Gluten-Free: Six Months Later

Eight months ago, I looked like this:

Two months after that was taken, in a desperate attempt to feel anything but sick, I took all gluten - wheat, barley, rye and anything derived from those products - out of my diet. After an uncomfortable week of withdrawals, I started to feel better - a lot better.

Today, about six months later, I look like this:

And yes, I have headphones on. I was listening to the Black Eyed Peas and didn't feel like stopping just to take a picture. I might be vain, but good music takes priority. 

The greatest thing about all of this is that I never did it for the weight loss. Honestly, I was sick of trying to lose weight. Anything I've ever done in the name of shedding pounds has backfired on me. I did this to get my health back, and my body is responding with a slow, but steady "Thank you!" And I am responding to my body responding by grinning every time I look in a mirror. I would say this is a rather pleasant side effect to improving the quality of my life.

I saw my doctor a couple of weeks ago for a physical and told her I had gone gluten-free. She was very supportive, especially after seeing the results on the scale. She does not recommend I get a formal test for Celiac Disease as I'll just cause myself unnecessary pain and sickness going back on the gluten in order to test for antibodies. It's very apparent that my body is allergic to gluten. Duh. As a result, I can never eat it again without getting sick. Ever. When I've accidentally ingested it at a restaurant or through cross-contamination making gremlin sandwiches and the like, I've been sick for two or three days. Yucky, awful, digestive issue sick. My symptoms point to Celiac Disease, and that's what I'm now informally diagnosed with.

I whined a lot in the first little while after being forced to make this lifestyle change. I like whining about new things as I adjust to them. It's my way of processing everything that's happened while simultaneously getting on everyone's nerves: two birds, one stone. I complained at how unfair this is, how hard it is, how tedious it is. The world makes it really easy to feel sorry for ourselves when we have to make a big change. I've quit drinking, smoking, and a few other unmentionables in my life, but gluten has definitely taken the cake - yes, that's a pun -  for most challenging in my day-to-day.

However, there's only so much bellyaching a girl can do before she has to accept what is and move on. I'm there, and looking rather fabulous in my acceptance if I do say so myself. There are some wonderful bonuses to being gluten-free. Allow me to explain:

1. I look hot. Oh, I'm sorry. Have I mentioned that already? My skin, my hair, my nails have all improved, and it's exciting to see what I look like underneath this weight. I love myself no matter what size I am - I had to learn to be kind to myself in that way years ago or risk passing on a lot of self-image crap to my kids - but I'm really enjoying this transformation. When I started, I was a size 20-22. I'm now a size 18, and will very shortly become a 16. I can't tell you the last time I was a 16. I think I might have been, uh, 16.

2. I have now have a healthy relationship with food. Food and I have made peace. I no longer crave carbs (save perhaps two days each month - and you can probably guess which two days), I just eat them when I happen to eat them. I will go without bread/bagels/insert-other-carby-food-here for weeks and not even miss them. I no longer need specific foods in my home or in my belly to feel happy/calm/like I'm taking care of myself. Food is no longer love nor comfort; It's a means to an end. I generally eat nutrient-dense foods that I've prepared myself rather than the processed, pre-packaged junk. The reason is twofold: First, eating out safely is a challenge unless I plan it in advance, and I can't afford to buy most pre-packaged gluten-free foods in the grocery store. Second, now that I don't buy them anymore, I don't really want them, either. My diet consists mostly of whole foods, and that's doing wonders for me in every way. I don't think I could have kicked my food issues as easily without having a disease that made me do it. That makes me very grateful, actually.

3. I'm super awesome. I'm more alert, less anxious, wittier, more creative, and overall a more interesting human being. Scientists didn't think it was possible to improve upon The Maven, but an unclouded mind in a detoxed body has made it so. How wondrous for all who are fortunate enough to know me. You're very welcome.

4. There is no 4, actually, but I figured that wasn't a very long list and I'm trying to impress people.

5. Or a 5, but I wanted to round it off. 5 points are better than 4, even if the fourth wasn't real. 

And there you have it: 3 5 great things that have happened to me since going gluten-free. I can't wait to see what the next 6 months bring.

In Which The Maven Admits to Feeling Freaked Out

Have I ever mentioned I have an onion allergy?

