The Breakfast Of Champions (sort of)
My mommy and daddy read my blog (hooray) and realized that I actually USE my crock pot, so they upgraded me to a brand new Kitchen Aid Crock Pot. It was love at first sight. I squealed! I ooohed and Ahhhhed and OHHH pretty! It came at 4PM. I HAD to use it right away! I was itching to! So, I figured crock pot oatmeal would be a brilliant idea!
In the past I’ve made crock pot Steel Cut Oats. I’ve made them in the crock pot over night and they’ve been sticky and brown, I’ve made them in a bowl with in the crock pot and that worked well, but they were too watery. Last night I knew I wanted to do the bowl with in the crock pot method but straight water wasn’t going to do it. I had little milk (BAD MOM!), but I had half and half (REALLY BAD MOM! Always prepared for coffee, not so much for kids!). If I had SILK I would have used that. If I had enough 1% milk I’d have used that. But I had half & half and damn it I’m GLAD I did! It was DELICIOUS!
MY INGREDIENTS: 1 cup steel cut oats (AKA Irish Oatmeal), 2 cups half and half, 2.5 cups water. A pinch of sea salt. Brown sugar to taste (I don’t use much at all, I prefer to let everybody make it as they like it later), vanilla extract to taste (about 2tsp), cinnamon to taste (i like a lot!). Mix it all together in a bowel that will fit with in your crock pot. Put some water in your crock pot, place bowl of oatmeal mixture in croack pot, fill crock pot with water up to the top sides of your bowl, cover and cook on low for 9 hours.
Wake up to a bowl of beautiful oatmeal, dress as desired. TJ likes his with strawberries and sugar. I like mine with blackberries and almonds, Kailey likes hers with pure maple syrup, little Kevin likes brown sugar & a variety of berries, big Kev likes his plain with some splenda, and Alison is simply not touching “that stuffs”
I loved this crock pot so much that my split chicken thighs are in there right now! Dinner is about to be served. I’ve been cleaning and loving my house all day and I’ve not had to worry a damn about whats for dinner! I LOVE IT!
YOU CAN COOK SOUP!
Okay, so we’ve made our chicken, we have this carcass and giblets sitting there and a kitchen to clean. You’re wondering what the hell Michelle has gotten you into right? Fear not, here we go. Meal #2 is a nice hearty soup and you’re gonna make it from scratch! No stock, no bullion cubes, none of that pre made crap! Know why? Because YOU CAN COOK and you don’t need that stuff!
Get your Crock pot out, and add some water, salt, thyme a few carrots broken in half (no need to peel them because they are just to make stock), one onion cut into chunks (not small chopped, big chunks), take that package of giblets and open it up, throw those parts in the water (ewww, yeah I know, just do it). Now take your chicken carcass (bones, skeleton, guts.. what ever you wish to call it) and place that in the crock pot. Cover with water. Now if you have some white wine you wish to add, go for it. I use just water. Put your crock pot on low, clean your kitchen, enjoy your night and go to bed.
If you don’t have a crock pot, you will do everything I just mentioned in the morning. You won’t be able to leave it and forget it. You will have to watch it, and cook it for a few hours, but these are still the basics.
When morning rolls around you are going to take your cloves of garlic and drizzle them with olive oil in a small oven safe dish, cover with foil and bake in 400°F oven for 40 minutes or until soft.
While your garlic is roasting, get out your colander and a large pot (okay this step is a bit of a pain, but its worth while). Take your pot holders, and strain your stock into the large pot through the colander. Place the colander with all of the bones and veggies in the sink. Pour stock back into the crock pot and continue on low.
Dice onions, slice carrots and toss into your stock. Saute baby bellas in a bit of oilve oil until golden, then toss that into your stock. Take last night’s chicken left overs and toss those into your stock, and add 2 cups of quinoa.
Grab your roasted garlic from the oven and mash it with a fork. Scrape that into your stock. Add 1 package frozen chopped spinach. ADD SALT (remember you are not using bullion cubes or store bought broth, so you have to season your stock. don’t be afraid of the salt). Add more Thyme, and some pepper. Cover and cook on low 6-8 hours.
