Laura's Life

My Battling the Bulge Weight Loss Story

September 10, 2021 by Cabin Mama 4 Comments

Who here has ever had a weight problem? I suspect some raised hands out there. I’ll bet, like me, you’ve tried different diets, exercises, affirmations and other methods to trim those extra pounds. We all have our own weight loss story.

I’ve struggled with weight since I was a kid, although I weighed less than my siblings when I was born. (Ha! I caught up with them.) Early on, I sucked on baby bottles of watered down karo syrup. That got me off to a really bad start.

And I was born with an unusually large, round head. (Think Charlie Brown.)

Kids around the neighborhood didn’t make it easy. They called me, “Lardie Laurie” and other terms of endearment.

Yep, you could say I was a little self-conscious. I had a few outfits that would cover my tummy and I wore them ALL the time, thinking they made me look skinny. My mom called it my uniform. Most of the clothes I wore were black. What, you didn’t know black makes a person look thinner? Where have you been?

I’d avoid standing next to the skinny girls for photographs. When I learned the camera adds another ten pounds, I decided a career in television was not for me.

There were a few times when losing weight and keeping it off was fairly easy. When I got braces in high school, I couldn’t eat much. With every orthodontist visit he’d tighten those metal bands making it very hard to chew. (The best I could do was drink a milkshake from a straw.)

In order to qualify for enlistment in the Air Force, I had to lose fifteen pounds. So I spent the summer running laps around our back yard and eating eggs and salad. I lost the weight and barely passed the physical (more about that story later) but it worked. For a time.

I loved being pregnant. What a relief to not have to count calories! Of course, then I ended up having nine pound babies. Believe me, THAT was penance!

It’s been a constant battle with these same fifteen pounds. It probably doesn’t sound like much, but for a shortie like me, it shows up easily. But it’s all relative, right?

At this stage in life, I’ve grown accustomed to being careful about what I eat and trying to get some walking into my weekly schedule. Last week, for example, my daughter and I walked briskly around the four-mile loop at the park up the road. We actually did it twice in one week! That gave us our 10,000 steps times two and I felt very proud of myself. Then someone burst my bubble and told me 10,000 steps is a daily goal, not weekly.

What more can a girl do? I’ve cut out the ice cream (mostly) and won’t go near a donut unless someone in the household forces the issue and leaves a few out on the counter. (I’d hate to see them go to waste.)

Don’t get me started on how easily men can lose weight. My husband sweats it off in just a few hours when he’s working on our property. He skips a few lunches and loses ten pounds. Someone recently told him he looked like he just graduated from basic training. And he does!

Getting older must have something to do with it. It’s like someone flips a switch once you get to a certain age then screams: “Go ahead, just TRY and lose weight! Bwahaha, I dare ya!”

Once again, I hold up The Pioneer Woman as my role model. She just recently lost a great deal of weight. How? By doing it the old fashioned way. She measured her food, counted calories and increased her exercise.

So, I guess if she could do it, then I can too! Check back in with me sometime before Christmas and we’ll see how I’ve done. Yes, THIS Christmas, silly.

Cooking With Pearls

August 30, 2021 by Cabin Mama

My siblings and I have a talented Mom who turns tuna, noodles and mushroom soup into a feast fit for a king. Our memories are filled with bubbling pots of savory stews, creamy casseroles and mouth-watering desserts. Mom made liver look good. She dedicated her time and creativity to keep six stomachs full while my Dad worked non-stop to feed his happy horde.

My brothers watch the Food Network. For fun. They glory in barbecue, brisket, spices and sauce. If you want their attention, just whisper, “Talk foodie for me.” My sister will whip up a quiche at the drop of a hat and serve countertops full of delectable dishes at each family gathering.

But me? I’m not a cook.

I read recipes the same way I read science fiction. I get to the end and say to myself, ‘Well, that’s not going to happen!’ — Rita Rudner

You’ll never catch me floating around the house in an apron and pearls looking like June Cleaver or Julia Child. Before the wildfire, I had a few cookbooks and a recipe box I rarely opened. I make a mean banana bread, but will serve up the same simple fare for a long suffering sweetie who loves me for my conversational skills. I’ve been known to scrape and serve burned toast and disguise lumpy gravy with onions.