Not that it's ever been confirmed by an allergist, but raw onions (not well-cooked, for some reason) make my tongue and throat go numb, and make it a little harder for me to breathe. I've been known to vomit after accidentally consuming them, too. My doctor has recommended I get tested and carry around an epi pen just in case, but I have yet to do that. You'd think I have more pressing items on my to-do list, like raising three gremlins and meeting all their medical needs. I'll get to it - eventually. Hopefully before I actually need epinephrin.

But the most interesting thing about my allergy - or sensitivity I guess, since we don't know for sure if it's an allergy - is that the smell makes me feel sick. For whatever reason, I get nauseous whenever I'm around a cut up onion. This is why we don't have onions in our house. We don't cook with them. If my husband wants his onion fix, he gets it at work - far away from yours truly. It's been like this pretty much my entire life. The smell is overpowering to my senses and my body goes into revolt. But I can live with that, because my day-to-day isn't terribly affected. 

Recently, I've started getting grossed out by the smell of bread. I've been gluten-free now for almost four months. For the first month I missed the stuff terribly. I would breathe in the delicious smell of something I could not longer taste and pathetically pretend I had just had a bite. Gluten-free bread has nothing on its wheat-filled counterpart. The vast majority of it wants to make me scrape off my taste buds. It's heavy, flavourless and dry. I've found a couple of decent recipes, but they still don't come close to a good french loaf. 

By a couple of months into this whole no-gluten thing, I started dreading going down the bread aisle at the grocery store. The sweet, yeasty smell of hundreds of loaves made me feel a bit sick. I don't like the smell anymore, but I can manage the aisle with only a slight look of disgust on my face. 

But today - oh, today - I was blown away by my body's reaction to, of all things, toast. 

I make kid sandwiches (uh, sandwiches for the kids, not made out of kids - I'm not that burned out, people) every night to pack in their lunches the next day. It's part of my Awesome Mom routine, which is to be expected from me. I've got it going on in all the right places, and stuff.

-- Oh, sorry. What were we talking about? 

Anyway, while I don't love the smell of bread these days, I can still manage to make sandwiches. I wash my hands after, throw the cutting board in the dishwasher (to avoid cross-contamination) and go on about my life. But this morning, the boys decided to switch up their breakfast menu and ask for toast - something they haven't had much of since I went gluten-free. Generally, we don't use a lot of regular bread in the house (see cross-contamination reference above), but we do have a side of the toaster dedicated to wheat bread, so I popped a couple of slices in and left the room to do my makeup.

When I came back in, Geekster was buttering their toast, and I almost hurled all over the kitchen floor. The smell - that sweet, wheaty smell I used to love more than anything - made me turn around and head to the bathroom. 

It's official: my body hates gluten. It onion hates it, even.

I didn't puke, thankfully. But I gagged. And my stomach was in knots for a good half hour after I left the house to drive the gremlins to school. And no, I'm not pregnant. If you read my posts from last week then you know it's not cyclically possible. Besides, my husband got the big V in the Summer of '08 and I am not having a torrid affair with a fertile man (or an infertile man, for the record). But if you've ever been pregnant, then you know the feeling that overcame me. It felt like morning sickness, except I was fine before and am just fine now. That one smell sent my body into chaos. 

Geekster was so concerned that he said we should stop toasting wheat bread from now on. I told him that's silly: The kids should be able to have toast, and I'm 34 for crying out loud. I can handle feeling a bit woozy sometimes. It just took me off guard today, that's all. But then again, just about everything about my body since going gluten-free has caught me off guard.

First of all, I still get the occasional flare-up. It's usually a few hours to a day after I've been to a restaurant or wasn't vigilant about washing surfaces and hands in my own kitchen. I'll start to feel run down, sick, bloated, sore, and the digestive issues will kick in. It's like a mini stomach flu or a mini food poisoning that passes in a few hours. I had one this past Friday and had to cancel my plans. I was too sick to do anything but have a hot bath and sit in my jammies with some tea. These flare ups are rare, but when they happen they yank me out of my happy place and into the pity place of "this is so unfair". I've heard they're pretty common in more sensitive gluten-intolerant/celiac people. I was just sort of hoping I was of the less sensitive variety. Dammit.