NOW….. that colindar of bones in your sink…you have two choices here. You can either toss it all and call it a day, or you can pick out the meat that was left on those bones and add it to your soup. I pick the meat. I have a family of 6 and a little bit goes a long way. So waste not want not is my motto. I let that cool down, then I pick pick pick, and toss toss toss. Lots of bones and skin that goes in the trash, but there is a lot of meat as well.
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There are so many people who are completely intimidated by the thought of cooking a meal. You don’t have to buy everything pre-made. There is a certain amount of pride that comes with owning my kitchen. My children are now starting to get their hands into cooking and I love it. I don’t want them to feel that everything needs to come from a box or a can. And at the same time, the occasional frozen veg, budget friendly indulgence isn’t going to kill us.
In my opinion, home made is always better on the palate than store bought. I can bend and twist it to my every whim. Doctor it up here and there. And as you saw above, I don’t follow recipes. I am a toss this, throw that kinda gal. But my meals are tasty and they are healthy.
YOU can do this too! I know you can! I hope you give it a try. If you are scared of the kitchen, let cooking a great meal be one of your goals. Once you do it, you won’t quit!
Love your kitchen and it will love you back.
Michelle
YOU CAN COOK! Meal #1
I can’t begin to tell you how it boggles my mind when I hear people tell me that they don’t know how to cook. I come from a family that prides itself on creativity in the kitchen. I married a man who is a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America (that’s right folks, vsgpoppa is a certified chef and a damn good one at that), but beyond all of that, I am a mom who loves simplicity in meal making. I hate difficult meals and I really don’t follow recipes well. I’m a free spirit in the kitchen.
If you are one of the people who claim you can’t cook, don’t know how to cook, have never tried to cook.. I challenge you to join me in this! Two meals, one bird! If you don’t have a crock pot, you need one. Especially if you don’t have skills in the kitchen! The crock pot is your friend. You won’t kill a meal in a crock pot. I promise.
Today we’re going to tackle an oven roasted chicken and a lovely chicken quinoa soup for the next day.
Make a list for the market:
Purdue Oven Stuffer Roaster (the one with the pop up timer)
5 large sweet onions
1 bag of carrots
sliced baby portabella mushrooms (only if you like mushrooms)
garlic (if you’re not great in the kitchen & you don’t mind spending the extra money, you can buy your garlic already peeled make sure it is whole cloves)
frozen chopped spinach
1 bag of frozen veggies of your liking.
1 bag of quinoa (you’ll find it in the organic section, pre washed is always easier)
salt, pepper, dried thyme flakes (assuming you don’t have these in your pantry already)
Do you have a roasting pan? If not, get one of the disposable ones while at the market.
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Okay Meal #1 Pre heat your oven 350° F.
Take on large onion and slice it into at least 6 slices, and lay on the bottom of the roasting pan.
Take your bird to the sink and unwrap it. You reach inside the bird and remove the package of giblets out. Don’t toss them! Put them aside. Now rinse your bird with cool water, inside and out, pat dry with a paper towel. Place on top of your onions in the roasting pan. **WASH YOUR HANDS WELL!**
Salt and Pepper the bird. (I don’t grease up the outside of my bird. You can if you prefer.)
Place in oven and cook according to the weight/time on the back of your bird. About 20 minutes in, add some water to the bottom of your roasting pan and onions.
When your chicken timer pops, remove from the oven and let sit. Now nuke up your frozen veggies.
Slice the meat from your bird, and serve with your veggies. DO NOT THROW AWAY THE BONES (CARCASS) OF THE BIRD! YOU NEED THAT FOR MEAL #2
WHOLA… EASY meal #1. No special talent needed. (turn off your oven).
OH HEY! ALMOST FORGOT! KEEP YOUR LEFT OVER CHICKEN! CUT IT UP! PUT IN FRIDGE! YOU NEED THAT!
Planning to start again…
How often in life do you get to plan a fresh start, with the knowledge of what lies ahead? In less than I week my husband will have his weight loss surgery. He will start his journey with is VSG. And he has the benefit of living with me and sharing my knowledge. While I’m excited to share my knowledge with him, I’m meeting resistance!!! WHAT? yep! I am! REALLY!
