Posts Tagged ‘ diet ’

Can You Sleep Train a Cat?

Monday, March 17th, 2014

For 7 years he slept through the night–sometimes for more than 12 hours. I thought we had it made. No more sleep training needed in this house. But ever since we moved to our new place, things have imploded. While my children progress, my cat has regressed.

Wayne Sanchez is becoming a real problem. He licks our hair with his bad breath in the night. He sits on our head to the point where have to put pillows over ourselves. He howls and yowls. And it all begins at the cheery hour of 3 a.m.

During the day he is the sweetest, most affectionate cat. He tolerates the children constantly rolling and carrying him around. He sits on my lap while I write. He curls up next to Phil at his computer. But come nightfall it all changes.

He won’t relent unless one of us gets up to feed him. Usually Phil gives into Wayne when I give into Emmett at 5 a.m. Bleary eyed, I go make Em’s bottle, while Phil takes Wayne downstairs to eat. Then he closes the door to the basement. We both get back in bed. Em sleeps. Wayne goes to the top of the steps, right between our bedroom and Fia’s, and begins his catcall. Again. This lasts until we get up with the kids. So basically we have broken sleep from 3-7 a.m.

We have a sound machine in Fia’s room and a high-powered fan in ours. But sometimes he gets so loud he could wake the dead. We find ourselves cursing the cat we rescued from Brooklyn’s toxic Gowanus Canal; the cat that we had to turn into a transsexual to keep him alive.

He gets 1 can of food a day. We used to feed him half at 7 a.m. and half at 7 pm. Now it’s more like 3 am and 3 pm, with a “bonus round” of dry food at 9 pm–which actually goes against the vet’s orders. She had us cut down on his dry food and he lost 4 pounds. I proclaimed him The Biggest Loser. Now not only is he wreaking havoc on our sleep, but he’s getting fat again. We’ve tried pushing the evening feed back to 7 pm. It doesn’t matter. It’s as if he’s still on east coast time, even though we’ve been west for almost 3 years.

We have nowhere to put him at night where he won’t be heard but still be close to his liter box. The other night Phil said, “That’s it. I’m putting him in the shower.”

“You can’t put him in the shower!” I said with strange indignation. I have no idea why I was defending the cat at that godforsaken hour.

We compromised and let him have free reign of the bathroom. There, he’s further from Fia’s room but even closer to ours. It’s not a solution.

We are at a loss of what to do. We’ve let him cry it out. We’ve tried Ferber. He is relentless.

Any ideas?

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Do Vacations Equal Diet Disaster?

Wednesday, February 13th, 2013

Cynthia Roelle, mom to a 2-year-old daughter and award-winning photographer, shares her saga to lose the “baby weight” and reunite with her formerly slender self.

Before my husband and I had our daughter we used to travel a lot. Together we’ve been to 40 countries, give or take.

But as all parents discover, a baby changes the landscape. A simple walk in the park requires advanced planning. An overnight trip becomes a complex operation involving the repositioning of about 500 pounds of crap.

At some point you come to realize that “vacations” equal torture. There’s nothing relaxing or adventurous about them. A vacation with a little one is nothing more than an exercise of endurance. Consequently, we haven’t hazarded a real vacation in two-and-a-half years.

Then, last month my husband surprised me with a two-week trip to Ecuador. You’d think I would have been thrilled, right?

You’d be wrong. My first thought was “ah crap, there goes my diet.” I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the reaction my husband was hoping for.

Here’s the deal. I spent the last two-and-a-half years being 25 pounds overweight. Last fall I finally got sick of my fat ass and decided to get serious about losing weight.

Two-and-a-half months later I hit my goal weight. I lost the entire 25 pounds.

I still can’t believe it. I keep expecting to step on the scale only to find I’ve gained it all back. Like, in one day. Or on a 2-week vacation.

I’m happy to say that didn’t happen. After we returned from Ecuador I was afraid to step on the scale. I avoided it for days. When I finally mustered the courage I found I hadn’t gained a single pound. Truly, I was in shock. Apparently, vacations do not mean certain diet disaster.

