Monday 13 June 2016

The Dining Experience - On eating out and sleeping in.

I have to apologise for my lateness in posting. The Not-a-wedding last Friday was my all consuming obsession by the end. I will blog about it in excruciating detail, no doubt, but I would like to get all the photos in before I do so.

So I guess I could talk about my diet. That is what this blog is supposed to be focused on, after all. It is actually a little strange, as I have settled in to a life without fat now and it is becoming habit to think in this manner. I have told you about the changes that I have seen in myself, not least noticed on Friday past in my rather too large for me not-a-wedding dress. One guest commented that there was so much room in the bustier in order for my husband to get his hands in without undoing anything! I will admit that I am looking forward to wearing a bikini when I eventually get the chance to go to the beach...


It is the changes in my attitude that I am pondering tonight. In the run up to the big event, we have had parents et al converging on us. Family have made the trip across the sea to see us and of course they want to treat us - very much appreciated as by Wednesday I had no idea what was in the house in terms of food, what clothes were clean, when anyone had last showered. My days were taken up in entirety by clamping eyelets onto orders of service, worrying about what to serve the sangria in and whether I would get enough flowers to be impressive on the day. Parents swooping in and taking us out to dinner was a Godsend, in honesty, but provided quite a problem for me.

Normally when faced with a meal out I will be very good beforehand and after. As long as I have been good enough and don't go too far over the top, I can get away without the digestive fallout, although the tiredness will take over the next day. However, this was potentially three meals on the trot, not including the event itself on the fourth day. Luckily we have been broke in the weeks leading up so I have eaten sparsely anyway. I have not quite got my enthusiasm for food back after the lotion overdose mentioned in a previous blog, and I certainly have no enthusiasm for cooking a 'proper' cooked meal in all the chaos. I have been subsisting on presunto (a kind of ham) with dry bread, muesli and fishfingers with mash made with quark. So all in all I feel reasonably certain I can face the first meal. We trundle down to our favourite chicken piripiri place. The chicken is cooked on the grill, but then basted with hot piripiri oil. Don't start with me about leaving the oil off, I've already given my opinion of dry chicken and that hot oil is quite simply one of the most delicious things on the planet. My son has the salmon so I steal his potatoes in return for my chips. The potatoes are swimming in garlic oil so I've not really won here, but I feel like I've tried. I carefully try to extract the salad from the edges that might have missed the dressing and limit myself to six bites of chicken. It is wonderful and I am glad that I did it.


The next day brings no more problems than slightly heavy eyes and so when eating out is mentioned again I agree, but on the proviso that we can go to a restaurant that does fish. Specifically cod. The Algarve's idea of fish generally runs to the oily members of the club, and the cod is usually in a dish surrounded by Eddie and all his mates. There is one restaurant that I know which does cod grilled. So off we go there and there is no problem. This is Wednesday. I should mention at this point that I have been working nights as well. My husband has got a boat to get in the water on a deadline at work, and is going in early every day, which means that instead of him sorting the kids and me sleeping until noon, I am having to get up, sort the kids, send them to school and then go back to sleep. Thursday arrives; boat in the water day. In hubby goes early, up I get to do the kids. Back I go to bed. Hubby comes home around 1.30pm - the boat floats and he can kick back and relax. Or not, on the day before his not-a-wedding. There are a thousand things we still need to do and I wake up as he gets home. Sitting on the bed, I am trying to tell him what needs doing and I cannot get more than six words out without crying. I am short of good sleep anyway and with the two meals out on top of that, I just couldn't function. I couldn't even manage simple things like 'your shirt needs ironing' without having to stop in the middle and breathe. We went up to where the parents were staying and spent a couple of hours glueing googly eyes on paper peacocks, only for me to realise halfway through that I was supposed to be at home so a friend could pick up the cake from me. Back I went, sorted that and realised that I had forgotten the greenery for the centrepieces. It was an awful, terrible day. I was not pleasant to know.


However, Friday dawned much clearer for me. I had had the night off and managed nine hours of uninterrupted sleep. I fully intended to fall well off the wagon at the event's dinner that night. I don't remember if I managed breakfast, but I think I got a quick sarnie in for lunch. The most amazing thing is that I did not eat a single piece of cake at the do. We had cake kebabs, fondly referred to as not-a-cake, with rice krispie squares, chocolate brownie, vanilla sponge and marshmallows. I held off until the very end and then scoffed as many marshmallows as I could fit in off the end of each leftover kebab. I also did not touch the sangria and when it came to dessert, I had one mouthful and actually didn't want any more. I polished off the entirety of the lamb stew, but hey, we all knew that was going to happen. At dinner I had one, maybe one and a half glasses of wine, mixed with lemonade to make it last longer. I was a flippin' saint.

The icing on the cake though, the cherry on the top, the piece de resistance, came just yesterday. We have a hon - sorry - not-a-honeymoon fund and my hubby has his eye on a cruise. This is something we have wanted to do for a while and it is, under normal circumstances, totally out of our price range. In all honesty, it's still a little out of our price range, but we can do it, just, if we are really careful. Hubby has spent quite a bit of time talking me into this idea, as I can think of so many other things to spend the money on, but eventually I get quite excited about it. Then, suddenly, I realise. I can't spend a week eating out. The ship will have to be emailed and we will have to work out a menu. This is going to be a nightmare. Hubby has already thought of this (which in itself is a neon light showing how all our attitudes have changed) and has already emailed! I am happy, but still adamant that he must not make the booking until he hears back. 


I have come too far, worked too hard to throw it all away. I actually want to stay eating right. The pros are obviously outweighing the cons. I have not been shy in telling you all about how awful this is, how hungry I am, how tired I am, things I lack and problems I have. Today is a day to step back and say, well, you know what? Even taking into account all these things, it is worth it. The confidence I have that I look good in what I'm wearing, not worrying about the pregnant comments I used to get. I actually wore a short top the other day. Being able to go out in the park and not suffer from hayfever. Right now, it is bleeping awful. I am ravenous and there is nothing in the house I can eat. Even knowing this, I am not tempted to eat the cheddar cheese in the fridge or the croissants in the cupboard. I think that I've finally beaten it. Freddie might not be much good, but all his workmates are teaming together to cover up his errors and make good on his shortcomings. As a team, my body has decided that this is how it is and we're going to get on with it. Hopefully now everything has calmed down I can get the next recipe out for you.


There are bad days and there are good days. But overall, it's a good life.

1 comment:

  1. Congratulations Katie. You are overcoming, surviving, and flourishing.

    ReplyDelete