On plateaus and progress and The Diet Fix

I was already thinking about writing a blog post about Yoni Freedhoff’s book The Diet Fix when I happened to catch him speaking to Jian Ghomeshi this morning on CBC Radio Q. I’ve been aware of Dr Freedhoff, an Ottawa doctor who specializes in treating overweight people, for many years. I’ve been following him on Twitter for a lot of that time, and have occasionally read his Weighty Matters blog. While I have always found his opinions interesting, I have to admit that I have previously found him a little too strident in his views (and how he espouses them) for my tastes.

Maybe he’s become more moderate in his views, or maybe I’ve become more rigid in mine. Maybe I just never gave him enough of my attention to make a fair judgement. Regardless, between reading The Diet Fix and listening to him on Q this morning, I’m well on my way to becoming a fangirl.

If you’re struggling with health and weight and nutrition, I really recommend you give Dr Freedhoff’s book a try. He preaches embracing a lifestyle of moderation, giving you straightforward advice about how to re-think the idea of dieting and allowing you the flexibility to enjoy real food, including those occasional indulgences of chips, chocolate and ice cream – as long as it’s in thoughtful quantities that are the minimum amount that will make you happy. It’s exactly what I’ve already been doing, but it’s also given me some good insight into where I might have been deceiving myself and subverting my own efforts.

I know myself well enough to know that deprivation of any sort simply will not work for me. While I have great admiration for those of you who have succeeded on low carb or low fat diets, or who have eliminated sugar from their diets, I always knew that I would never be able to maintain that sort of diet. And if I did manage it, I’d be miserable. I’m a creature of comfort – I don’t like to be miserable. I do, however, believe in moderation, and that’s the thread that runs through The Diet Fix.

I keep thinking about one quote in the book: “You can’t outrun your fork.” Dr Freedhoff isn’t a fan of Biggest Loser style guerrilla exercise campaigns where you burn off excess calories with hours at the gym. I’ve been a little self-critical about the fact that I haven’t been making the time to work out more, so this spoke to me. He cautions that treadmills and elliptical often give a false and inflated sense of calories burned, and your body’s hunger response to all those burned calories is to crave – more calories. Instead, he asks “Is this a level of exercise you are comfortable committing to for the foreseeable future?” And he approaches calories in the same way: the amount of calories you should be consuming needs to be at a level you’ll be comfortable consuming not just until you achieve your best weight, but beyond that, too.

The nice thing for me is that I’m pretty much doing exactly that. I’m just over 1/3 of the way to my goal of 14 lbs weight loss about five and a half weeks in, which is not stellar progress but it is progress. I was going to crop this chart to take the actual weight out – but I’m going to take a deep breath and leave the numbers there. As some clever person said in an earlier comment, the absolute numbers really only offer true insight into my relationship with gravity. Ten years (and one baby and one miscarriage) ago, I was at 170 lbs and considering joining weight watchers because I thought I was too heavy. Now that’s my goal weight and I’m pretty happy with how I look just a few pounds over that. But it’s still tough to share those numbers. I’m pleased enough with the downward meandering curve to take a deep breath and post them, though I am cringing just a bit.

I remember when I had my big weight loss success in 2008-2009 having the idea in my mind “I don’t eat that.” At the time, “that” comprised doughnuts, nachos, chips and a handful of other things. For six months, I didn’t eat those things, and I remember feeling vaguely naughty eating chips and salsa at a New Years party that year, but giving myself “permission” because I’d reached my weight goal. It took five years, but I gained back about 80% of that weight in the intervening time. I’m hoping this time I’m able to find a balance, as the book preaches, that lets me continue happily eating this way for good – mostly on track, but with no forbidden foods and constant mindfulness.

I’ve capitulated to the fact that I must count and measure portions and calories, at least for now. I’m lazy about it, and I guesstimate a lot. I think if I were more diligent, I’d lose the weight a little quicker, but I really do appreciate the concept of embracing a relationship with food and eating that you will be comfortable maintaining for the long term. So I will happily trade slower progress for less stress in the getting there. To me, it’s as much about awareness and informed choices as anything.