Laziness, however, does. Since we returned home two weeks ago I’ve been more than a little lazy. I can’t remember the last time I worked out and, big fat surprise, I’ve actually gained a couple of pounds.

So, starting immediately, I’m back on the wagon. I’m going to lose the lazy weight and then, if all goes well, maybe a few more pounds. I have a pile of skinny girl pants I’m determined to fit into again (even if I never actually wear them). I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

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10 Things I’m Thankful for This Thanksgiving

Wednesday, November 21st, 2012

Cynthia Roelle, mom to a 2-year-old daughter and award-winning photographer, shares her saga to lose the “baby weight” and reunite with her formerly slender self.

There can’t be much worse for my diet than a holiday synonymous with gluttonous overeating. I could spend today chewing over the setback tomorrow could bring. Or I could focus on what I have to be thankful for about my weight loss plan. I chose the latter.

10. I’m thankful I had only 25 pounds to lose. That is, as opposed to 30, 40, 50 or more.

9. I’m thankful for my husband, most days. When I told my husband I wanted to lose 25 pounds he said all the right things. It’s just that, well, he kept talking. For some reason he felt compelled to point out how hard it was going to be to stick to my plan through the holidays. I could have punched him. When I started back in September the holidays weren’t on my radar.

8. I’m thankful for crappy Halloween candy. Halloween could have been a nightmare but for the fact that I waited until the last hour to buy candy. You know, when the selection was crap. Forget doling it out a piece at a time. We gave it away by the fistfuls. Every last piece. There was no bucketful of leftovers to tempt me through New Year’s.

7. I’m thankful I started my diet when I did. Come January 2nd, when the gym is packed with walking New Year’s Resolutions, I’ll be just one week away from my goal weight.

6. I’m thankful for Lose It! It’s an app. It’s free. And I’m here to tell you it is gold money. I’ve already lost 15 pounds.

5. I’m thankful I’ve already lost 15 pounds. I figured that was worth repeating. It’s like a whole turkey.

4. I’m thankful for tofu, but not tofurky. My brother-in-law is so worried I’ll be serving tofurky tomorrow he’s planning to bring his own bird. As a quasi-vegetarian I enjoy a soggy block of tofu as much as the next guy but tofurky just doesn’t cut the mustard.

3. I’m thankful I don’t own elastic waistband pants. If ever there was a day to be thankful for the elastic waistband, surely it is Thanksgiving. But I’m thankful that even in my darkest, fattest hour, I never succumbed to this fashion catastrophe.

2. I’m thankful I won’t be serving muffin tops with Thanksgiving dinner. I can probably speak for everyone at our table on this one. Having pants that fit is definitely something to be thankful for.

1. I’m thankful for my baby, despite the baby weight. There’s no amount of weight to be gained or lost that could change how thankful I am for my sweet little girl. She’s worth every last ounce, and then some.

Diet-wise, that just about rounds out the holiday for me. If you’re also dieting through the holidays, let me know what you’re thankful for. And if you have any tips to get through tomorrow I’d like to hear those too!

Happy Thanksgiving!

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Who Wears the Pants in This Family?

Tuesday, November 6th, 2012

Cynthia Roelle, mom to a 2-year-old daughter and award-winning photographer, shares her saga to lose the “baby weight” and reunite with her formerly slender self.

After nearly three years of being too fat to fit into anything I own, I’m happy to report I’ve lost some weight. I’m not ready to say how much, but enough that this past weekend I decided to foray into my closet to take stock of my pants. We’re talking about pants that haven’t seen the light of day for years.

I tried on every last pair, even ones I knew would never make it over my hips. Here’s what I have, by pile:

Pile 1 is the A-Girl-Can-Dream pile. These pants are at least 10 years old and are deplorably out of style. I will almost surely never again fit into a single pair on this pile, but the skinny girl in me can’t bring herself to part with them.

Pile 2 is the Picture-of-Fitness pile. All of the pants in this pile fit, oh, a mere six years ago. I bought them when I said goodbye to the Army and traded in my uniforms for girl clothes. This is my goal pile, though I should probably step up the Fitness if they’re ever going to fit again.

