Cleaning out the Closets (A Week in Review)

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So we are finally finished moving into our new home. Sort of. Mostly.

I still have to go back to the old house and yardsale all the stuff we left behind. And speaking of stuff we left behind: that's mostly what this post is about. I'm going to try to keep it short, mostly because I still have so much left to do with the unpacking and the sorting, and the picking up/dropping off children, and the grocery shopping, and on and on....

We chose to move for several reasons. And it was stressful. Really, really stressful. I posted about this a while back before we even started the official move, and as that day got closer, my anxiety and irritability, and awful eating habits just kept getting worse and worse. And I knew it, but I couldn't stop it.

And then something amazing happened. Last Sunday, when it was all said and done, my husband and I were standing around in our new living room, and we both realized (almost simultaneously) how relieved we were, on so many levels. And not relieved that the actual moving part was done (although we were), but relieved that we were in a new place, with new beginnings for our family. I had no clue the power of healing that could be found with a simple change in location and scenery. But it wasn't just that. It was what we left behind at the old place. I won't go into all the gory details, but so much of what our old home held was broken, both literally and figuratively. And that "busy" word I use so much, was mostly just a euphemism for stressed the hell out. But I don't think my husband or I quite realized the full extent of it until we finally moved on, literally and figuratively. And now I feel hope again, and I feel like I can relax (a little), and just enjoy my home and my family. Now we can begin to resemble a "real" or "normal" family again, without all the stress and heaviness we used to feel. We are healing, and I will never, ever, let myself or us go back to what we were. Like the picture above says, I am choosing to live a life I love, from now .

Now on to a few other tidbits from the week. I didn't get to post a Meal Plan Monday due to the move. Plus I was so off track with eating, it would have been inappropriate to list almost anything I ate on this, my "healthy" blog. But I am back on track now.  Back to the GYM (so happy!).

I'm on the left. Check out my girl Rosemary's guns!

And I am back to logging on my fitness pal, back to cooking and eating meals at home, and back to posting here. All very, very good things. And since Meal Plan Monday was a bust this week, here are just a few good things I ate (sorry, no pretty pictures):

Breakfast: Two multigrain waffles topped with 1/4 cup lowfat cottage cheese and sliced strawberries

Recovery Green Smoothie (after the gym):  1 cup almond milk, 1/2 of a gala apple chopped, 1 tbsp chia seeds, 1/2 medium banana, 1/2 cup nonfat vanilla greek yogurt, 1/2 cup orange juice with calcium, 1 cup kale

Lunch: Lunch has been mainly sandwiches this week, roast beef or ham on cracked wheat sourdough bread with asiago cheese and mustard. (Unfortunately, all of these items register high on the sodium meter, so I know I will have to make some changes there). I usually have my sandwiches with grape tomatoes or other crunchy veggies on the side for some texture and to circumvent my chip craving that comes with sandwich consumption :)

Dinner: We have taco night once a week at our house. It's tradition. Tacos in our house are not fancy. They are made with ground beef (93% lean), and premade taco shells. Deal with it. But most of the time, I also make pumpkin black bean poblano tacos for myself (the kids and hubby don't care for them and that's okay). This week I also made guacamole using my bestie's recipe which clocks in at about 90 calories per serving, and had that with some Garden of Eatin' gluten free organic blue corn chips. Delish.

Well, I am off to make a snack and then organize my new closet. Hope everyone has a great weekend!

The "B" in Busy

This is me right now. In squirrel form.

We're moving. And I couldn't be more excited about that fact. Moving means I will no longer have to drive my daughter an hour each way to school. Moving means my best friend's house will be about eight minutes away. Moving means I get to decorate a whole new place. And go to Costco and stock up on a bunch of stuff for my pantry. I have never had this much cabinet space in my life! So by all rights, I should be in a pretty decent mood right?

But I'm not.

I'm irritable. I'm incredibly short with my kids, the dog, cashiers, strangers... In short, cover your virgin ears (or eyes?): I'm a real bitch right now.

And I'm overwhelmed by the simplest of tasks. The thought of having to forward my mail feels like someone expecting me to rebuild a car engine. Nearly every time I start to pack a box, my three year old runs into the room and promptly begins unpacking it. And this might sound like a cute little anecdote, but it literally makes me sit down on the floor and well up with tears, as if my three year old and I are in fact, the same age. 

