November 19th, 2010 | Author: trancejen
My mother, all seventy-five pounds of her, is an insidious, evil little being.
Perhaps confusing food with love, or more likely wanting desperately to be the only thin person in the house, or even more likely desperately wanting to shovel the food she refuses to eat into anyone else’s gaping maw; she buys sugary, fattening crap and plies it upon us like a crack dealer.
Not being mobile and therefore having no control over the grocery shopping, I am at a loss. I simply unpack bags of frozen pizzas and disgusting chicken nuggets and french fries and tater tots and coffee cakes and other things my fat ass cries out for but will NOT be fed and sigh the sigh of the downtrodden daughter.
The J-Man is out of shape, as he should be, given the fact that he only exercises his thumbs whilst texting and playing the XBox. I am out of shape due to years of eschewing exercise and allowing my yoga and Pilates and aerobics DVDs to become covered in a thick layer of dust.* (*Note to self: Dust.)
My stepdad, who walks four miles a day, rain or shine, can consume huge platefuls of all of this crap because he’s as healthy as a horse. His weight never fluctuates. My mom can remain a sickly seventy-five pounds because she lives on the occasional Altoid and a small plate of pretzels.
She’s getting downright ridiculous, too. The other morning I sat down at my laptop to find a package of fun-sized candy bars wantonly staring up at me.
I called her at work.
“What the hell are these candy bars for?”
“I bought them at Walgreens.”
“I can’t eat this crap!!”
“I thought you and the J-Man would like them.”
“MOM.”
“Well, then don’t eat them! Don’t get mad at me!”
I can’t help it. She knows I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight. She knows I still have a considerable way to go. I can’t help but feel that she is trying to sabotage me.
I can almost imagine her sitting alone in her room at night, dressed in her kitten sweatshirt (baby angel kittens – I’m not joking, and I don’t fucking care whether it was a gift or not), plotting how to inject trans fats and sugar into my protein shakes. Shit, she probably coats the blender in corn syrup before I use it.
All of this is making me paranoid. Is she spiking my Diet Coke with sugar?? My cereal?? The milk?? Is she pouring sugar into my mouth as I sleep??
The possibilities terrify me, for I don’t know how far she’ll go to re-fatify me.
I was tossing out some old fat clothes, putting together a box for Amvets, and she looked at me and shook her head. “You’d better hang onto that stuff. You don’t know whether you’re going to need it again.”
Ouch.
I’ll admit that this made me want to either A) pump her full of sugar and steroids, B) kick her bony ass, or C) smile sweetly and then poke her with sewing needles as she slept later that evening.
Why do my parents sabotage me? Is this part of steeping me in low self-esteem so that I never grow up, get married, and leave? Jesus.
I suppose it’s worked thus far, hasn’t it.
Anyway, I’m determined to get this family fit. I’m looking into joining a local gym through Medicare, which might actually pay for it due to my back problems, and then I could pay to have the J-Man join, too.
The J-Man will be just about as enthused about this as he would be for a week over at Abu Ghraib, but what the hell. He needs to get fit, too, and they have some great classes for kids.
This is the same gym I previously attended for physical therapy sessions – the same gym I was kicked out of for having seizures during said physical therapy sessions – so hopefully I will be OK and not have any seizures during workouts. Apparently they have a no tolerance policy regarding seizures, because those fucking epileptics, they ruin everything.
I made the J-Man a cup of coffee this morning – he’s allowed a cup maybe once a week, a third coffee, two thirds milk – and he said, “I get why you guys need this in the morning. It’s so refreshing. I wish I could do this every morning.”
And lo, an addict is born.
Parenting? I am great at it.
Happy Weekend.
Your mom really, really, really needs someone to talk to her about alternative ways of expressing her affection. Like…NOT WITH FOOD. (Giving her the benefit of the doubt, because she could be doing that.)
You could also start tallying up how much she spends on these fatty sugary things, and point out how much she could save if she didn’t buy them.