The man went to his pre-surgical meeting at the doctor’s office. He met with the surgeon’s team, the surgeon and their nutritionist. Now, I have to tell you, I love our surgeon. I do. I love the office and the support there. BUT… I do not agree with certain things that they teach. For instance… two flinstones vitamins a day? Really. Somebody please tell me how a child’s vitamin in a 400lb male body is sufficient? Now break it down to a post WLS body and tell me how it even begins to match up to what is needed. It doesn’t. Its dangerous information. While I won’t pick apart every single aspect of what I disagree with, I will say that I have lived this life, done the research, met the experts and pride myself on the knowledge that I have. BUT… this man has gone to ONE meeting and is telling ME how things have to be.
I should sit back and not argue. I should let him take the lead in his own weight loss journey. I should let him find his own way. Right? Or… should I step in and beg him to listen?
I’m honestly a little befuddled. I don’t want to come across as strong arming the boy. I don’t want to come across as knowing better… but uh, I KNOW BETTER. Hello! I’ve struggled, I’ve lived it.. I am living it. YOU have MET my people! This man has been talked to about nutrition, about post WLS life, about just about everything… in a manner that has been casual and not about him. So why can’t he apply what he already knows to be true to his own life? UGH! I’m frustrated! I’m going to sick some of my folks on him!
So, ladies and gents….. your advice? Do I approach this as if I were approaching one of you? Do I tell him what I know to be true and tell him what I know is bad advice and what has been helpful? Do I STFU and let my friends do it? Or do I just let him fumble his way through the first few post op months on his own? (I wish I knew then what I knew now. He has the chance to have better knowledge than I did. Better insight. I wish I had a first hand perspective back then. I wish I knew.)
It’s a Conundrum.
co·nun·drum/kəˈnəndrəm/
| Noun: |
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I feel like I keep dancing around this whole body change/dysmorphia/weight challenge. But I guess that’s what weight loss surgery/rapid weight loss is all about. Right?
So, this week I went back to that place that sends me into a cold sweat. I went to the fitting room. I knew that my size 12′s were loose and baggy, especially where my ass was. If your jeans don’t fit JUST right, you risk having noassatall or a massive wedge. Neither is attractive, but I guess noassatall is more comfortable.
So I fought the urge to run, the urge to flee and I tried on the size 10′s. Truth be told, I carried a number of 12′s in with me also… because well… maybe I wouldn’t fit in the 10′s and maybe a different cut of 12′s would be better. Hey, this is what it is. Its the way MY brain works. The 12′s were ALL too big, regardless of cut. The 10′s all fit, although one cut (the boyfriend cut) was NOT bariatric/loose skin friendly. Special thanks to those jeans for letting me know that I also have loose skin on my ass cheeks. Thanks for that!
So here I am wondering out loud… WHERE does one set their goals? REALLY? A BMI chart doesn’t tell you what size jeans you should be wearing. A tag in your jeans doesn’t tell you what weight you should be. So, what happens when your brain tells you that a size ten should LOOK 20lbs LOWER on the scale than it actually does? If I were to get to where the blasted BMI calculator tells me I *could/should/wish-to* be then what would the tag of my jeans read? 4? 2? 0? SERIOUSLY? Its ridiculous, isn’t it? I mean honestly… am I REALLY wasting my time wondering about this crap? BUT the answer is
I AM damn it! I fully ADMIT that a year ago, I would have been giddy to get my fat ass into a size 16, let alone a 14… 12 and a 10 was UNIMAGINABLE! SERIOUSLY! I KNOW! A ten! BUT.. BUT BUT BUTT….. I don’t feel like I LOOK like a TEN… most of the time anyway. And if you took away the camera and the mirror and simply gave me the scale… NO WAY IN HELL would the number on the scale translate into a size ten to me. NOPE, nay never!