Of course, baking a birthday cake at 7500 feet can present some problems. But I wanted my son to beam with pride and family to swoon in delight at my scrumptious concoction. I would blush, careful not to steal the limelight, but bask in just enough glory and adulation to be memorable.

“What? Me? Another Julia Child? Aw, c’mon, you don’t really mean that! You DO? No, it’s nothing, really. I made it from scratch in my spare time from an old family recipe.”

The beep of a pre-heated oven snapped me back to reality. It was time to get down to business, so I read the high altitude tips on the back of the box. In went the extra flour with water and butter. I prepared the pans, poured in the delectable goo and popped them both through the oven door. And then I prayed. I prayed to The Pioneer Woman for just a smidge of success, secretly hoping one day I too could make it big from a blog.

The moment of truth arrived. T’was time to cast my eyes upon the miracle I’d made. Two golden orbs of sweet smelling deliciousness stared up at me. I carefully lifted them up and out of the oven, knowing a tap on the counter would free them from their buttery bonds. I would marvel at my skill as each layer fell gracefully (in slow motion) ever-so-gently onto the plate below.

But something was terribly wrong. The darned things were sticking.

If I wasn’t careful, I would soon have a crumbly mess. Large chunks would rip away, revealing grotesquely gaping holes. No amount of frosting would disguise it. I could see those family faces now — eyes wide in shock, mouths twisted in disgust at the senseless destruction of a perfectly good cake. My son would race from the room, sobbing uncontrollably.

It was time for drastic action. Deftly removing my pearls, I reached for my weapons and slowly walked towards whatever fate would deal me. Cold and unforgiving in my grip, these instruments of force were intricately carved, handed down from my great-grandfather through the generations — only to be used if there was no other resort. My son tried to intervene, but I shook him off, demanding he run for cover. I stopped and planted my feet on the hard, dusty ground.

(The theme song from Clint Eastwood’s The Good, The Bad and The Ugly played in the background.)

“This. Ends. Here.” I growled.

With a steady gaze and a lightening fast flip of my spatulas, the uncooperative cakes broke free and landed with a thud, lifeless and beaten. Overhead, turkey buzzards circled in the blinding sunshine and shimmering heat, waiting for a chance to attack their meal.

Oh wait, those were my guests! They came, they sat, they devoured everything in sight. My son looked at me differently that day and forever after. And I, dear reader, now knew how it felt to be tested, revel in the thrill of victory and take my place alongside bakery bastions, heroes and legends!

A Mechanically Challenged Cabin Mama

September 11, 2020 by Cabin Mama

My husband brought home a tractor. It’s big, green and comes from Mr. John Deere.

And he’s as happy as a pig in “you-know-what” moving dirt around. I was amazed at how many levers and controls are on the thing. The owner’s manual is about three inches thick, but he worked his way through it in just a few hours. He’s an engineer, so to him, this how-to guide is like a romance novel to the rest of us. Then he hopped right up in the driver’s seat and took control of it like the macho man he is. (I can just imagine the book cover now!)

Me? I’m still afraid of my InstantPot. I got it for Christmas and have yet to cook anything in it. My daughter (who gave me the gift) encourages me by saying, “Mom, it’s not much different than cooking on the stove.” But still I hesitate. My guess is that once I use it a few times, I’ll want to InstantPot every meal we eat. Then, I’ll expect a blue ribbon and tons of praise for my efforts, thank you very much!

Yes, I admit it; I’m mechanically challenged. My daughter spent 30 minutes on YouTube then changed the timing belt on her SUV. I was so proud of her I almost busted my buttons! Me, on the other hand, I never even learned how to change the oil in my cat. (She can do that too.)

Yours truly has been known to drive around with the parking break on.

It’s not because I’m blonde (most days). It’s not because I don’t have enough grey matter — I’m a pretty sharp cookie (most days). I just have a healthy fear and respect for the risks involved should something go wrong. Let’s just say I’d rather not be thought a fool should I fail. If I do fail, I’d rather it be with devices that don’t do much damage or cost a lot to repair. Our manual can opener is a good bet.

When my oldest was five, he pushed me aside from a kitchen gadget I was trying to fix and said, “Here Mom, I’ll do that for you!” And by golly, he did. Even HE could tell I was in over my head. It’s moms like me who hate to admit, “So easy a five year old can do it!”

Even my 88 year old mother puts me to shame. She can wield a glue gun like nobody’s business and whip up a silk flower wreath in sixty minutes or less. Gosh darn, I’m lucky I can maneuver my curling iron.