You could also get mean and vindictive and blitchy (the ‘l’ is silent) and point out that the longer you and the J-Man remain unfit, the less chance there will ever be that you’ll be able to get a job and move out and leave her and Stepdad to enjoy their golden years in relative peace. (The ‘what’s in it for them’ angle – more effective than Catholic Guilt, but less easy to deploy.)
So joining a gym might get you to work out, but maybe not so much the Jman. I did something for both of us. My son was getting a little out of shape too and so I got kinects! All the games make you use your body and it even has a game that has a personal trainer in it. Perfect. Well not so much cause I and my son are in a lot of pain for being so freakin out of shape but its works. And its xbox so it fits with my son’s little addicted soul.
oh and it has a Zumba game! I am in love. Now lets see if I can get my body to love it too!
Sorry bout your mom and her pusher ways. Remember the first one is free. The next one is going to cost you.
Is it possible your mom is head of one of the cartels? You know, the one that deals in sugar?
My MIL pulls the same food crap with my husband but she’ll eat it with him. It’s how they bond. After they load up, she calls him fat. When she visits and leaves candy after I tell her not to, I throw it out. I hate being the food cop, (I like candy too!) but someone has to be. Gyms can be good because the group activities can be motivating. It took me a long time to build good habits as most of us were not raised to exercise. The J-Man will thank you later for dragging him there.
i haven’t read the entries above so i may be duplicating thoughts…but your mom obviously has issues with you being healthy. if you are healthy you may just leave the trancecave and thus leave her as well. it sounds totally passive aggressive. and that’s hard to deal with if you have actual issues to deal with on your own. which…well it’s apparent you have. your son…i think you are doing 100% right by him! i remember going as a very young girl…8-9 something like that…to the gym with my dad…i hated it…but..i’ve learned some lessons by it…first and foremost, my dad loved me. and didn’t care if he was spending gym money on my plumpy azz. another…..i hate the gym! lol….that being said, i think you are an awesome mom. an awesome friend to peeps that have never laid eyes on you, and keep being you! that’s what matters.
I have to second what Jac said. Sounds as though having a “sick daughter” is part of her own identity and if you were healthy enough to leave home ,then what the heck would she do? It also sounds like vicarious eating on her part…pretty basic/classic eating disordered thinking when someone who restricts themselves encourages others to eat the exact types of food they themselves won’t eat. Try to stay strong and keep your eye on the prize…better health!!
I started at the gym a couple of years ago, and really enjoy it. My health insurance reimburses 100% (I pay $99 a year), so it’s a free gym membership–can’t beat that! That along with an online calorie counter keeps me in line. (everydayhealth.com) I’ve never counted calories in my life, but this just makes me more aware of what I’m eating, and what I’m burning off. If J starts seeing some muscles develop from exercise, I think he’ll end up liking it.
I’ve never enjoyed working out and have never been able to stick with it for long so this time, I really thought it out, was brutally honest with myself, and came up with something that would work for me. I HATE cardio, mostly becuase I’m always out of shape and go full force when starting a workout (the “American Way”) which results in me wheezing and clutching my sides. This time, I started with something that was doable and not too challenging and I’ve been gradually increasing my speed and heartrate (treadmill). I’ve been sticking with it BECAUSE it’s not killing me. Instead, I’m developing muscle, losing inches and becoming stronger. I also have no set requirements – I work out anywhere from 0-4 days a week. If I miss days, I don’t freak about it or quit altogether; I simply workout when I can and don’t worry about it when I can’t. Instead, I try to do other activites, including walking. This is in sharp contrast to my formerly-perfectionistic all or nothing approach to things and it’s working out WAY better. It’s much easier on the psyche too as I feel successful instead like a failure.
I think your mother’s sabotage is one part vicarious eating and two parts maternal nurturing. Good intention… well, you know.
Dont all moms do this? Its in their DNA.