Pile 3 is the Denial pile. I bought these around the time the clothing manufacturers started monkeying with the sizes (as if there was ever a standard). That was back when size 8 was the new size 4.

Pile 4 is the I’ve-Already-Lost-a-Full-Pant-Size-and-I’m-Pretty-Happy-About-It pile. I bought these somewhere between my Denial and Fat-Ass stage. This is my current go-to pile.

Pile 5 is the Fat-Ass pile. It consists of the two pair of threadbare jeans I’ve been wearing since my daughter was born. That was two years ago. T-W-O.

Last but not least is Pile 6, the What-I-Would-Wear-if-I-Were-to-Workout pile. It’s also known as the Pajama pile.

Okay, so once I went through all these, I was ready to stash them back in the closet when my daughter woke from her nap. I went off to get her and forgot about the pants.

Fast forward a few hours. My husband came home and headed upstairs to change.

“Are these my pants?” he shouted.

Instant sinking feeling. My pants were still on the bed.

“I don’t know, what pants are they?” I bellowed back.

“They’re Old Navy…khakis.”

Ahh crap. Pile 3. Denial. Top of the heap.

What happened next is not something I’m proud of. I sprinted upstairs and there he stood wearing my pants.

ARGHHHHH! And to make matters worse, THEY WERE TOO BIG ON HIM! God help me.

Me: “No they’re not your pants! Take them off! TAKE THEM OFF!”

This is not the confidence boost I was hoping for when I got the bright idea to try on pants. But at least I have a new goal: look better in my pants than my husband does.

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Why I’m Sick Of Being Fat

Wednesday, October 24th, 2012

Hey guys! Jill here. I want to introduce you to a good friend of mine who is going to be blogging for me every other week. I’m so excited for her to share her funny stories and sagas. She has an incredibly interesting life that you’ll get to know over time. But right now, she is working on losing the baby weight and is looking for suggestions. Here’s…Cynthia!

Cynthia Roelle, mom to a 2-year-old daughter and award-winning photographer, shares her saga to lose the “baby weight” and reunite with her formerly slender self.

If my friend Jill can blog about her embarrassing pregnancy problem, taking antidepressants while pregnant, losing her mom and her rather gruesome labor story, then surely I can be candid too. So here’s my confession:

My ass is fat.

Okay, so it’s not quite on par with Jill’s divulgences. It’s hardly private; anyone can see I have a fat ass. But still, it’s hard to admit.

After my daughter was born people would tell me how good I looked for just having had a baby. Truth be told, they were right. I didn’t gain a ton during my pregnancy and I’m tall (5’8”) so the extra pounds were easy to hide. In maternity clothes.

Unfortunately, I’m past the point where it’s socially acceptable to wear maternity clothes. For one thing, I’m not pregnant and for another, my baby turned two in July.

That leaves me with exactly two things in my closet I can squeeze my fat ass into. Both are post-pregnancy purchases. Both are pretty worn. And both are getting tighter by the day. Therein lies the rub:

I refuse to buy any more fat clothes. I am not that person. Besides, I have a closet full of beautiful clothes. They just don’t fit. Too bad they’ll be hopelessly out of fashion when my fat no longer bulges the buttons and strains the seams. But that’s a problem for another day.

Right now I’m sick of using my daughter as an excuse for not exercising, I’m sick of looking like a dumpy hausfrau and I’m sick of having a closet full of clothes I can’t wear. Bottom line: I’m sick of being fat.

Just how fat are we talking? Here’s a visual: I’m about two 10-pound bags of sugar, one 4-pound bag plus another 1-pound box of sugar over my goal weight. In case you weren’t adding, that’s 25 pounds. On my ass. Sugar buns, it is not.

I may not have the brass pair that Jill has but there it is. My ass is fat and I’m sick of it, but I have a plan. (A butt plan, if you will.) One pound per week for 25 weeks, sooner if all goes well. If Jill will indulge me, I’ll check in with updates on my progress. And when it’s all said and done, I’ll even let you know how I did it.

In the meantime, I want to hear from you if you’ve ever used your child as an excuse for being fat!

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