got pregnant at 37, I was hovering around 135-140. I was the cliche - get married, gain weight. I was literally the person sitting in front of the tv watching The Biggest Loser with a bowl of ice cream on my lap.

The weight I gained during the pregnancy was right in the middle of the healthy range. I stopped looking at the scale the week my weight was higher than the winning female contestant on The Biggest Loser (I was eight months along), but my doctor assured me she would let me know if there was any cause for concern. I struggled a bit with gestational diabetes toward the end of my pregnancy, but easily controlled it with careful eating. And when I was breastfeeding, the weight melted away pretty quickly. My husband said, "Wow, that little boy is LITERALLY sucking the fat right out of you!" By the time The Imp weaned at 13 months, I was down to 140 pounds, right around my pre-pregnancy weight.

But I wasn't very physically active, and I kept eating as if I was still breastfeeding, and slowly over the next eight months I started to put on weight. Five weeks ago, I stepped on the scale and was 149 pounds.

That was just a little too close to 150 for me. I know numbers are supposed to mean nothing, but let's be honest. We all have an ideal number in our heads, and a number that horrifies us. Or spurs us into action. And 150, combined with the upcoming 40, is that number for me.

So Fit by Forty (or for those of you who'd like to follow along on twitter, #fitbyforty) was born.

That's some of the background. Tomorrow I'll post more about the process so far.

Things That Are Surprising - Happiness

Happiness is....

...a stack of blueberry waffles enthusiastically mixed up from scratch by your almost two year old. Whenever I make noises about doing some work in the kitchen, he runs to move a kitchen chair up against the counter to help me.  I never would have guessed that helping Mummy cook would be the thing that The Imp loves the most; not because he's a boy, but because it never occurred to me that he'd be so excited about it at such a young age. I'm also ecstatic because he's learning as a matter of course that quality food, made from scratch is an easy, every day occurrence, not a once-in-a-while special occasions only ordeal.

Again, a moment to quietly allow a speck of sentiment to run down my cheek. It's funny, I used to be quite cynical.Yet another way I did not realize becoming a mother would fundamentally change the way I look at the world.


Edited to add: This post is a part of Notes From the Cookie Jar's Food Revolution Fridays blog challenge.

Wordless Wednesday - Piano Man

On Sunday I dug out my old keyboard and set it up in The Imp's room. He's played it constantly since.

Things I've Learned - Croup

In a nutshell: not as much fun as you'd think.

Before Thursday at 2:00 am, I'd never come face to face with croup before. That's when The Imp woke up, crying, struggling for breath and barking that awful seal-sounding cough. While I comforted him and listened to my baby pant and wheeze, my husband turned to Dr. Google and gave us a preliminary diagnosis of croup. We called the British Columbia free 24 hour nurse line (which if you're in BC and haven't taken advantage of, you really should - they've talked me off the ledge more than once), and they asked us all the right questions and made reassuring noises. Croup was confirmed by our actual in-the-flesh doctor on Friday morning.

The sum total of my experience with croup up to this point was, at the age of seven, having read L. M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables, where Anne's experience with raising Mrs. Hammond's three sets of twins helped her, with liberal use of ipecac, save the life of Diana's little sister, reconcile with Mrs. Barry, and be joyfully reunited with her bff. Not having any ipecac handy, I had no idea what to do. (And having since googled ipecac, it's a good thing we didn't have any!) To be honest, I thought croup was one of those old-timey words for an affliction we've since started calling something more scientific sounding - like consumption for tuberculosis.

Image scanged from this website

Summarizing what our doctor told me: croup is a swelling of the trachea, usually caused by viral infection. In an adult it would only cause a cold, but in a little person, since the involved body parts are smaller, any swelling can cause obstruction of the airway. So it basically manifests itself as wheezing, some struggling for breath, and coughing that sounds exactly (and disconcertingly) like a barking seal.

It's really awful to hear, but not uncommon, and usually goes away by itself after a few days. Temporary relief can be achieved by getting outside into fresh air (Hello bicycle rides!) or sitting in a steamy bathroom (my pores have never been so open). If it doesn't go away on its own, a one-time steroid treatment can be used to reduce the swelling and allow the body to heal.

What made this extra fun for us is that croup is often, as was our case, accompanied by a fever. The Imp has a history of febrile seizures, so that put us immediately on Seizure Watch 2010. Diligent temperature taking, administration of Tylenol and Advil at regular intervals, and much anxiety are the hallmarks of Seizure Watch. Add total parental sleeplessness into the mix and that makes for a pretty frazzled, short-tempered, emotionally draining experience.