Secondly, I am losing weight. And, while I'm happy about it, I'm also a little freaked out. Anyone who's lost weight after being heavy for a long time (in my case that would be my entire adult life) knows what I'm talking about: It's fucking scary. It's exciting, but terrifying. The Fat Activists are going to hate me for this comment, but I don't know what I look like under my fat suit. My cellulite-filled self is changing by the day. The jeans I got two weeks ago are already far less snug than when I tried them on, and not because my M&Ms-filled belly is stretching them (it really is full of M&Ms of the peanut variety right now. Mmmm, candy lunch.) 

For the first time in a long while, I'm not trying to lose weight. I still eat chocolate and chips when I feel like it. I still unflinchingly put butter on my air-popped corn. I eat when I'm hungry and stop when I'm satisfied, as I always have. I do a minimal amount of exercise - nothing like I used to when I was trying to shed pounds - and yet I'm watching my waistline shrink every week. I've discovered that I do have cheekbones after all; they were just taking an extended vacation in Blubberville, USA. My chin is a little lonely now that there's only one of her, but she's seeking a bit of comfort in her long-distance relationship with this thing called a "neck" that we found hiding under my head.

In short, I have no idea who this person is that's emerging from the archeological dig that is my body's weight purge. I have no clue if she's pretty, what her bone structure is like, what size her hips will eventually be. Thankfully it's a slow process, so we're getting to know each other without a lot of pressure. I have always identified myself as overweight; it's become part of who I am. My weight, as much as I have loathed it and worried about its repercussions over time, has been a shield of comfort, of protection from the world. And now it's leaving. After all the times I tried to get rid of it, how often I cried over it, I didn't realize I might actually miss it. 

And if you didn't think I was crazy before, I've now written an entire post to convince you otherwise. The Maven has a psychosomatic gag reaction to onions and toast, and is mourning her fat.  I may be nuts enough to warrant my own psychology study. Please send money to the following address. Thank you. 

I Think My Bread Hates Me

An Array of Maven Haters

I was catching up with a friend by phone this afternoon - and by "catching up," I mean stealthily sneaking into Gutsy's room in a (quickly foiled) attempt to get away from my sugar-spun gremlins so I could actually hear said friend on the phone.

Anyone who says sugar doesn't make kids hyper has never been to my house after a family party involving heartily-iced cupcakes.

"I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to talk lately," said I to my friend, and proceeded to list off my regular excuses of too many responsibilities and not enough birth control. "It's not you, I swear. I ignore everybody the same."

"It's okay, Maven. I get it," She said reassuringly. "You're an equal opportunity hater."

At last, someone really gets me.

It's true, I do hate on - or at least simply can't find the time to get in touch with - the vast majority of people in my life. I have a lot of patient and understanding homeys in my posse. Thank goodness, or I'd have lost so many Facebook connections my friends list would be in the negatives.

I've been busy, true. That's a given. But worse than that, I was feeling so run down and very, very stupid - like more than usual. I was forgetting names of people, things, events.  I couldn't read an entire article without getting antsy and distracted. I felt gross and bloated and and gassy and anxious and miserable nearly all the time. It took every ounce of strength I had to get up in the morning and get through the day without falling asleep. I wanted to exercise, but couldn't bring myself to go for even a short walk. I wanted to play outside with the kids, but didn't even have the patience or energy to play on the floor with them. My menstrual cycles were wonky, my acne was getting worse, and when I got a virus of any kind, it was kicking my ass. And let's not forget the unexplained mystery rash on both my hands and my strangely pitted, ridged fingernails.  The Maven was a not-so-hot mess, and it was getting worse, month by month.

Something was wrong. I wasn't just a hater anymore; I was an unwell hater.  The worst kind; We can't even enjoy hating on everyone.

And then, one day, when I was feeling particularly shitty, I was on Twitter. I'm not a regular Tweeter, as I find it far too distracting while I'm trying to do paid work on my computer (which is quite often the only time I'm online these days). But when I do go on, I grab a little bit of info here and there from those people or organizations I follow. Sometimes, it's just about who slept with who on what hospital equipment on last night's Grey's Anatomy, but other times it's something important.

And just once, it's been something life-changing - possibly even life-saving.