The other day my husband asked me if I wanted to get in the driver’s seat and take the tractor for a spin. I rolled my eyes and reminded him I hadn’t even tried out the lawn mower yet.

Maybe I’m not so dumb after all!

Cats Gone Crazy

June 22, 2020 by Cabin Mama

There I was, wrapping gifts on my bed with plastic bags, wrapping paper, boxes and ribbons laying around. Both cats were in the room and they were having a heyday playing with the paper clippings and plastic wrappers.

It was a beautiful summer day and I had both the big windows open looking out over the distant hills and the street below. The breeze fluttered through and made for a very calm and peaceful afternoon.

But then it happened. Missy got herself tangled up in a plastic bag and it freaked her out! She tore around on the bed trying to get the bag off, then leapt to the floor and did laps around the bedroom. The bag sailed behind her like a piece of unfurled boat canvas. I tried to no avail to catch her. She was too fast for me and as much as I tried, she eluded my grasp, darting around the bed, under the dresser and over the headboard.

That wasn’t all! Our other cat, Fuzzy, saw Missy’s turmoil and tore off after her. I don’t know why she freaked out too, but emotions must be just as catchy in animals as they are with humans.

So now I had TWO cats streaking around the bedroom in circles! They were becoming more frantic by the minute and it seemed like this went on for ages! I ran to the bedroom door and slammed it shut to keep them from getting out, which seemed to make them even more panicky. Before I could catch either one of them, Missy leapt towards the window. She flew straight through the screen and sailed out into the open air. Two. Stories. Up! Then, Fuzzy jumped right out after her!

Two cats sailed out into the wild blue yonder with nothing below to catch them but grass. I ran to the window to see if they were okay and when I looked down, the cats were nowhere to be seen.

However, below stood a stunned couple standing stock still, looking up at me as I looked down at them. Their mouths were wide open, then they burst into laughter. Doubled over and barely able to breathe, the woman said, “That’s the funniest thing we’ve ever seen! Cats flying out of a window — it isn’t something you see everyday!”

It was pretty funny when I think back on it. Fortunately the cats were okay and I was able to corral them back into the house. They were shaken, panting hard and scared as the dickens! It’ll teach me to leave plastic bags lying around where they can get into them. I should resort to something less tempting — either that or shut my windows!

Grocery Shopping Pet Peeves

June 14, 2020 by Cabin Mama

I’m not crazy about shopping. Especially when it comes to grocery shopping; my goal is to get in and out as quickly as possible. It’s an exhausting process to make all those decisions, so I try to be efficient. I make a list and ALWAYS try to eat something beforehand. Otherwise, you know what they say, you’ll grab anything in the store that looks like it would taste yummy. For me, that would be everything in the bakery department and in the ice cream aisle!

Coupons have never been my thing, and I also don’t believe in driving around to a number of different stores to scoop up the specials. The wear and tear on my psyche navigating traffic and crazy drivers, along with the extra time it takes is just not worth it. Unless we’re talking about wild salmon that arrives in the summer. I’d make a trip to the moon for wild salmon!

I have a system once I get to the store. I start at the back, work my way through all the aisles that feature our favorite items. Once in a while I have to circle back to find something I’d passed by without noticing. But it doesn’t happen very often. I hate revisiting my steps.

So you can just imagine how frustrating it is when I get to the store and find they’ve reorganized all the shelves!

Good grief, why do they do that? You get used to a certain configuration and then they go and mix everything up. Is it because they want you to stay in the store longer, make more trips up and down the aisles and “discover” tempting new items? Or is it because some market research company figured out a better way to display foodstuffs so we vulnerable, unsuspecting consumers would spend more money?

It’s one of my biggest pet peeves.

But here’s another one: the 2 liter soda bottles they put on the top shelf, organized in some kind of rack that makes it IMPOSSIBLE for a short little person like me to wrestle them free. I struggle with it for a few minutes and then (horrors!) I stand on the bottom shelf. I know, I know, that’s a big risk because if I break the shelf, all those items will crash to the floor. And what if grocery clerks hiding behind those cameras in the ceiling look down and see what I’m doing? I just know they’d send out some kind of security person who would issue a shopping citation. “Code blue on aisle four!”