Fortunately, The Imp took it pretty much in stride, as he does most things. He's gotten so accustomed to having his temperature taken that if we leave the digital thermometer where he can reach it, he picks it up and tries to stick it in his own armpit. He knows the words for Tylenol and Advil and can identify which drops are which by the shape/colour of the container. (Which alarms and saddens me more than a little, I must say.) He was distressed by the sound of his own coughing, and didn't sleep particularly well, but was comforted by snuggling up to me in bed - which punctuated for me why we don't co-sleep with him anymore; sharing the bed with him is like trying to cuddle up to a very localized tornado. With the exception of a 3 second episode on Friday morning, he was seizure free. His fever's been gone more than 24 hours and he's sleeping comfortably in his own crib as I type.

And if it wasn't for the storm, howling winds and pelting rain against the windows, I'd be sleeping too. After the last three days I certainly need it.

The takeaway:

1) Croup: an actual thing. Who knew?

2) It sounds worse than it is. Which is good because it sounds really really awful.

3) The impact of twitter on my daily life cannot be overstated. I received good advice, commiseration, sympathy and support, and relief in the humour of the zombie apocalypse.

4) This parenting stuff is hard, yo.

Things I've Learned - Earth Hour

Striving for lucidity in between croupy sleepless nights on Seizure Watch 2010 with The Imp, I've been doing a little thinking as Earth Hour approaches. Last year my husband was working on the pilot of The Good Wife, and The Imp was sleeping, so I spent the designated hour alone, in silence, reading by candlelight in the living room. It reminded me of a time when I was a child in Reunion, and a cyclone knocked out the power for a few days. My mom was away, but I vividly remember sitting at our kitchen table with my dad and my little sister reading by candlelight before bedtime.

This year, as Earth Hour draws ever nearer, what comes to mind is not the turning off of lights for a few minutes this evening, but some of the more substantial groping-for-sustainability changes I've made in my life since this time last year:

1) Transportation:  I've been using my car much less, walking, taking transit, and bicycling much more. The bicycling in particular I've enjoyed much more than I thought I would, and The Imp absolutely loves it; so much so that he often insists on wearing his "bicy hemmet" at breakfast.

2) Household cleaning: over the last year we've been moving away from standard (and often toxic) cleaning products and have been using good old vinegar and baking soda as our cleaners of choice. I first tried it in the bathtub "just to see" and was so impressed with how it worked that I haven't used anything else in the bathroom (or the kitchen) since. It's so much less expensive, doesn't leave noxious smells about the place, and I don't feel like I need to rinse the bajeesus out of the tub before we can let The Imp have a bath in it. So we're saving water too: bonus!

3) Re-usable shopping bags: I'm not rock solid on this one yet; I seem to remember the shopping bags as I walk into the store rather than as I leave the house, but we've definitely cut the amount of plastic bags coming into the house by about 80%.

4) Farmers' markets: being a die-hard foodie, I've been a fan of Vancouver's farmers' markets since they started holding them a few years ago. There's nothing quite like fresh in-season produce. But in the last year, I've been even more focused on buying local, in season, and cooking at home. Bringing my own bags and containers to the markets cuts down on the amount of garbage created too. The vendors at the markets are so excited about what they do; the love of good food is infectious. One Saturday last summer as I was buying tomatoes, the man who had picked them that very morning smiled at me and said, "You can still feel the sunshine on them, can't you?" Enchanting!

5) Re-usable coffee cups: my own personal rule, a New Year's 2010 resolution, was that if I forgot to bring my stainless steel cup with me, I was not allowed to get takeout coffee. As a result I've enjoyed some lovely if unintentional "for here" coffees when I did forget my cup. There's something to be said for just slowing things down for 20 minutes and watching the world go by once in a while. The French have that, like many things, absolutely right.

It's no coincidence that many of these changes have come into play after I became a parent. Something about watching your child grow up makes you intensely aware of the world they are inheriting.

Wordless Wednesday

I was looking through some old photos yesterday and stumbled across this one.



Me, the morning of my wedding. My friend Heather caught a final quiet moment before the mayhem of The Getting Ready began.

This was almost seven years and 20 pounds ago. It's now my motivation for my fitbyforty mission.

Things I've Learned - Helping Mummy!

My sister-in-law is celebrating her 50th birthday today. I'm the designated birthday-cake-maker in the family, so this morning I was up early looking through recipes for something worthy of the occasion. Cake, filling & frosting chosen, I got out ingredients and got ready to bake. The Imp picked that very moment to become desperately in need of my attention, clinging to my leg and insisting "Up, Mummy!" repeatedly. He WOULD NOT like to go read books with Daddy, thank you very much.

He was, however, delighted to help me stir flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt together.

And the problem with child labour would be...?

Well, I guess the problem with child workers is their tendency to eat the product.

Given that The Imp a) never stops moving, and b) has the attention span of a... well, an almost 2 year old, I was surprised at how diligent he was about stirring things together. He stuck with it until it was all mixed together, and then worked at it again once we added the wet ingredients. I can't even begin to describe how much fun he had - and how much I loved it. It's not often I recognize those perfect moments for what they are as they're happening. This morning I knew. As I stood there next to him, The Imp dressed in his too-big hand-me-down jammies on the chair pulled up to the kitchen counter, fork in hand, enthusiastically stirring cake batter, I knew.

