Diane Mierzwik

June 21, 2009

My son turned 17 last week. I still blame him for those pesky extra pounds and the lack of resilience in my stomach, not like sit-ups would help or anything.

After I gave birth to the cherub, I was too chubby to fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes. 25 pounds does that to you even after you squish out 7 pounds 7 ounces. I was also too cheap and proud to buy new clothes to fit my new body. And I was young enough to throw caution to the wind and embark on a diet of my own creation.

The Diet Mountain Dew Diet.

I’d buy a six pack of Diet Mountain Dew each day and place them in a cold container. If I was home for the day, that cold container was the refrigerator. If I was at a relative or friend’s house or work, well, they all had refrigerators. But, if I was on the road, my cold container was a blue and white ice chest filled with, yeah, ice and Diet Mountain Dew.

The diet went like this – drink a Diet Mountain Dew and let that hold me over until I was shaky. Then eat three bites of something and drink lots of water. Wait until I got hungry again and stave off the hunger with a Diet Mountain Dew until I got shaky. Then eat three bites of something – cereal, my husband’s sandwich, an apple – whatever, and drink lots of water and wait until I got hungry again.

The diet worked. The waistband on my jeans and shorts weren’t loose, but they also weren’t cutting a Grand Canyon size gorge into my flesh either.

I was a bit edgy, minor side effect since I don’t do hunger very well, but it got blamed on my lack of sleep since the cherub still got up at least once every night.

Then my bones started to ache, those bones in my head, my teeth. First they just ached when I drank something really cold. I solved that by drinking my Diet Mountain Dew and water warm. This was great because I no longer needed to plan for a cold container to hold my Diet Mountain Dew. Aw, simplicity is the life for me, or so I thought.

Then my teeth started to ache when I chewed real food. I figured that was good for the diet and the diet morphed into a Diet Mountain Dew and applesauce – only three bites of applesauce –  diet. Then my teeth began to ache when I breathed through my mouth. So I kept my mouth shut and breathed through my nose, which also helped with the being edgy part of the diet.

The waistbands on my shorts and jeans were actually loose enough that I was actually able to sit down without grimacing.

Finally, my teeth hurt when I tried to move my tongue to enunciate words while talking.

This was a problem.

At first I couldn’t figure out why my teeth hurt. Was it those damn post-natal vitamins I was taking? I quit taking them. My fingernails were growing too fast anyway and I was having a hard time keeping up with them. All that clipping and filing.

Was it my toothbrush? I bought a new soft-bristle brush and a different brand of toothpaste just to be on the safe side.

Still, my teeth ached.

One day as I was driving down the 55 freeway on my way to a friend’s baby shower, feeling quite pleased with myself being so slim and svelte, though I did feel a tinge of disappointment that I wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone the entire shower because of how painful it was to my teeth. I was even making plans to keep smiling to a minimum, all that free flowing air rushing around my sensitive pearly whites scared me a bit. I took a sip of my breakfast Diet Mountain Dew and it dawned on my. Maybe my diet was making my teeth hurt.

I gave up Diet Mountain Dew -  in large quantities – that day and my teeth recovered quickly.

My waistline also recovered and I had to take up exercise, not quite as glamorous as a Diet Mountain Dew diet, but my teeth were much happier.

My teeth kept saying ouch, ouch, ouch, until I figured it out.

Now that the cherub is 17, I love shopping for new clothes, and sometimes the only excuse I have is that my perfectly good clothes in my closet no longer fit, thanks to childbirth.

June 21, 2009

The year I was a Dr. Dyer devotee, I typed up the phrase “the entire universe is conspiring on my success,” used clear packing tape on both sides as a poor man’s lamination and carried it in my pocket at Dr. Dyer’s urging. The talisman survived several washes when I left it in the pocket of pants being laundered. I truly believed that if I meditated enough on the phrase, my whole life would fall into place.

My drinking would no longer be a problem, which at that time meant I would still be able to drink with no problems.

I’d suddenly be able to afford the gigantic house we’d just bought even though I only worked part-time and really didn’t want to work at all.

