Month: March 2015

90 – no regrets, just lessons learned

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I went to Te Warewhare tonight to buy easter treats for my Form teachers. 14 foil wrapped easter bunnies. Add to that an Easter egg each for the lads, one for the grumpy Dutchman and assorted mini eggs for the chase on Sunday morning. Annnnnnd then throw in the basket a packet of six pineapple lump marshmallow eggs. Which I happen to know are gluten free.

They never left my thoughts. I had decided weeks ago that if I wanted an Easter egg for easter I would have one. That last year the beginning of my downfall was the Easter break. I tried to drown out the cravings and ignore them but I ended up exploding and eating ALL the chocolate. It was the slippery slope that meant the end. This time I decided to be kind to myself, no denying and to just see how I went.

There are no pineapple lump marshmallow eggs left. I feel sick. I have a headache and a horrible taste in my mouth and I am overheating.

These are good things to remember. I will not beat myself up over this but I will pay attention to my body and how it reacts to this overload of sugar. Now I will go to bed because I feel awful.

Peace out my peeps.

89 – cluck cluck cluck

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I’ve been sitting here tonight daydreaming about going to Christchurch in a little under a fortnight, and snuggling my new baby niece. She’ll be nearly three months by the time I get to meet her but she’ll still have some of that ‘fresh out of the wrapper’ loveliness that newborns have.

And this is where I get a little panicky ripple up my spine. Because it wasn’t so long ago that I was really motherfuckingly clucky. Like really. Like I had just this minute popped out the second one (it was almost a ‘pop’ it only took three excruciating hours) and I was talking about a third. And I had always imagined me with four teenagers round my kitchen table so ‘just one more babe’ didn’t seem too unreasonable. A girl. I have two boys, now it’s time for the girl.

Everytime I brought up the issue the grumpy Dutchman got pale and said ‘Really?’ gesturing around our rubbish dump house, that had previously – pre kids – been so immaculate. He can’t for the life of him understand why I would want to bring another sleep sucking, money sucking and life force sucking creature in to our finally-sorting-itself-out little family. Just when our youngest is SO close to starting primary school, thus ridding us of our $400 + fortnightly bill. He doesn’t ‘get’ my want of lots of teenagers (his least favourite age group) and he is terrified of the thought of having a daughter (cave man dad=protection and female innocence ideas all cramming to the front of his brain when he thinks of ‘pink’ offspring, no amount of ‘babe she’ll be my daughter and therefore pretty badass’ consoles him).

In the past four years I have come to terms with this and am eventually getting to the point where I agree with him. To an extent. It makes no sense to get preggers while Deaning for one thing. I can’t take time off from my girls, the inconsistency of pastoral care will fuck the balance and I have finally gotten all 270 of them working pretty well as a cohort. But the bit that has turned my mind the most is my foodtard-ness actually.

I really enjoyed being pregnant. I know that sounds weird but I really liked not having to fake a waist. I really like ‘dressing the belly’, and playing with tight clothes that I wouldn’t normally wear (picture a skin tight leopard print baby bump and bright red lips). I had heaps of energy, my skin cleared up and people were really lovely to me. I had the perfect excuse to eat literally ALL the time and it was also a really good reason to sit on my ass if I felt like it. The GD thought it was really sexy. But the first 12 weeks weren’t great. I was one of the lucky ones (who don’t throw up)  but just felt a bit ‘meh’ the whole time. I have heard horror stories since and I know in comparison it totally didn’t suck that bad. Well my first trimester turned me into a horrible bitch and only junk food made me happy. All the delicious, calorie laden, deep-fried junk food that I am not allowed to eat now.

If I got pregnant tomorrow I wouldn’t be able to eat mountains of cheesy pasta, really good deep fried fish and chips, Lasagna, Hamburgers – all the gluten-y, dairy filled goodness that I craved. I would have to make do with ‘mymite’ and avocado on toast, oak baked beans and other ‘safe’ stuff for my tummy. Bleurgh.

The thought of being pregnant now is a little scary to be honest. I know I would still enjoy the pregnant thing, I fucking LOVE newborns and I am like a dairy cow when it comes to breastfeeding – I made enough milk to feed all the babies on the street believe me – but now I’m older and my gut is broken. I wouldn’t be able to veg out on junk food. I am scared that my old age would mean dropping the ‘baby weight’ wouldn’t be so easy in my late thirties. That’s vain but it’s real. Also – it’d be another big gap between the kinder. Two in primary school and a newborn.

Knowing my luck I’d probably get another boy too. (you know I love my boys right? good)

So I have to suck up all the goodness and ‘fresh out of the oven’ smell I can from other people’s newborns. I can’t breastfeed them – that’s creepy – but I can make delicious food for their Mums. I can snuggle. I also have a kitten who I call Baby. Ha ha.

If I woke up tomorrow pregnant I wouldn’t be devastated. I’d be surprised – it is a week night after all – but I’d be ok. Don’t ask the GD what he thinks though.

Day 88 – did you miss me?