This was one of those moments. I was so overcome with happiness that I had to struggle not to cry. I will remember the look on his face until the day I die. He was perfectly happy, stirring with purpose, saying proudly as he smiled up at me, "Helping Mummy!"

Happy sigh.


Daddy held him at a safe distance while the cakes went in to the oven.

Cake layers cooling on racks prior to filling/frosting
Far left is the layer The Imp made

Right then, dabbing a wee speck of sentiment from my eyes, on to frosting.

The genesis of cream cheese frosting


Add pure cocoa powder & icing sugar

Like most things in life, it needed more chocolate...

...and Kahlua.

And strawberries & whipped cream, of course.

Now for the assembly:

At this point in the process, I had to stop taking photos as things were getting a little messy. The four layers stacked were somewhat lacking in structural integrity. (Let's just say it's not an earthquake-proof cake.) And then the cream cheese frosting wasn't sticking to the whipped cream and the whole thing threatened to devolve into not so much cake as birthday pudding. I live in fear of the car journey to my sister-in-law's house.

I did manage to use ALL the frosting and filling, so.

The finished product:




The takeaway:

My husband and I were talking this afternoon about the things we remember from our childhood; the things that made us really happy. For him it was going skating with his whole family every weekend in the winter. For me it was sitting under a tropical night sky with my dad and having him teach me the constellations of the southern hemisphere.

We realized one of those Important Truths. It's not the fancy birthday party, the cool new bike, the "event" moments in our childhood that stick with us. It's the simple time spent standing on a kitchen chair with your mom stirring together your first cake.

Wordless Wednesday

Recently I decided it was time to quit mucking about and get back into some semblance of physical activity. I started on Monday, bicycling with The Imp of the Perverse to daycare and back every day. He loves being on the bicycle so much that he insists on wearing his helmet from the moment he wakes up, and chants "Bicy! Bicy!" to himself as he eats his banana and yogurt.

This morning, post-breakfast and pre-pants:

Wordless Wednesday

Pictures of my dad & my son as metaphor for the process of starting my own business:

Gee, Grampa, I don't know if I'm sure about this...




Maybe all I need is a little encouragement.




Oh jeez oh jeez oh jeez.
But it feels good.

Things I Love - Adding to the Blogroll

Some new names added to the Blogs I Love list on the right:

Pregnant Stephanie, no longer pregnant, has set up shop at The Tsunami Mommy. I'm keeping the link to Pregnant Stephanie up because there's lots of great stuff there and as far as I know she hasn't moved it over to her new home. Her twitter handle has changed too.

More Yummy Mummy Club: Sharon DeVellis at The Inside Scoop writes like I would like to write, only funnier. Which is to say, she's funnier than me, not that I want to write funnier than her. Er. Well maybe I do. I'm making a mess of this - just go check her out.

And Amber Strocel. Her twitter updates are always wryly amusing, and I really enjoyed her recent Carnival of Maternity Leave posts.

That's a good start - there are many more to come. There is an astonishing wealth of really talented women writing about their lives. I plan to add a few to the blogroll every week.

Wordless Wednesday

Well, it's 5am and I'm up, so...

A friend's 6 year old daughter & the Imp of the Perverse enjoying the view of Stanley Park from our apartment window

Forgive Me, Readers, For I Have Sinned

It's been more than three months since my last blog post.

No excuse, but it's been a busy three months.

I learned my job had evaporated while I was on maternity leave, three days before my leave ended. So that was fun.

Then The Boy turned 1.

And a good time was had by all...

There was The Weaning, which made me simultaneously joyous and sad. The Boy didn't even notice. (That was the part that made me joyous. And sad.)

There was the beginning of daycare, which The Boy, now known as The Imp of the Perverse, absolutely loves. Which, you know, makes me both joyous. And sad.

There was the end of crawling and the beginning of walking. And the many bruises that accompany the severe listing to starboard inherent in that learning process.

And then, and then...

Then there was the "Hey, I should start my own business one day" which became "Hey there's an EI funded program that could help me start my own business" which morphed to "Hey the deadline for applying to that program is in a couple of weeks." What followed was along the lines of "Hey, I got an interview" and then "Wow, my application's been shortlisted & gone to an independent panel for review." Hard on the heels of that was "Wahoo, I've been accepted into the program!" which today, as I started the first day of ten weeks of classes, became "Hey, check me out, I'm an entrepreneur!"

Remember way back in the mists of history, when I said I'd work free for a clothing designer if money wasn't a concern? Well, I didn't win the lottery but I am working free for a designer.

Me.

I'm the designer. I know, crazy! I'm designing children's clothes, starting with a line of funky hats for boys.

The Imp of the Perverse models my first prototype

Today I registered my company name: Chill Monkeys Apparel. It's starting to become really real.

Oh shit. Now I have to actually DO this.