You can only get so many of those warnings before they ban you from the store and you have to find somewhere else to go. Then, you guessed it, you have to adjust to another new configuration. Until you do, it’s like wandering in the desert looking for the promised land!

So, I’m very cautious about standing on that bottom shelf. Ultimately, I look around and eyeball the tall people to find anyone who looks like they’d be willing to help me. Most people take pity on me as they watch me jumping up and down to dislodge some out-of-reach item.

Another pet peeve is when I buy ice cream and end up behind a person in the checkout line who takes FOREVER. I stand there watching the container slowly soften, then after the checkout, I race to unload it into the trunk of my hot car. A smarter person would bring an ice chest with them, wouldn’t they? But I like to live on the edge and am not about to change my ways at this ripe old age.

You know what else dives me crazy? The person who stops in the middle of the aisle to check their grocery list. Then they give you a dirty look when you politely say, “excuse me” and try to wiggle your cart past them. I do give a lot of slack to elderly folks and parents with a passel of kids hanging off their cart. But some people are just clueless. You know how you can sense if someone is standing behind you? Well, these people were either born without that chip or they just don’t care.

It occurs to me with all my whining that I ought to be thankful to have so much variety to choose from. I should appreciate the ability to find food on the shelves in great quantities. We have so much plenty in this country compared to other places in the world. I shouldn’t be such a complainer.

So I’ll stop. But before I go, one last thing. Am I the only one who ends up with the cart that likes to veer to the left or right, has one wheel that goes “thump, thump, thump” and slows to a skid when you least expect it?

I thought so. Please pray for me.

Wild and Crazy Road Trip

June 22, 2017 by Cabin Mama

Family road trips bring back fond memories, don’t they? Everyone would pile in the car and snuggle up together for hours on end. It was a bonding experience with our sweaty little arms and legs stuck to each other on those vinyl seat covers. Why, when I was a kid, we couldn’t wait for the chance to leave our friends and favorite TV shows for hours of uninterrupted time with sisters and brothers. Yes, it’s true. I’m not kidding.

So, when we moved from northern California to upstate New York and I learned I’d have to drive it alone with the kids, I jumped for joy. Why, what better way to solidify that parent/child relationship than four days in a Sprint in July with no air-conditioning? Yep, keep ‘em cooped up in a car so they have no choice but to listen to you. Nothing but 2600 miles of open road and four days of togetherness!

Somewhere in Utah we ran into road work. Two lanes gradually merged into one, squeezing us into a narrow channel that was blocked on both sides by concrete barriers. It was unsettling. There was nowhere to go except forward. And it went on and on for miles. Thankfully the kids were quiet and calm, so I could focus on keeping us off the walls. Just like a bobsled team, we swiftly sped down and around, leaning into the curves.

All of a sudden, my eldest let out a blood curdling scream and I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Mom! Get it off me! Get it OFF me!

Panicked, I darted my eyes from the chute up ahead to the rear view mirror. What was terrorizing my child? What could I do to make it stop?

But in the reflection, all I could see was a ginormous 18-wheeler. He was right on our tail, bearing down on us. He was close. Scary close. He blasted his horn. I couldn’t see the driver’s face. For a moment, I felt like Dennis Weaver in Steven Spielberg’s movie Duel!

MOMMMMMMY! GETITOFFMEEEE!” My six year old’s lungs were piercing my eardrums. The baby was crying. My middle son was yelling, “Bug Mom. BUG!” (The last time he did that, he was inches from a tarantula.)

Pressure. What to do? What to do?

There was nothing I could do (They say the only time a woman feels totally helpless is when her fingernail polish is wet. I beg to differ!)

So there we were with 40 tons of metal cozying up to my back bumper and a car full of screaming kids, barreling down a concrete runway with no escape. The bug played a starring role, but like the driver of that truck, I still hadn’t seen its face.

With nerves of steel, I tightened my grip on the wheel and yelled for everyone to calm down. (Yes, you know that worked, right?)

Then the concrete barriers gave way and we made our escape down the exit ramp and onto a wide and welcoming shoulder. Not a moment to lose, I threw open the door, sprang from my seat and rushed to the aid of my eldest.

It was about the biggest bug I’d ever seen outside a movie theater! It had a huge body with long, waving antennae and at least 18 legs. It had crawled up his shirt and onto his neck. He was paralyzed in fear. Hesitating for only a moment, I did what any good mother would do.

I asked my four year old to shoo it away!