@EarthCafe - makers of vegan cakes I only wish they sold in Canada - tweeted something along the lines of "If you have symptoms a, b, c, x, y and z, you could have a gluten intolerance."

Interesting.  I had all of those symptoms. And when I checked out the link they provided, I realized I had not only the main symptoms, but practically the entire alphabet.

Gluten intolerance is the baby brother to big, bad Celiac - an auto-immune disease that afflicts about 1 in 133 people, including my mother-in-law, one of my best friends and her mom, too. It means that foods containing gluten act like toxins in the body, killing the villi in the small intestine and potentially causing everything from serious vitamin and mineral deficiencies to cancer. And now I could have this lovely disease, too. Or maybe just a gluten intolerance, which isn't as bad. Or maybe neither - I just don't know. The only way to know for sure is to have a piece of my small intestine biopsied, which is not high on my to-do list. Thankfully, there's a somewhat less-conclusive blood-test that checks for gluten antibodies and is often good enough for a diagnosis. When I see my doctor in the spring, we'll order the test.

In the meantime, this Maven is strictly gluten-free.

The first week sucked. Do you have any idea how many things contain gluten? It's the stuff found in wheat, barley and rye, so you can imagine the joy I felt at avoiding those and the vast amount of products that contain them. It's enough to make my frail thread of sanity unravel far faster than anyone in the "When is The Maven going to finally lose her shit?" pool could have anticipated (I bet on July 12, 2011).

I went through what could best be described as withdrawal. It was so weird that I Googled it - and you know how I hate Googling medical stuff. As a former hypochondriac, any kind of health inquiry is best not typed into a search engine. Whether you have yellow fingernails or stink eye, all symptoms to the possibility of death. I learned that the hard way.

But search I did as my bones and joints ached for three straight days, and I expected I'd get the flu at any moment but found nothing but a strong craving for french baguette. This is common, apparently. What the body craves is often bad for it, and I was paying a most uncomfortable price for depriving it. Moreover, gluten can have an opiate affect in sensitive people, which could explain my carb addiction and how hard I was "coming down" off the junk.

Since I decided to put Gutsy on the gluten-free train as well to see if it would help his anxiety, I gave away over $100 worth of groceries and replaced them with a multitude of expensive, pre-packaged health foods and wheat-less flours. I put aside the old recipes and have figured out how to make pizza crust, cupcakes and bread.

Bread. Can we talk about that for a minute? Gluten-free bread is a bitch. The first one tasted like sawdust and the second looked like someone shat in my bread machine. I was about ready to cry because a nice slice of toast is really all I want in life sometimes. But I sucked it up, put my big girl panties on and tried it a third time. It was delicious, and I suddenly felt a little more hopeful.

My friend with Celiac had me over last week and loaded me up with supplies from her pantry. She gave me a lot of advice on what to buy, what to avoid, and how it's not the end of the world (so no need to contemplate a bridge dive? Good. The water and spiky rocks are really cold in October). She also listened to my list of symptoms and basically told me that she's suspected I have issues with gluten for a long time, but didn't want to say anything.

Funny; my mother-in-law basically said the same thing. But they know me well enough to understand that I had to come to this on my own terms. Denial courses amply through this addict's veins.

Anyway, I feel so much better. I can't even put into words how much more awake, alive and alert I've felt since those aches and pains stopped. I feel like myself again. The cravings are gone, the rash on my hands is gone, the anxiety has lessened dramatically. I no longer feel bloated and sickly. I can go a whole day without needing to lie down, and I have a lot more patience and focus to deal with unruly little gremlins.

Gutsy, however, is far less unruly in the last week. In fact, this is the best few days we've had in ages with him. I'm hoping it's not just coincidence, and that maybe his body just needed to detox along with mine. It sucks not eating wheat, but it sucks more to feel out-of-control.

We'll get tested, but in the meantime I will be 100% gluten-free, Gutsy will be about 95%, and the rest of them will eat primarily gluten-free, even though it would be rather amusing to watch me run around making two separate meals at at once.

It's a good thing, too, because that would definitely drive up my full-fledged insanity date to mid-winter and none of us would win the pool.