So, while I don’t see myself as I ten USUALLY, I do take a LOT of pictures and there is a reason for that! When I was fat, I looked in the mirror and didn’t see myself as obese and as miserable as the camera saw me. I would get up, get dressed, check myself out in the mirror and say “Self, you look pretty damn cute for a big chick”. Then a week or two later I would see a photo of myself from that day and much to my horror… there would be no trace of the cute big chick, simply frumpy cranky momma. AND NOW… well NOW… I look in the mirror and I don’t SEE thin, not fat, normal. I SEE loose skin, big girl. I don’t necessarily see obese. But I do see big. SO, I take pictures, because again… the photographs see more than what the mirror shows. The camera captures what the scale doesn’t give me, what the mirror hides, what the brain denies. The camera gives it to me straight. Be it tired, sloppy, or NOT FAT! The camera gives it to me for real. So yes folks, there are lots of pictures and there will be lots more. If I take a picture and I see fat, despite what the scale or the jeans say… the photos will keep me honest with myself.
The question, however, still remains. WHAT DETERMINES the beginning of maintenance and the end of loss? The number on the scale? The number on the jeans? The stupid freaking BMI chart? The photograph? Will there ever be a point where I will be satisfied? Will I ever it ever be ENOUGH? I just got into a size 10 and already I’m thinking about a size 8. HELLO BRAIN FUCKED! My constant friend. SIGH.
Body Morphing, its just a strange thing
Here I am 13 months post vertical sleeve gastrectomy. The honeymoon phase is waning. The need to make a conscious effort is apparent. A few days of bad choices equals a few numbers increased on the bitch of a scale. Damn that scale.
So, anyway, its a funny thing, the way a bariatric body changes. We have a body type. Those of you who are bariatric know what I mean. We morph in stages. Top first, melt melt melt. WHOA.. look at those cheek bones just days/weeks/months out. Then the neck, collar bones. Around 8 months out my waist changed, then I had to really work to get my legs to slim down… they were just hanging on to weight like potato sacks. Now here I am, slimming down again, and my waist is slimmer, my legs are slimmer and suddenly my face and neck and collar bones are slimming again.
There is amusement in this. I admit to being fascinated by the bari-body. The pre-pastics bari-body. We are identifiable. While we are proud of our weight loss, the way our bodies morph is often a bone of contention with many of us. The loose skin, the areas in which it hangs, the way the excess settles in areas such as our hips or lower belly, thigs, batwings, ankles, toes… what ever. Ahh thank the universe for the joys of the digital camera, the ability to take a photo and delete a photo, edit a photo and play with a photo. Thank the universe for the ability to connect with other body morphing freaks like me, who totally get it when I pinch the flap of skin on my hip and ask “What in the hell is THIS? What do I do with THIS?” and for those who laugh at me when I joke that “If a hurricane were to hit right now, at least we could all deploy our loose skin and parachute to safety” Its our super power. Flexi skin FTW!
Next time I post a picture of myself and you wonder why I often post face pics, understand that the answer is this…… There is NO loose skin in my face, my neck or my shoulders! It is easily photograph-able with out needing to suck, push, roll or hide anything. When there are full body shots, I assure you that they are carefully selected, there are slimpressions worn to pull in the excess hangage, and they are shared painstakingly.
I was recently asked if my brain is finally catching up to my body. I had to think about this for a day or two. I suppose it is. When trying on clothes I still grab one or two sizes too large. I still have anxiety trying on smaller sizes. Mind you, there is VICTORY in getting my ass into a size 12 and more so in the need to go try on a size 10… but there is also anxiety that comes along with going to grab those 10′s and carry them into the fitting room. But yes, my brain is there. I know I need the smaller size. I DO see it. I DO like it. I’m totally NOT bitching about it! YEEHAW to cute jeans! WOOHOO to skinny jeans! And YIPPY to the fact that this fall I will get myself a pair of boots because my calfs are thin enough to wear them! SO there! LOL
I digress, the point is… we are constantly in a stage of morphing. I don’t know that it matters how far out we are either. We just change shape every few months, bounce back to a shape, then revisit another shape. We are shape shifters, body morphers… we have super powers so watch out!
I’m Here! .. wait… what?
Today a fellow sleever asked for a show of hands on facebook. Specifically he aksed for “over a year veterans”.
There are many times in my life where I have looked a situation and thought ‘it seems like yesterday..’. Often times when I look at one of my children, my husband, my parents. Sometimes when I open the front door of my home, or visit my old town. But never did I ever expect to feel that way about being a baby op. I mean, when did I become a veteran? I didn’t think I was. In my mind, I’m still green at this. I’m a newb. A babe, a fresh op. Careful, don’t scare me away!
