5 More Weeks . . .

5 more weeks & much to do! I think the stress of it all, the frustration of not meeting my weekly weight goals, the lack of chocolate-- is making me hit official crazy lady status. I just threw a mommy-sized temper tantrum at my family, hubby included. Hubby, especially. Because after I finished my kale and turkey, I busily prepared my man and offspring a delicious homemade creamy tomato-basil soup, with tomatoes and basil I grew and harvested in my garden, with a side of oh-so-gooey-and-crisp grilled cheese sandwiches. The response?

5-year-old, without even tasting: "I don't like dis soup." High-pitched, drawn-out girly whine.

8-year-old. "Why are we having this?"

10-year-old, after 5 minutes of avoiding even coming to the dinner table. "Why do I have more than the girls?"

37-year-old. "Wow, that's a lot of basil."

34-year old. Tipping point. Hit. "Rant, rave, rant, rave, rant, rave. I could just make everyone eat what I'm eating!"

37-year-old. "Na ah. We'd just go to Sonic." Seriously. Is he twelve??

So now I'm blogging away my frustrations. I feel like, even when I'm not 100% perfect, I'm still eating like a saint. I'm still eating to lose weight, not merely maintain. If this is how I have to eat just to maintain, I may have to cry right now. Why won't those numbers on the scale go down? All I want at this point is a nice even 120. Shouldn't be that hard. Pre-surgery, I got down to 117. Granted, post-surgery added a couple pounds. (Not sure the exact amount. I should've placed those try-on puppies on a scale to know for sure.) 120 is so elusive. How did I ever imagine I would reach 115 for competition??

Each morning, I start positive. Gonna be a perfect day. Gonna do this! Gonna hit my goal this week! By 6 pm, I just want carbs-- bread, cereal, an apple with peanut butter. Anything but the spinach & broccoli that I prepped days ago and that smells like something putrid and soapy now.

Another voice in my crazy-lady head says, "Calm down. It'll all melt off the last 2 weeks. You'll look fine."

I watched an interview online of a bikini competition judge, explaining what they're looking for. She said personality. Yep, personality. Considering that we don't say a word, just strut, pose, strut, pose, smile, clench our glutes, I'm a bit worried "my personality" will get lost in translation. She said you can't just look at photos of bikini winners and know how they won, not like with figure and bodybuilding. Bikini is all about stage presence, confidence, and connecting with the judges. Maybe I should break out a few of my best Zumba moves? Although merely walking is about all I can handle in these shoes. Today as I practiced, I actually got a cramp in the ball of my big toe. Who knew there was sufficient muscle in that one-inch diameter of foot to actually spasm?

Based on that interview, I decided I'd focus on "my personality" today. First, after dropping off my baby to kindergarten, I went to the mall. Completely & utterly without kids! This made the momentary sadness of kindergarten immediately dissipate. The only remaining angst was how short my mall time would be. With traffic and travel and walking time once inside and potty breaks and water bottle refills, I knew my 2 1/2 hrs of me-at-the-mall time would quickly pass. I kept a close eye on my watch. The reason I had to go to the mall was to hit Nordstrom, specifically the MAC make-up counter. I had an appointment for a "make-over". I felt like a fraud as I walked into Nordstrom. I'm more of a Ross girl. Who are we kidding, I'm more of a Wal-Mart/Target girl. In Nordstrom, I see a cute shirt, check the price tag, and rub my eyes to make sure I'm seeing the decimal point correctly. So it took some of my theatre arts background to pretend like I belonged in this department store.

I was surprised at how much hustle and bustle there was in Nordstrom on an early Friday afternoon in September. So many shoppers! In this economy! I spotted the MAC makeup counter-- it was surrounded by heavily made-up fresh faces, young girls dressed in black, one with pink eyebrows, another with a giant hot pink star on her cheek and eye. After making a pit stop at the ladies "lounge" (that's how they roll at Nordstrom), I got settled into my stool for my make-over. It was actually fun to have someone else do my make-up, someone who actually does this chore for a living, who loves it, who is artistic about it, who isn't trying to get it done in 5 minutes while the laundry is drying. She gave me great eyeliner and eyeshadow tips, since my eyes are so deep-set and too close together (but whatcha gonna do?), and helped me learn how to "contour".

Once done, I had to determine what items I needed to buy here and which ones were just as good from Wally World. I decided to get the foundation, blush, brush, and contour powders there; eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow, and lipcolor and gloss, I could easily use what I'm used to (aka Covergirl). The makeover must've done the trick, because when I was ringing up at Bath & Body Works later, the girl at the register handed me my receipt and added, "By the way, you are absolutely beautiful." And I got a few double-takes as I walked down the hall. Yes! I felt better stage presence already! I walked taller, with a trace of a strut. I smelled great, too, after trying on some perfume at Nordstrom, glitter body spray at Vicky's Secret, and the new sexy lotion at B&B. And suddenly, as I exited Nordstrom, strutting to the beat of the make-you-wanna-shop music, with bags in hand, my stunning make-up and delightful fragrance, I felt like I belonged in there.