See, my husband, like me, is also busy. His restaurant (shameless plug) is doing really well, which means he's working a lot. And being married to a chef, that comes with the territory. I know that. I've always known that. And he is helping as much as he can with the move. But I still feel so helpless. Like a helpless little child who can barely tie her own shoes. Which is so not me. And that's making me irritable. And short with the kids, the dog, cashiers, strangers....

And to add a little fun to the mix, I've started eating my feelings. I stole that term from the movie Mean Girls, but it's absolutely true. For months now, I've been on track, eating well and feeling good. Then the whole moving thing started, and this happened:

Yup, it's another squirrel picture. Deal with it.

It all started at Trader Joe's. (I heart TJs so hard). I went in for milk, almond and cow. That's all I needed. But then I thought, I should grab some more spinach for my green smoothies. (I haven't made a single one since I bought the spinach). And then I grabbed some strawberries, mini heirloom tomatoes, Larabars (do yourself a favor: go out right after you read this and buy a Cherry Pie Larabar), and some spicy california rolls. And then the three year old noticed the special bakery table set up for Valentine's Day. There were heart shaped cookies, and whoopie pies, and gluten free flourless cakes (which is what I normally would have purchased, if anything). But then the three year old found them: Triple. Chocolate. Bundt Cakes. A pack of four of them. And she insisted, in her typically calm, rational manner, that I buy them. Remember how I mentioned I'm easily overwhelmed right now? I bought them. And we got them home and I looked at the nutrition information on the bottom of the package. And then I laughed, and laughed, and laughed. A half of one of those chocolate glazed, chocolate cakes rolled in chocolate chips, is 340 calories. And a ridiculous number of grams of fat and carbs that I'm not even going to bother to list.

Now, under normal circumstances, I can resist the urge to eat a triple chocolate bundt cake. In fact, lately, after my no sugar challenge, I don't even have the urge to eat things like triple chocolate bundt cake. But right now I'm all like:

Last one, I promise.

After a little counseling/assurance from my bestie that it would all be okay, I ate half of a triple chocolate bundt cake. And it was damn good. And I didn't feel that bad about it. And then the next day at lunch, I had some french fries and a sugary delicious Eegee's frozen slushy drink. And I still didn't feel all that bad, because I was celebrating my move. So it was okay. But later that day, I had both kids with me, and we had spent the day driving across town, moving boxes. And my mom came to see the new place and I was celebrating again. And the kids needed to eat. So we went out for pizza. And spinach artichoke dip. And hot wings. Damnit.

Today, I woke up with a renewed spirit. I had a cup of multi grain peanut butter cheerios with almond milk, coffee, and four ounces of orange juice for breakfast. And I felt good. And then I started packing boxes. And my three year old began unpacking them. And my teenager, who was supposed to be distracting the three year old, spent most of the morning complaining because I would not allow her to go to her friend's house. And then I discovered that at some point, the dog had urinated all over the three year old's toys. The same toys I was attempting to pack into boxes. And then the three year old started to sob, loudly, and inconsolably, because she couldn't put a puzzle together, and eventually I just decided I hate today. So we went to a fast food restaurant where my three year old could run around and burn off some energy (I know I'm in Arizona, but it's too damn cold right now to go to a park), and I ate a cheeseburger and fries.

Oh, and have I mentioned in the midst of all this, that I haven't had any time or desire to exercise? Yes, I know, moving is a physical activity. Believe me, I'm logging it as such on my fitness pal. But I haven't had the time or energy to go to my beloved boot camp class at the gym, or yoga, or even just go for a run, which are all a part of my normal week. And it's making me irritable. And short with the kids, the dog, cashiers, strangers....

So here is what I've decided: this stops now. I am going to get back on track, now. And I am going to be nicer to my kids, the dog, cashiers, strangers, and possibly my husband. Just kidding honey. But I am resolved to put an end to the season of the bitch. And to start eating like I know I should, and to make time to get my workouts in. Because it's all a cycle, I know that all too well. I know that if I eat right and exercise, I won't be so stressed, and overwhelmed. And then I can focus on all the positives of moving. Which is what I should be doing, and what I want to be doing. And those three chocolate bundt cakes on my kitchen counter? They'll be joining all the other stuff in the old house I secretly got rid of when the three year old wasn't paying attention.