As a further note, when you see me talking in brackets like this [] it means I'm talking directly to you, the readers of this blog, as opposed to a generic you, which may or may not refer to anyone in specific, and rather frequently (and with bad grammatical tendencies) refers to me.]
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I made these cakes last night for dessert and wow, they are fantastic. At three points a piece, what a bargain!
4 large egg whites3 TBSP Splenda granular
1 TBSP granulated sugar
2 large egg yolks
1 TBSP margarine
3/4 cup Splenda granular
3/4 cup lowfat buttermilk
1/4 cup lemon juice
1 TBSP lemon peel
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp cornstarch
1/4 tsp baking powder
2 tsp granulated sugar
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spray 4 6 oz ramekins with nonstick cooking spray and place in a large baking pan at least 2 inches deep. Set aside.
In deep bowl, beat egg whites on high speed until foamy. Beat in 3 TBSP Splenda and 1 TBSP sugar until soft peaks form. In another bowl, beat egg yolks, butter, 3/4 cup Splenda until creamy. Stir in next 6 ingredients and beat until smooth. Scrape the sides of the bowl a few times. Fold in 1/4 of the egg whites and stir to incorporate. Gently fold in remaining egg whites. Divide batter among the ramekins (3/4 full). Sprinkle 1/2 tsp sugar over each cake.
Place baking dish in center rack. Pour boiling water into the baking dish until it reaches halfway up the ramekins. (this is harder than it sounds). Bake 25 - 30 minutes or until the center feels firm to the touch. There WILL BE a small pool of lemon custard at the bottom of your ramekin. This is normal. Serve with fat free whipped topping and blueberries if desired.
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So, we're at the grocery store the other day, and I apologized (again) to Thomas about being in such a bad mood. I mentioned some of the things that people have said to me (maybe I'm not eating enough because I'm working out, or whathaveyou.) He rolled his eyes at me. I think it bothers him that I don't listen to his vast store of wisdom, and that it takes extra validation from other people. (yeah, you can hear the sarcasm there...)
I said "Well, you know, that's why I haven't ever been really serious about dieting."
"Hmm?" He's stopped listening to me, looking through the $5 bin of DVDs.
"I don't diet because I'm a miserable bitch to be around while I'm dieting."
"Well, that's not exactly encouraging me to keep going to meetings. Do you think you're going to be like this for the rest of our lives?"
"I don't know. I've never tried... this, exactly. When I was pregnant with Darcy, I was miserable, but I was also stabbing myself in the stomach regularly, having to go to the doctor's twice a week, throwing up with alarming frequency and in pain. All. The. Time." He nods. This isn't anything he doesn't already know. He was - I admit - very good about my pregnancy. He went to almost all of my doctor appointments with me (except one, but he was out of town for business that week, so he can be forgiven) even when he was working night shift and not getting anywhere near enough sleep. A lot of people roll their eyes when a couple will say "We're pregnant," but it really was a team effort for us. "But I had something tangible to look forward to - a baby. And I knew that it wasn't always going to be like this. And I don't think I've been that horrid, really. Just after the meeting for a few hours."
"Um. No. You start keying up a few days before our weigh in - which is, by the way, the weekend, when I have to put up with you all day - getting all moody about it, and then you're hostile and unhappy after the meeting, and most of the next day. Just to start over again on Friday. Spouse, you're being pissed for more than half the time."
I glared at him over the bin of tomatoes. "Hmm. Must be interesting for you to see what it's like."
"What?"
"Living with someone who's stressed all the time."
Silence. It was probably a low blow, but nonetheless, true. Starting around August of last year, all the way through to the first of this year, Thomas was constantly pissed off about workshite. I think I mentioned it earlier, so I won't reiterate.
"I've been making a lot of changes this year," I continued, picking over a few sweet onions. "I'm on a food plan. We're bleeding money like crazy - can't seem to recover from the trip to Georgia -" We went to visit my mom back at Thanksgiving, and the whole trip cost about $800 for three or four days and we still haven't managed to bounce back. There's nothing in savings, and towards the end of each paycheck, we don't have any cushion left in the checking. I hate hate hate living like that. It's always when I can least afford it that the car breaks down, or someone has to go to the hospital or whatever emergency happens. I remember the days entirely too vividly when an extra 8 minutes on the clock could make the difference as to whether or not I ate meat that week. "- I'm trying to keep the house clean because you complained about it -"
"I most certainly did not..." he tries to interrupt me.
"Yes, you did." I override him. "And I'm doing it. My natural tendency is towards slobbery. I hate cleaning. It seems like no matter how much I do, I'm just doing the same fucking thing the next day."
"Well, I didn't mean it that way, exactly."
"And what way exactly did you mean it? You wanted the house clean, and I'm doing it. I hate it, but I'm doing it. I hate watching what I eat, but I'm doing it. I hate not having enough money, and I'm living with that too. Exactly how good of a mood do you expect me to be able to maintain? I am doing the best I can."
Thomas tries to lighten things up. It's probably not good for us to brawl in the grocery store. "Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen." He does the accent with enough drama for Drury Lane, and I laugh.