I’d even have extra money to fix up that gigantic wallpaper-in-every-room, slipping-off-a-cliff home.

And I’d be able to spend my days reading and writing while money just flowed to me.

One morning as I sat outside on the deck and looked down the side of the cliff my house was built on 50 years earlier, I was at peace. I knew God had a plan for me and the entire universe was conspiring on my success. While I meditated, a lizard sidled up beside me and soaked up the warmth with me.

I held very still. I spoke silently in my head to the little guy, “Hey there. Sun feels good, huh?”

I got tired of peering at him and leaned my head back in my seat and felt how lucky I was.

When I reopened my eyes, the little guy was still there beside me so I spoke silently to him again.

“Hey, are you joining the entire universe and conspiring on my success?” I asked.

The little lizard did a push-up move, once, twice, then scuttled off, leaving behind a small, but noticeable turd.

That was his answer, to shit a big one.

Here I was with big expectations and convinced that everything in the universe was there to help me and this lizard seemed to be saying – “You? Hey, I’ve got my own success to worry about.”

A lizard shitting on your parade is humbling and it shifted how I saw what I considered my success.

It took a few more weeks before I washed my laminated talisman one last time and left it on the top of the dryer for months until I was ready to give it up.

Now the only thing I carry in my pocket at all times is lip balm, because dry, chapped lips are the epitome of a miserable failure to me.

This week I will be prepared for all life and lizards and dry lips have to offer.

June 7, 2009

Burning Off The Fat, Literally

It was such a beautiful Saturday over the Memorial Day weekend that I put on my swim suit and laid out in the sun. Many of you, especially those of you who see me frequently, are aware of my skin dilemmas. You have heard me ask whether or not there is such a thing as laser surgery for arms, chest and legs to get rid of wrinkles and how much do you think that might cost. Or maybe you don’t see me often but laid out with me during the 80’s with only baby oil for sun protection and are wondering why was I laying out? I can only answer, for the same reason I eat chocolate chip cookies for breakfast, because it makes me feel good.

I did put on sunscreen, SPF 4 thank you very much. Only 4, you ask. Remember, 4 is huge for a girl who laid on top of aluminum foil on her roof drenched in butter. And I thought I was carefully applying SPF 4 to all areas of exposed skin, until later that afternoon when areas of my body were bright red. Weird areas of my body, like the insides of my thighs, the little pouch of fat that has gathered to the side of my breasts but below my arm pit, and my love handles.

You know how sun burns go. They hurt for awhile, then they itch for awhile, then they peel for awhile. So I had awhile to contemplate why these specific areas burned. How had I missed putting sunscreen on there?

I have to admit that I think I have a really good shape for my 43 years. Sure, that shape upon close inspection has the same surface as cottage cheese, but just keep your distance and you won’t get nauseated. I also have to admit, I’m nearsighted.

Each morning I stumble to my shower, get dressed then put in my contacts. Each evening I wash my face, take out my contacts then change into my pajamas. Needless to say, part of the reason I probably think I look really good for my age is that I only see myself naked through my 20/100 vision. It’s nice, really, like those wedding pictures you have that have a frosted look to them.

But with certain areas of my body burning bright red then itching then peeling, it was more difficult to ignore them. So I came up with a theory. I think I thought these areas didn’t really exist therefore they did not need sunscreen.

I ignore, therefore it doesn’t exist.

In my well-planned life to preserve my well-defined self-image, I have created lots of methods for creating a reality I like, one in which I still look like a 17 year old with my bikini on, I have hardly any sun damage to my skin, at least not so much that it matters, and eating chocolate chip cookies has nothing to do with my expanding waist line, someone shrunk my pants in the dryer.

So I began to think that laying out was a good idea, because I’m sure that not only did a layer of skin peel off, but some fat went with it. My thighs actually look a little thinner and my pouch and love handles seem to have diminished since the burn. I may have found the secret to being thin, burning the fat away with the sun.

Or I may need a new prescription for my contacts. Whatever.

This week I will enjoy sunshine and chocolate cookies and poor eye sight – in moderation.