Perhaps the fact that I had another surgery just three months after my WLS, I feel as though weight loss is still fresh, still progressing, still honeymooning. I know, logically that 18 months is the “magical” number assigned by “THEY” who write the books. “THEY” say that the majority of weight is lost with in the first 18 months after surgery. “They” also say a person who undergoes a vertical sleeve gastrectomy should expect to lose approximately 65% of their excess weight. Uh, yeah… that would have left me at about 215lbs…and I should have been happy with that? I don’t know who “THEY” are or where they get their numbers, but I think they may want to do some other research with in the community. Perhaps some updated studies. I don’t know.
Either way, being called a veteran is sort of like having somebody guess my age five years older than it is. It sort feels similar to the tick tock of the biological clock ticking in my chest. Its kind of like looking out the window and realizing that the big kid on the skateboard is my baby.
Lets slow down, take a breath, reassess the situation. Yes, I’m here for support. I am still in need of support. But by no means would I consider myself any kind of veteran. I’m in my surgical toddlerhood. I’m just ready for the equivalent of potty training. I still have accidents!
Disclaimer: The person who called forward the veterans did no wrong. He called forward those who seemed to be missing with in the support community. He was not looking to offend and I have no issues with him. 
Its all rainbows and unicorns.
I went home part II
So, I headed off to Long Island and arrived at my friend Christina’s home by late morning.
Christina is my best friend, my soul sister. We have a bond like none other in my life. Christina and her husband Huge are incredible friends and their children are adored by me, as if they were my own. I know each one’s personality as well as I know my own kid’s personalities. Best yet is that their kids and my kids fall with in years, months, weeks of each other age wise. They fit like a puzzle, never a missing link.
Walking into Chris & Hugh’s yard was like coming home in and of itself. Filled with ghosts of babies crawling, boys peeing in the yard, potty training, barbecues, beer, good times.
I stole away a bit of time here and there. I drove by my family home, down the block I played on, around the block to check out the park, the Matthew’s house and wondered if the yards were still connected like they were when we were kids. I never had to walk around the block. Loving neighbors had a gate between yards, to keep us lil people safe & in view.
We spent time with my brother Brian, my nephew John, and sister in law Tracy. Sometimes you take for granted that family is family & they will always be there. We have not seen nearly enough of them over the years, and I didn’t know how much I
Missed them till I was there.
My kids were water rats, I wore a bathing suit and was water logged myself. I soaked up the fact that Brian is a one man show who can entertain 7 children with out trying. I also can’t thank him enough for having my clan and Christina’s clan, so I was able to enjoy the best of both worlds.
I drove through Lindenhurst and Wellwoid ave broke my heart. Where is Carvel? The flower Shop? How is Friendly’s a friggin 7-11? Where is my town? My tween years were spent there. My first job, first crush, and the sense if freedom I had by merely being permitted to walk there to meet up with friends.
Amazingly, a trip to NY did not awaken my sense of food nostalgia. Well, other than Linzer Tarts. I really didn’t do the food tours that most former NYers do when they go home. No bagels for me (but for the kids) Brian got them pizza too. No deli heros, no Italian pastries, I even avoided the Italian butcher. No Chinese, no Zorns, no zeppolis.
Crazy right? But, this is a non scale victory. Before surgery I would have binged for a week straight.
The ghosts of my childhood, my teens, my early parenting years are all around Long Island. I was homesick for this place that will always be my home.
Packing up my babies and heading back to Georgia was physically painful. My heart broke. I miss my people. Christina and I belong close by. It’s a strong connection and it’s resilient, but 900 miles may as well be different continents. I miss my brother, my family. I even got to see my cousin Jamie and her beautiful boy Hudson. Jamie and I were polar opposite as kids. She out going and independent, me a momma’s girl. Now, we’re two strong headed, crazy momma’s ourselves & my kids are thrilled to know that there are more cousins to meet.
Next year we’ll tackle this trip earlier. We will make time for the beach, for a meeting with Scheiner Family, & hopefully the hubby will come along to spend some man time with Hugh & Brian.
My NY peeps, I love you. I’m sorry if I missed you. I was ghost hunting, finding pieces of myself in memories long gone.