The Kool-Aid Jammers Fiasco and Other Lowlights of the Week

What a week! I'm as exhausted as an extra in a Tae-Bo DVD. But I want to blog and I know that is so not going to happen tomorrow. We have a birthday party and I have to finish up a contract for that money stuff we spend way too much of.

The nice thing about night blogging is that I don't really think about what I'm writing. It just flows... Sometimes like a roaring river, sometimes like a sticky sewer line. Either way, I don't have to destroy any brain cells in the process. They're in short supply these days.

I know the highlight of the week was most definitely BOLO night, (here's a pic of me blogging out loud! Thanks jhscrapmom!) but the lowlight has a fair number of contenders. Let's take a look at the contestants, shall we?

Well, the van caught on fire and could have killed Spawnling and me. That was a double dose of unpleasantries right there. It doesn't get much lower than that... Or does it?

Oh, it does. All my children are home. Did that register? ALL MY CHILDREN ARE HOME. They are not at school. They are not in somebody else's care. They are in my home, fighting. They fight so much that if Super Nanny was here she would be rocking back and forth in a corner at the end of the day, sobbing and considering a career shift into something soothing, like pottery.

Also, all my children are... Wait. I said that already. Well, screw it. It deserves at least two paragraphs points. This is serious stuff right here, yo.

Not only are they fighting, but they're ganging up on me and bringing their friends along for the fun. On the way home from a perfectly lovely morning - a morning that I put off working and going to the passport office for so my kids could frolic at a splash park and play with their buddies - I had four children giggling and yelling "WE WANT SOMETHING! WE WANT SOMETHING! WE WANT SOMETHING!" all the way through the drive-thru. I couldn't hear a word the magic Tim Hortons speaker was asking me. I winged it and repeated the order twice, said "yes" a few times and "thank you" once. I have absolutely no idea how she even heard me or got the order correctly with all that racket in the background, but she's obviously a seasoned pro at handling unruly minivan mobs. And no, my friend Tracey and I did not get anything for the hollering horned ones in the backseat. We've been around the park a few times by now. I pulled my usual stunt of turning on Mr. Radio and turning him up just enough to drown out most of the protesting. It mostly worked until Spawnling threw a fit because he remembered I promised he could sit in the far back on the way home and was furious that I had completely forgotten. Never mind that he also forgot. Naturally, it's my fault. Sadly, the music doesn't go high enough to drown out three-year-old wailing.

Speaking of Spawnling, another fun time we had was yesterday, when I mistakenly allowed him to have not one, but two Kool-Aid Jammers. Or, as I like to call them, Food Dye in a Bag. I never buy the junk, but Gutsy begged and he was so good when we were out getting my passport photo. I temporarily lifted the ban on those evil things and allowed them into the house. Well, if I ever had any suspicions that my preschooler reacts poorly to artificial food colouring, they were confirmed yesterday afternoon. Once the Sugary Claws of Satan dug themselves into Spawnling, not even an exorcism would have helped. The boy was running in circles, screeching, flailing his arms and whacking anyone who got in the way. My friend Robyn had come over with her children and likely regretted it the minute she set foot in the kitchen. I'd like to say Spawnling took great pleasure in tormenting her three-year-old daughter, but that wouldn't be fair. I don't think he had any clue what he was doing or how to control it. Robyn and I spent a good hour waiting for his head to start spinning. Needless to say, Kool-Aid Jammers are now completely banned from Casa Maven until further notice.

(Incidentally, Maven, when you decide to remove food dye from your preschooler's diet for a few weeks, do not let your seven-year-old buy one of those fake fruit rolls and eat it in front of him. Bribing Spawnling with popcorn, chips, and anything else with a natural hue to it becomes an impossibility. Then, especially after a long day of van tantrums, you'll probably cave and give him a very small piece, which will be just enough to see him go all Mr. Hyde in a busy mall on Friday evening. However, I suppose you don't need brains if you have all that beauty, right Maven? You twit.)