I have to say, though, the chapter that most deeply affected me was called “Parent” – as in, how to parent a child who is overweight. This is a new challenge for us right now, and I really don’t want to say too much about it except to say that it is consuming a lot of my mental energy right now. I’m so grateful to Dr Freedhoff for this chapter, which I just read last night. While I have stratospherically improved in serving healthy meals at home in the last few years, getting the children to actually eat, let alone enjoy, those meals is an ongoing challenge. Dr Freedhoff’s recounting of changing his own taste for coffee from double-double to black over the course of months inspired me. He found it took roughly 1800 sips of coffee to retrain his taste buds to appreciate black coffee – and gave me great hope that maybe some day the boys will love quinoa salad, kale and seafood as much as I do. Only 1500 nibbles to go.

Anyway, this is not so much a book review as a brain dump. I picked up the book on a whim from the express loan section of the library, and although I have to say that I was more than 75% of the way down this road, I’m grateful for Dr Freedhoff for the ideas and inspiration on how to tweak my progress without depriving myself or setting myself up for future failure or regression. It’s a good book – if you’re interested in a healthier lifestyle that is the opposite of a prescriptive diet, I highly recommend it.

Photo of the day: Dickinson Days parade

It was a perfect night for the Dickinson Days parade in Manotick. The parade itself is simple enough, but seeing the boys having fun and hanging with their buddies is priceless. I love seeing them grow up a little more each year.

Love Dickinson Days in Manotick. :)

Won’t be long before they’ll be going without us! (So I’ll take great pleasure in these years when they’re still happy to go with us.)

Planning for PEI: the hunt for the perfect seaside cottage

A couple of you have asked why we chose PEI and where we’ll be staying.

We chose PEI the same way and with the same lack of intention we chose Nova Scotia a few years ago – a vague idea that it seemed like a nice place, a proximity to the ocean, a sense that we should show the boys as much of our beautiful country as we can, and some rave reviews from people who had been there or were from there. Oh, and the possibility of taking a pretty picture or two. (What, you don’t plan your family vacation around potential photo ops?!?)

It was in the frozen heart of January, in the very depths of a relentless winter, that we started making our plans. Other people were talking about island vacations to escape the miserable winter and we joked we were planning an island getaway, too – for six months hence.

PEI just seems like a lovely place, doesn’t it? People get this nostalgic happy haze around them when they talk about it. Narrowing down a region was easy – we avoided the far north western tip as a bit too remote, and everything else was accessible. Heck the whole island is less than 300 km tip to tip and only 64 km wide at its widest point. And I love the fact that the tourism brochures brag that no point in the province is further than 16 km from the sea. I must have been a fishwife or a sailor in a past life, because for a girl who grew up landlocked I am drawn viscerally to the idea of the sea.

We sorted through dozens and dozens of cabin and cottage rentals, considering every region of the province. We had a short list of must-have amenities:

  • must have ocean view, preference for ocean access
  • minimum three bedroom, five separate beds preferred
  • must have cable TV
  • must be within 3G coverage range
  • needs full kitchen, washer and dryer on site preferred
  • a little bit of elbow room from the neighbours – no cottage clusters

After some discussion and soul-searching, we added a final criterion: must have wi-fi. I tried to convince myself, and Beloved, that it would probably be fine if we didn’t have wi-fi access, that we could get by on a bare minimum with me occasionally checking my messages via 3G and letting the rest of the family go on an Internet detox, but I now see that I was deluding myself.

If I were to fall in love with PEI, which I fully expect to do, to the extent that I wanted to quit my day job and move the family out there on a permanent basis (don’t worry Mom, just speculating and spit-balling) then I really think I could make a career for myself as a cottage web listing consultant and photographer. Oy. I know I’m a webby sort of girl, but after sifting through dozens (it felt like hundreds) of web listings for cottages, I have a few recommendations. First, you don’t need more than one photo of Anne of Green Gables in your listing. We get it. Second, while the photo of your lawn furniture is nice, I would really rather see the kitchen. Third, if you printed your photos out at the PhotoHut in 1993 and you have a date stamp printed on them, you might want to consider something from this millennium. (Not kidding on that one.)

These were a few of the early contenders:

I have a soft spot for quirkiness, and this little cottage near Savage Harbour had high quirk factor. I loved the idea of being in a fishing village but was afraid this one would be a little far off the beaten path and a little cramped for us.

We were all ready to rent this lovely log cabin on the south shore when we found it for sale on a real estate listing. I just couldn’t see us risking having the cottage sell some time between when we were looking at making our booking and our planned vacation six months hence. Ironically, it looks like it’s still available. Oh well.