Embracing the Taboo.. BBGC
Two days ago I received a package in the mail. I wasn’t expecting anything, however, my memory is not the sharpest these days. I opened it up and let out a very loud “OH YAY!” which captured the attention of the whole family. Momma likes packages. Momma especially likes packages that she has forgotten she would be receiving, and when that package contains my latest Bariatric Bad Girls Club tee shirt, momma is down right gleeful!
My proud display of my “badness” got me thinking about my friends and a recent interaction I had with my neurologist.
I went to the neuro because of the migraines and the clumsiness. The neuro suggested ordered that I quit caffeine. My jaw may have hit the floor. There was a very distinct four year old type tantrum that followed. “No Caffeine? What? No REALLY? You’re trying to kill me? Why do you hate me?“. The neuro sat looking at me with a big ass grin on his face, asked if I was done yet and I said NO! “Look, this is not funny. Did my husband put you up to this? Am I being punked? DO YOU REALIZE THAT COFFEE IS MY TRANSFER ADDICTION?!?!!!!”
Now it was time for the neurologist’s jaw to hit the floor. Wide eyed he looked at me and said, quite seriously “You are the FIRST bariatric patient that I have had, that admits there are transfer addictions. While they know it, admitting it openly is very taboo. They do not like the suggestion that food could be an addiction and that its not all genetics that lands them in the obese category”
I explained that my obesity was certainly not genetic, and while before surgery you would have found me very much anti food is an addiction, I am now of the mind set that the habit is the addiction. When I am unhappy, angry, sad, feeling anxious I want to shove something down my throat. I want my taste buds to send happy little bits of dopamine to my brain to push the ugly out and give me a moment of bliss not so ugly. After my surgery, shoving food in my face would give me a moment of “not so ugly” right before the pain from pushing too much food in gave me a “God please don’t let me die”. So, to replace the motion of eating, I began the motion drinking. My hands are occupied with a nice, heavy, warm mug. My mouth is filled with tasty warm goodness. It hits my belly and it doesn’t hurt. Its warm and comforting. Then… the dopamine kicks in with a little help from the caffeine. WIN WIN… right?
I explained to my neurologist that some of the very best people I have met in my life are bariatric patients that do not play a role in the stepford bariatric community. We embrace the taboo. Shit happens. Its not all rainbows and unicorns. The faster you accept that your behaviors landed your ass on an operating table the quicker you will find your way to support, knowledge and answers to some of your issues. Coping isn’t always pretty, but it doesn’t have to be judgmental either. Any “life coach” who suggests that they can guide your through your weight loss journey with grace is full of crap. There are issues that follow this procedure. You are learning to live again, new, differently and change hurts! Change gets resistance from us. Our habits, our brains demand keeping to routine. Retraining your brain is not easy, it is not pretty and it is certainly not something that will ever be graceful.
If there was grace in finding your way through life changing events, reality TV would not be successful.
So, back to the Bariatric Bad Girls Club. Support with a solid dose of reality. We celebrate victories, we do not judge when you stumble, we admit our failures, and find support in picking ourselves up. We are not bad at all. We are real. And because the bariatric community is so filled with “TABOO” our reality makes us appear to be “bad”. We take our vitamins, we eat properly, we admit that indulgences happen and are OKAY (from time to time, not every day)! We are not robots, we do not hide the truth, we do not try to sell you products, we openly discuss medical issues that may be a result of our surgery. We discuss the frustrations. We tell newbies that you will lose weight, you will gain loose skin, you will not be a bikini model and most of all surgery doesn’t suddenly fix the universe. Some people take offense to that view. Some people prefer a less in your face approach to support, and thats okay too. Find it. But know this. The BBGC is a strong community. We embrace Taboo, we speak truth, we offer support, we admit to cross addictions, we do not claim to be perfect or graceful. We do kick ass! We are not bad because we eat poorly, or drink with straws (many of us do drink with straws, we have not died), we are bad because our balls to the wall approach on honesty has been tisk tisked by many.
I love my BBGC tee shirt. I love my BBGC support, and I am honored to call so many of those men and women close personal friends. With in that group of “bad” I have found all kinds of beautiful and I have found so many hands willing to reach out and help me through some of the most ungraceful moments of my post op life.
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