Finally, nestled snuggly between the Van Wailin' concert and boarding the Hyperactivity Express at Carlingwood Mall was my trip to the passport office. See, I've never had a passport. When you become a mom at 20 and choose to live on one income so you can be a stay-at-home-mom and eat bonbons all day, there is truly no need for passports until the USA - the only place you can feasibly afford to visit from time to time - makes travel impossible without one. Since I'm going for an overnight to Syracuse, NY in a few weeks, I decided I should probably get on the whole passport thing. The problem is, I'm a bit of a spaz in government offices. My anxiety levels shoot up as I wonder if I filled my forms out correctly; if they'll accept my tattered birth certificate that's seen a lot of abuse since it was issued in '93; or if they'll call my guarantor and ask impossible questions to prove my identity, like what I take on a baked potato.

The office was fairly quiet and the whole process took less than 30 minutes, but in that time I envisioned everything from them revoking my ID to giving me a full cavity search (and not the cute guy behind counter #5, but Hilda the snaggle-toothed shaman behind #8). And the more I thought about how nervous I was, the more I wondered just how nervous I looked, which made me even more nervous, and ... Well, you get the idea. In the end, my orifices were left unsullied and the only thing they did was tell me I need a new birth certificate for the next time I apply for any government documentation. I should get my passport within two weeks.

Yep, it's been a very interesting week. Let's hope the next one is far less interesting. On the plus side, if I ever want to make some quick cash I now know all it will take is a pit, a case of Kool-Aid and a couple of thirsty toddlers. Let's get ready to rumble!

My entrepreneurialship knows no bounds.

Jamie Oliver and Fat Acceptance

Celebrity chef Jamie Oliver has been getting some bad press lately and I honestly don't know why.

First of all, the fact that he's terribly adorable should earn him some points: A foul-mouthed British boy with awesome culinary skills and a love of good food, Jamie has that special something that makes you want to get busy in the kitchen.

You know, cooking. Get your mind out of the gutter!

(Well, I won't lie. I'd play "stuff the turkey" with the guy any day.)

Recently, Jamie used all his charm, influence, and serious wok skills to try and do some good in Huntington, West Virginia, which, according to the CDC, is home to the most unhealthy people in the USA. He attempted to revamp the school lunch menus, increase the use of fresh foods, and teach the town how to cook from scratch.

And what does he get for his efforts? A lot of bitching.

The internet is awash with folk who have something bad to say about the celebrity chef's efforts. There are those who think he sensationalized the town and its health concerns, those who defend the country's lunch programs, those who resent a foreigner coming into their country telling them how to eat, and those who think he's shaming fat people for their fatness.

I gotta tell you, I'm just not seeing it that way.

I've been following the Food Revolution for the last few weeks and am beyond impressed with Mr. Oliver's attempts at creating a healthier generation of people.

First of all, there is no sensationalism needed when it comes to the stats on Huntington, or most of the western world for that matter. We, in the richer countries, have access to the best food, the best medicine, and more money than people in the majority of the world could ever imagine, and yet far less healthy than we should be. Worse still, a good deal of our major killers are directly linked to poor diet and a sedentary lifestyle.

What, exactly, was sensational about Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution? All the talk about how our kids are the first generation in recorded history to likely live shorter lives than their parents? That said lives are being cut short due, in large part, to our bad choices at the grocery store? He may have shown an oversize coffin at a funeral home, but it wasn't a prop to attract ratings. He was simply making a very serious point: It's time to step out of this sea of denial we've all been living in and make some positive changes.

According to reports, some of Jamie's lunches on the new menu don't meet US federal requirements. That's because, as far as I can tell, the federal requirements are laughable. When a government considers french fries to be a vegetable, their program becomes a rather unfunny joke. That's like saying gummies that say 'contain fruit juice' on the box count as a fruit serving. (Sadly, I know that somewhere out there, someone is reading this and thinking 'well, don't they?' and I want to swat that person with something - maybe a cookbook)

Look, processed foods are bad for us. I'm not saying we should never eat them, although that would probably be ideal. I'm no biologist, but from what I understand, the more additives, preservatives and artificial everythings we put into our stomachs in the name of convenience, the more work our liver has to do to process it, the more confusion our body has over how to handle the "food" we just gave it, and the more health problems we can potentially create.

And what is one of the major symptoms of being nutritionally unhealthy? Being overweight. Sorry, but that's the truth.