"Ok, ok. But seriously, you need to cut me some slack. "
"Actually, I was thinking you need to cut yourself some slack."
So, we're at the grocery store the other day, and I apologized (again) to Thomas about being in such a bad mood. I mentioned some of the things that people have said to me (maybe I'm not eating enough because I'm working out, or whathaveyou.) He rolled his eyes at me. I think it bothers him that I don't listen to his vast store of wisdom, and that it takes extra validation from other people. (yeah, you can hear the sarcasm there...)
I said "Well, you know, that's why I haven't ever been really serious about dieting."
"Hmm?" He's stopped listening to me, looking through the $5 bin of DVDs.
"I don't diet because I'm a miserable bitch to be around while I'm dieting."
"Well, that's not exactly encouraging me to keep going to meetings. Do you think you're going to be like this for the rest of our lives?"
"I don't know. I've never tried... this, exactly. When I was pregnant with Darcy, I was miserable, but I was also stabbing myself in the stomach regularly, having to go to the doctor's twice a week, throwing up with alarming frequency and in pain. All. The. Time." He nods. This isn't anything he doesn't already know. He was - I admit - very good about my pregnancy. He went to almost all of my doctor appointments with me (except one, but he was out of town for business that week, so he can be forgiven) even when he was working night shift and not getting anywhere near enough sleep. A lot of people roll their eyes when a couple will say "We're pregnant," but it really was a team effort for us. "But I had something tangible to look forward to - a baby. And I knew that it wasn't always going to be like this. And I don't think I've been that horrid, really. Just after the meeting for a few hours."
"Um. No. You start keying up a few days before our weigh in - which is, by the way, the weekend, when I have to put up with you all day - getting all moody about it, and then you're hostile and unhappy after the meeting, and most of the next day. Just to start over again on Friday. Spouse, you're being pissed for more than half the time."
I glared at him over the bin of tomatoes. "Hmm. Must be interesting for you to see what it's like."
"What?"
"Living with someone who's stressed all the time."
Silence. It was probably a low blow, but nonetheless, true. Starting around August of last year, all the way through to the first of this year, Thomas was constantly pissed off about workshite. I think I mentioned it earlier, so I won't reiterate.
"I've been making a lot of changes this year," I continued, picking over a few sweet onions. "I'm on a food plan. We're bleeding money like crazy - can't seem to recover from the trip to Georgia -" We went to visit my mom back at Thanksgiving, and the whole trip cost about $800 for three or four days and we still haven't managed to bounce back. There's nothing in savings, and towards the end of each paycheck, we don't have any cushion left in the checking. I hate hate hate living like that. It's always when I can least afford it that the car breaks down, or someone has to go to the hospital or whatever emergency happens. I remember the days entirely too vividly when an extra 8 minutes on the clock could make the difference as to whether or not I ate meat that week. "- I'm trying to keep the house clean because you complained about it -"
"I most certainly did not..." he tries to interrupt me.
"Yes, you did." I override him. "And I'm doing it. My natural tendency is towards slobbery. I hate cleaning. It seems like no matter how much I do, I'm just doing the same fucking thing the next day."
"Well, I didn't mean it that way, exactly."
"And what way exactly did you mean it? You wanted the house clean, and I'm doing it. I hate it, but I'm doing it. I hate watching what I eat, but I'm doing it. I hate not having enough money, and I'm living with that too. Exactly how good of a mood do you expect me to be able to maintain? I am doing the best I can."
Thomas tries to lighten things up. It's probably not good for us to brawl in the grocery store. "Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen." He does the accent with enough drama for Drury Lane, and I laugh.
"Ok, ok. But seriously, you need to cut me some slack. "
"Actually, I was thinking you need to cut yourself some slack."
1 comment:
You know...I agree with everything you said, and I also agree with what he said, about cutting yourself some slack. I also know it's a lot easier said than done...
What it sounds like to me is that you need to be able to feel good about what you are doing, without the reinforcement of the scale. (HAHAHAHA...again, easy to say!) I mean, we all know the scale does its own thing sometimes no matter how good you are. I think you need a reward for behaviors - you ate right all day, you exercised, you avoided a binge, whatever. You need a way to reward those good behaviors so you can feel positive enough about them, that when the scale is snotty, it's not so crushing.
The thing that it's hard for me to remember sometimes is that if I have done everything right, then I should know that the scale's fluctuations are just anomalies. Fluid, hormones, sunspots, El Nino, whatever, but it's not because I blew it.
Maybe if you give yourself little "behavior rewards" it will be easier to remember that? A bubble bath, an hour to just read and be by yourself, a new bottle of nail polish or whatever...I mean, it's different for everybody (and I certainly can sympathise with the money situation, so it shouldn't be something expensive cause the last thing you need is another stressor) but something that makes you feel you're being patted on the back and told "well done!" because you deserve that.
Kudos for hanging in there when it's so hard. It's great that you and Thomas are doing this together - and really awesome that you are also talking through the process together.
V.
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