This one scored high on quirk factor as well – the main bedroom is in a little gazebo separate from the main building, on a cliff overlooking the sea.

In addition to being a fishwife in a former life, there’s a good chance that I might have been a farmer, because I find farms *almost* as fascinating as the ocean. I really loved the idea of staying in a cottage on a working dairy farm, with an open invitation to visit the barns during milking time, but Beloved was less enamoured with the idea.

In the end, we fell in love with a three-bedroom cottage overlooking the point where the Murray River opens into Northumberland Strait. We’ll be there at the tail end of lobster season, so I understand we’ll be able to see the lobster fishers heading out and in with their daily catch, and the islands in the harbour are apparently home to PEI’s largest seal colony. The cottage itself looks small but tidy, with neighbours half a kilometer away on either side and 75 feet of open lawn leading to red sandstone cliffs overlooking the ocean with beach access. Morning coffee watching the sun rise over the ocean? Hells yes!

It’s a 10 minute drive to the booming metropolis of Murray River (population 358), featuring “a gas station, a fire/police station, a grocery, a restaurant, a number of churches, and a number of wharves.” Not to be confused with Murray Harbour, just 10 km around the bend, or North Murray Harbour, which is up the coast a bit in the other direction.

Photo courtesy of PointsEastCostalDrive.com

I. am. so . excited!

Okay, one more post in this series to talk about some of the things we want to do and see (and, erm, photograph!) while we’re there. Less than a month to go!

A dozen reasons to visit Manotick for Dickinson Days this weekend

Did you see the weather forecast for this weekend? Sun, sun and more sun, with a side of heat and a little more sun. Helllloooooo summer, we are *so* glad to see you!

You know I love summer. You know I love free family fun. You know I love Manotick. What’s not to love about free summer family fun in Manotick this weekend with Dickinson Days? There’s a jam-packed schedule of events with a little something for everyone.

Here’s a dozen things to see or do:

1. Dickinson Days Parade on Manotick Main Street, Friday at 7:00. The kids love Manotick’s parades – get there early for a good spot!

Dickinson Days Parade 2013

2. Concert with Junkyard Symphony and fireworks to follow, Friday at 8:30, Manotick Arena and Centennial Park

3. Kids fishing derby on the dam, Saturday 9:00 to 12:00 on the dam behind the Mill.

4. Pancake breakfast in Dickinson Square (in front of the Mill), Saturday 7:00 to 11:00 am.

5. Farmer’s market and village craft sale, Dickinson Square

6. Horse-drawn wagon rides through the village (my kids still love these!)

231:365 Oh look, it's the Mill. Again. :)

7. Used book sale in the carriage house, across from Watson’s Mill

8. Charity BBQ from M&M Meats, Dickinson Square

9. Doors Open Ottawa – there are six Manotick locations participating, including Watson’s Mill, Dickinson House, the Canadian Guide Dogs for the Blind Training Centre and SunTech Greenhouses (have you tried their cherry tomatoes? To. Die. For.)

10. Community dance outdoors in Dickinson Square (Saturday 7 – 10 pm, admission $10, kids under 12 free)

11. Watson’s Mill will be open with costumed interpreters and milling demonstrations and Dickinson House is featuring an exhibit of vintage toys and games.

163:365 Dickinson Days Fun

12. Trivia contest in Dickinson Square, Sunday 1:00 to 4:00.

Can you believe that’s only a portion of the activity going on this weekend? For a full schedule with additional events, details and links, visit the Dickinson Days page.

Hope to see you there!

Photo of the day: What do you mean you don’t keep your typewriter on the porch?

I found a new toy at a garage sale this weekend: a gorgeous vintage Olympia SG-1 manual typewriter, circa 1950. It’s a beast of a typewriter, I’m sure close to 30 lbs if not more. Beloved laughed at me for picking it up (“Don’t you already have one of these?”) but even he couldn’t argue with the $5 price tag.

Doesn't everybody keep their typewriter on the porch?

I just put it on the porch until I have the chance to give it a proper cleaning, but I gotta say, I kind of like it there. A typewriter makes for perfectly good porch decorations, don’t you think? And much as I love it, with its extended 15″ carriage, I’m not sure where else I can keep it – but I simply had to have it. πŸ˜‰

Photo of the day: Lucas on the porch

One of my favourite models, helping me practice my on-camera fill flash techniques on the porch today.