I roll my eyes at all the declarations of "fat shaming" Jamie and the producers supposedly did during the six part series. I say this as a beautiful, intelligent, proud woman who just happens to be fat. I'm not ashamed of my body, I don't hate myself, I don't cry in front of the mirror. Do I want to lose weight? Only if it comes naturally by making good choices in my life. I no longer diet, I no longer exercise to the point of exhaustion in the name of the almighty calorie burn. I don't feel less than people who are thinner than I am, nor do I chastise myself for eating chocolate or chips or even french fries - now my new favourite vegetable.

But I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry about what this extra weight is doing to my heart, my pancreas, my blood vessels. But instead of hating myself and worrying myself sick, I've spent several years learning to love and accept myself for who I am at this moment, in this, my only body. Funny thing is, the more I love myself, the better I want to take care of myself. And maybe that's why I'm so open to the concept of this series.

I have seen fat shaming. I cringe when I hear a fat joke - and that's quite often, as they're so prominent in today's society. I shudder when I see a fat person who obviously loathes their body. I think it's wrong and hurtful to put someone down for how they look.

However, I do not think it's wrong to point out that obesity often precedes a higher incidence of preventable health problems. We need to cut through the political correctness bullshit and look at the facts. Jamie Oliver isn't against fat people, he's simply against ignorance.

And believe me: thinking it's okay to serve pizza and sugary milk as a school breakfast is ignorant.

From what I've seen, the show aims to educate a population that has lost its way. Because, let's face it, America, when it comes to food, you have definitely lost your way. But you're not alone. Many a wealthy nation has forgotten how to care for itself in the name of time-saving and cost-reduction. We get lazy; we get complacent; we forget how to do basic things for ourselves, like cooking.

When I saw the show, I didn't look down at my fat rolls and cry. I didn't feel like anyone was judging me or the town of Huntington. I didn't want to chain myself to the local Weight Watchers building so someone could teach me how to eat myself skinny.

What I did feel was relieved that someone would have the guts to go into the most powerful country in the world and speak the truth: Your children are getting sick. You need to change the way you eat. You need to cook with wholesome foods so that you can live longer, healthier lives and keep your spot as the nation to watch. Because right now, you're heading down a very dark path. Your people are dying too soon.

Now is the time to step up your game, America.

(And he did the same thing in his own country the year before, so there's no need to feel singled out, Americans. Like I said, you're not the only ones lost down that dark path.)

What I also felt was inspired. An urge rose in me to clear the counter and start whipping up meals made from whole foods again. Like many other families, we've become the victims of an overwhelmed life: packed schedules, fighting children, bills piling up. Sometimes, the last thing on my mind is mustering up enough time and energy to cook a decent meal.

The last few weeks, I've been making cooking more of a priority. Is it pricier to buy whole foods? Yes, it is. Is it more expensive to pay the price for not doing it? Absolutely. Time off work or school, medical and dental bills, the cost of losing out on life due to illness -- all those things are expensive in their own way, too.

Do I think poverty is an issue holding back a full scale food revolution? Definitely. But then again, there are kids in some of the poorest countries eating far more nutrient-rich food than many kids in western societies. They might eat less of it, but then again, we could probably stand to eat less, too. And since the typical household discards about 30% of the food they buy, maybe we could stretch the budget by choosing quality over quantity more often.

Jamie Oliver doesn't have all the answers and neither do I. But at least he's doing something to break people out of an unhealthy reality. There is a different way to eat, to cook, to live. And this fat chick wholeheartedly supports it.

But hey, what do I know? I'm just a Canadian.

You are my Candy Girl

Yeah. So, like, I cut my refined sugar intake way back the last few days, and today it's catching up with me. My brain is mush. Then again, my waistline is mush and my heart will turn to mush soon if I don't start taking better care of myself. Thus, less sugar and a detoxing Maven have we.

I've tried doing this before, but always to an extreme. No sugar. Ever. At all. The end. It was doomed to epic failure right from the start. I'm not doing things differently this time and incorporating a neat little idea called 'in moderation'. And not in the way I used to incorporate it, by implying that if I only eat one chocolate bar a day that's 'in moderation'. I'm good at many things, including lying to myself. It's a curse. Getting real about this little sugar problem was a slow process, but I feel like I'm there now. I want to eat better. I want to feel better. I want those things more than cupcakes. This is a very positive thing.

I've taken my family on the journey with me, explaining to the boys the benefits of eating more whole foods. Despite sounding like an after school special, the little chit chat went rather well. Intrepid was interested in sugar's ability to weaken the immune system, and found it ironic that, after two days of binging on Halloween candy, he came down with H1N1. I was going to state that it could just be coincidence, but his enthusiasm was intoxicating and I didn't want to ruin the moment.

Gutsy was all for it, until after dinner. Then, he asked what we were having for desert. I said we weren't having desert. He glared at me. After about an hour of persistence, we settled on some graham crackers. We either both won or both lost that fight. I'm not sure which.

Spawnling is a big reason why we decided that sugar needs to take a backseat in our lives. He is completely and utterly addicted to the stuff.

No clue where he gets it from.

He's a typical addict. He craves, he binges, he gets high, and he crashes. When he crashes he's the moodiest little demon on two hooves. He tips chairs, throws things, randomly slaps people, and then realizes the monster he's become and sobs apologetically. Dr. Phil would beg me for video footage of these tantrums. Given our current debt, I wouldn't say no. Give him a bag of cookies and watch the money magic happen.

I think this will be a good change for everyone. We'll likely all feel like complete ass for a few days as we adjust to eating less refined crap, but by the end of the week we'll hopefully see less chair tipping and, I hope, a little more room in my jeans. I love chocolate, but I love my kids significantly more, and I want to be around for them for a long, long time. I need to marry my health and only have the occasional tryst with mistress sugar.

It's been a good run, baby, but we just can't do long term. It's not you, it's me, and all those other things we say when we're trying to delicately end a relationship.

Now shut up and pass the sunflower seeds.

Immune to Healthy Lifestyles

The gremlins are sleeping and the Geekster is away, so the Maven will play?

Nope. The Maven will eat cheddar chips and watch a documentary on the evolution of dinosaurs to modern day reptiles and birds.

The Maven is an exciting individual who leads an exciting life. We should all wish we were more like her.

I may have partied hard with my Fruitopia and Sprite Zero mocktails on Saturday night at my sister's, but normally I'm a pretty dull person. Very dull. Drab, even. Just ask anyone who knows me. They'll say "Oh. Her? She's... drab. I wish I didn't know her, actually. Why are we friends again? Oh. That's right: she makes me look good"

Yep. Allowing people to compare themselves to me is another way I keep myself indispensable.

What else am I doing right now? Why, I'm researching how to help my six-year-old not get pneumonia again! It's a lot of fun. I spoke with a blogger friend of mine who offered me great ideas from years of experience with her own child, and pretty much everything else I read is echoing what she said: Eliminate or reduce refined sugar, dairy and wheat.

No problem. It's not like those are main ingredients in anything.

Right now, I'm going to take the path of fewer tantrums and practice reduction rather than complete elimination. I would like to maintain my sanity as well as his health. Surely there must be a happy medium. Right?

Right?!

I really hope I'm right.

If we're vegetarians who don't eat wheat, dairy or sugar, what on earth can we eat?

- lettuce and other green things
- apples and stuff like apples
- types of grains I can spell but can't pronounce, like quinoa (Kweh-no-ah? Kee-noo-ay? Kant-say-meh?)
- honey, but not on Eggos or anything good
- coffee flavoure with my tears because soy cream makes me want to vomit

Thus completes my list. See what I mean? We just can't do it. We wouldn't be able to eat anything. All of my favourite foods would be completely gone. I would be very hungry. I would waste away to...

No meat, no sugar, no dairy, no wheat. Got it.

At least I won't get pneumonia, and think about how hot I'll look!

Okay, okay. Reduction. And a naturopath. And a chiropractor (we have an awesome one). I just want to beat the shit out of this pneumonia once and for all. No child should get sick this often with the same thing. Not to mention that the 3 1/2 years that I breastfed the little nipple monkey doesn't seem to be providing him with a whole lot of protection in the lungs. How unfair is that? We are not amused.

I'm going to go sulk and brainstorm ways to get regular doses of oregano oil into Gutsy. Ever had oregano oil? You probably don't want to unless you're sick like Gutsy or a freak like me who likes her body to stay strong and fit.

I'm still working on the "fit" portion of that last sentence...