Lucas on the porch

I have been swearing for years that I would learn off-camera flash. I have taken at least two workshops, read many books and countless blog posts. I’ve bought umbrellas, gels, softboxes, and modifiers, all chasing the magic key that would unlock my understanding. I’ve tinker with the flash every now and then, but I have never come close to being comfortable with the technique. Everything I read said I needed to get the flash off the camera, but there were just too many variables for me to control to consider using it for a portrait session.

And yet, when I looked back at a lot of recent work, I was able to see that this is a technique I simply must master. I spent a couple of years learning exposure and composition inside and out, and most of last year teaching myself photoshop and lightroom magic. This is the year that I internalize how to use the flash, on camera and off. This is simple fill flash from an external flash mounted on the hot shoe. It helps add a little light to Lucas’s face and that sparkle to his eye, and helps balance the bright light behind him.

Is it the most creative lighting ever? Nope. Is it flat and directionless, like most on-camera flash? Nope. Is it a good place to start? Yep. πŸ™‚

Photo of the day: Hollywood starlet on the porch

This is fun! This lovely lady is having a Hollywood-themed Bat Mitzvah in the fall, and she came to the porch for a quick portrait in advance of the event so her mom could create a poster for all her guests and friends to sign on the big day. Isn’t that a fun idea? And how adorable is she, all glammed up like a starlet?

Hollywood starlet web board

It’s not often the porch gets to see this much glamour and bling! I love it! πŸ™‚

A wee ramble on decency, school rules, dress codes and photoshop

Much has been made of the perennial warm-weather debate about school dress codes recently. I’ve pretty much stayed out of the debates not because I don’t find it an interesting topic – I do! – but because I’m pretty ambivalent about the whole thing. I think the schools do have a right to establish and enforce a dress code, but I think they have to be consistent, fair and proactive in both communicating and enforcing it. I personally don’t see this as an issue of girl shaming, but if I were a girl again, I’d probably fight against it.

My (Catholic) high school had a dress code, and breaking that dress code was one of my favourite and only expressions of outright defiance as a teenager. The dress code called for navy blue pants or skirts, or a kilt in the school’s plaid, and a white or navy blue shirt with a collar. The hem of my kilt, I remember, fell closer to my hip bone than my knee bone, but no mention was ever made of skirt length. I don’t remember being allowed to wear shorts, and denim was strictly forbidden. My main source of miscreance was the collar – it was the 80s, and polos with collars were not hard to come by, but I abhorred them.

All this to say, we were all aware of the dress code and while we occasionally played fast and loose with it and rebelled against it and spent endless hours railing against the injustice of it, we knew if we got caught breaking it we would be paying a visit to the vice principal. With the perspective of 30+ years, I can imagine that Mr Fekete thought enforcing the dress code was just as much a waste of his time as an eduator and administrator as we did – but the rules and consequences were never in question.

My boys don’t seem to run afoul of their school’s dress code, so I don’t have a horse in this race. I’d be ticked if I were told my shorts were too short, and my bra strap is as we speak peeking rather disrespectfully out on my shoulder. In fact, on the day a young teen’s story appeared in the Citizen about how she and her mother were challenging her school’s policy against spaghetti straps, I walked through the business district of downtown Ottawa at lunch time and counted the number of visible bra straps I could see. It only took me about 15 minutes to get to a dozen. I’m not sympathetic to the argument that school teaches kids how to comport themselves for their future careers in the sartorial sense.

Speaking of sartorial sense and lack of it, I thought this was an interesting extention of that debate. Apparently a school in Utah decided to photoshop clothing extensions onto the yearbook photos of students who showed more skin than the school administration was happy with. Sleeves were added, tattoos were cloned out and necklines crept up to collarbones, all in the name of decency. And the school is apparently unapologetic, according to the article on PetaPixel: “For their part, the school does not apologize for editing the photos. They posted signs warning that this might be the case, and claim the students should have been expecting it. The only thing they apologize for is the fact that they werenÒ€ℒt more consistent with the edits.”

If this were my kid’s yearbook and her photo was edited, I’d hit the roof. Can you imagine? What’s next, we’ll just use the liquefy tool to thin out Mary’s pudgy face a bit, and oh we’d better airbrush out the worst of John’s acne. And poor Sally’s teeth are rather dull, don’t you think? We’ll just polish them up – and while we’re at it, maybe reduce the size of those buck teeth too.

I. Would. Flip.

I’ve seen great arguments on both sides of the dress code debate on Twitter and Facebook recently, and it reflects back to the question I asked not too long ago – what DO you do when you disagree with your child’s school’s policies? Is there merit in rebelling to bring attention to a policy you don’t like, or do you take a more concilliatory approach? Or maybe you think rules are made to be obeyed at all costs? And would you hit the roof if you saw your child’s yearbook photo had been edited for “decency” or other reasons?

Book review with a twist: Take This Man, by Brando Skyhorse

Remember when I found out my photo of Lucas playing hopscotch had been turned into a book cover?

I’ve already told you a little bit about how I found the book and started a casual correspondence with the author, and what a truly kind and interesting person he seems to be. But just as the proof of the pudding is in the eating, the proof of the book is in the reading, and when I cracked the cover of Take This Man by Brando Skyhorse, I so dearly wanted it to be a good book. I wanted it to be good because I liked the author, I wanted it to be good because I was curious about the story, and of course, I wanted it to be good because that’s my Lucas on the cover.

It was not simply a good book. It was a harrowing, heartbreaking, funny, tragic, compelling and utterly unforgettable book. It is, I tell you without bias, a story that will rattle around in your brain and your heart long after you turn the last page. It has been called a “most anticipated book of 2014“, (right there under Diana Gabaldon and Stephen King!), a best book of summer 2014, and listed as a “next great indie read” for June 2014, among many other reviews. Pretty serious buzz, right? And I can tell you without reservation or bias, it is worth the read.

Brando Skyhorse has lived a life that is incomprehensible to me, and his memoir moved me deeply. Brando’s Mexican-born father leaves the family when Brando was a toddler, leaving Brando with no real memories of his father. Shy of neither imagination nor chutzpah, Brando’s Mexican-born mother Maria capriciously decides to reinvent herself as a Native American named Running Deer and tells young Brando that his father is an incarcerated Native activist named Paul Skyhorse – someone neither Maria nor Brando has ever met. This abrupt reinvention and declaration marks the beginning of a pattern that repeats throughout Brando’s young life: a father figure is discovered, declared and brought into the family without question, usually without attention to such details as divorcing the previously instated father figure, not once or twice but five times through Brando’s childhood and adolescence.

Dysfunctional doesn’t begin to cover Brando’s convoluted childhood. His domineering and delusional mythmaker mother seeks new husbands in the personal ads in the backs of magazines, and Brando and his mother become co-conspirators of a sort in this ongoing quest to find a suitable surrogate father figure. Brando describes the pattern in the introduction to the book:

Life with each of these fathers followed a similar path. First I was forced to accept them, then slowly I trusted them, then I grew to love them.

Then they left.

“Some boys don’t have any fathers in their life,” my mother would say, bucking me up. “You’ve had five. Plenty for one boy.”

This cavalier obliviousness defines Maria’s relationship with Brando, and the mother in me at more than one point in the book wanted to reach into the pages and throttle Maria for her casual cruelty. One father gets arrested at Disneyland, another steals coins from Brando’s piggy bank. One after another, they fail to live up to even the most meagre expectations of a father figure. Time and again, the circumstances of Brando’s life conspire against him, yanking the metaphysical rug out from under him. And yet, this is neither a maudlin nor a bitter story. Brando’s voice is often dryly witty as he recounts the absurdity of his childhood circumstances. Only toward the end of the book does a sense of defeat and anger begin to outweigh the undercurrent of dark humour, and it was at this point that I found the story hardest to read.

This is truly an unforgettable story, brilliantly told. I held my breath in anticipation at times, cringing and practically reading through fingers splayed across my eyes for fear of what twist might come next at others. Dark comedy melds seamlessly into tragic pathos and back again, and by the middle of the book I was so deeply invested in Brando’s story I wanted to skip ahead to the end to make sure the final twist was a happy ending. Just when I really thought I was going to have to stop reading because I didn’t think I could handle the stress of reading about one more loss in the young man’s life, Brando finds his way through his personal darkness and begins to weave together the frayed ends of his life. As much as a memoir of a living person can’t really have a definitive ending, I can tell you at least (no worries, no spoiler alert here) that you won’t be disappointed with the where the story ends.

This is not just a good book. This is an extraordinary book. So maybe, just this once, it’s okay to judge a book by it’s cover. πŸ˜‰