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Sure you did, all of you out there in ‘actually has a social life land’. You didn’t miss me at all with your fancy parties, and restaurants, and glamorous fast paced lives. I’m sure you were waiting by your ‘pooters for my next thrilling installment ha ha

As I write this Master 4 is sitting next to me crunching on a foul blue lollipop LOUDLY and staring glass eyed at the minions giving a 21 fart gun salute. Cue much hilarity. Did I mention that he is naked from the waist down but does have a whistle around his neck that he blows at random and eye-watering intervals. Everything this kid does is LOUD. And right in my ear.

The reason for the middle of the day nakedness and mindless lolly eating is of course ‘The Great Gladstone Gala’ which we attended this morning. Master 7 has been building up his excitement ever since he came home with the cake boxes for me to fill to Wednesday, along with an instruction to make two batches of Bliss Balls and as many Jolly Jars as I can source jars for. No opt-in for this activity mind you – more like an implied ‘opt out and be ashamed of yourself and your lack of community spirit’. Last year I broke myself getting the cupcakes, bliss balls and Jolly Jars made. I don’t know how the other working parents do it and look so stress free with it. I can do it but it’s a stretch with my job on top.

This year I thought ‘Fuck this shit I don’t have time’ and have suffered racked with guilt ever since. And not – as I clarified to my grrls last night over (their) wine and my soda water – guilt or shame that the other parents at school will think I am useless and not contributing, but more that Master 7 is super proud of my bliss balls and cupcake making ability and really wanted to show it off. I didn’t want to let him down. As it turned out, after I talked to him yesterday morning (with 2 hours left to go before the baking had to be in) he didn’t care at all if I made anything to contribute – he cared more that I had money for him to spend at the Gala. And so, money being tight this week, I didn’t buy ingredients and gave the cash to the lads as spending money. Very happy little Dutchmen.

Ten dollars each can go a long way when you are a kid and will eat anything. Both boys bought candy floss as soon as we arrived. They then spent the next 20 mins getting as sticky as humanly possible and wiping as much of it on me as they could. Once hosed down we went for a wander and I tried to encourage them to spend their remaining dollars on rides or experiences. No – all up they bought shaved ice, cupcakes, Jolly Jars, one turtle, one green sword, one entry to Lego land where Master 4 declared it boring almost immediately, one entry to the boot camp bouncy castle which was over in 3 minutes and Master 4 managed to make $5 back playing money golf (you putt the balls on to the various notes stuck to the ground – his was a rebound and very impressive). Then Master 4 went to the toilet, couldn’t figure out his suspenders (very stylish) and ended up peeing all over himself. ‘It’s even in my shoes mum’. Sad face. So we walked home, he stripped – ‘Not my tee-shirt mum, my willy wasn’t pointing up so it’s dry’ and settled in to eat the entire contents of his Jolly Jar all at once and glaze out in front of the TV.

We have a birthday party to go to this afternoon too – I have totally given up on healthy food for them today and will just have to deal with the come down later…

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Last night I met a woman who told me – or at least the group of women that were there – that having coeliacs didn’t necessarily mean eating gluten-free, for like, forever. That her Mum had coeliacs and she didn’t all the time. That it was a choice and that some people didn’t get a reaction so it was okay. Aside from immediately wanting to punch her in the face and shout ‘YOU ARE AN IDIOT AND WHAT YOU ARE SAYING IS DANGEROUS’ she seemed ok. But here’s the thing, she was a Naturopath. And although I know that the grumpy Dutchman thinks that natural medicine is the biggest swindle there is, I do not and think it has its place and usefulness. But for someone who presumably is listened to seriously by people who are very unwell and looking for answers, to have her saying with some authority that ‘a little bit of gluten is ok’ is scary. It was a weird situation anyway because it was a farewell ‘drinks’ for one of my close friends who is heading overseas to ‘Art’ for three months, and we all knew each other really well, except for this stranger. Luckily my friend saw me about to ‘school’ this poor idiot woman and diverted me by mentioning the Bachelor NZ – something guaranteed to get me ranting. (seriously – a whole lot of women lined up for a man to ‘choose’ them like a meal in a fucking food court? get out of here with that misogynist dark ages bullshit. Seriously.)

But it has been happening more and more lately. People saying to me that maybe I should just ‘like, eat normal and just like, be normal, because it’s seems so hard?’. And granted this is usually in response to me having a rough day and drooling at them with their pie/wine/chocolate biscuit but I don’t find it very supportive or helpful. What I said last night to my grrls, who love me and want to support me but also want to fix me so I can be normal with them, is that I have made this choice to feel better. That before I felt like shit every day. And now I sometimes have days where it is shit but there is light at the end of the tunnel. And if I’m honest with myself, the ‘sometimes shit’ days this year come from me breaking my own rules. That I know I will be gluten-free forever, and probably dairy and sugar, but that the rest of the restrictions will ease up and I can gain some normality back. That yes, once again I will be able to enjoy both the smell and taste of my morning coffee, and that in the evenings if I so desire I will again have the joy of a glass of red wine with my dinner. But that for now, I have to be gentle, ease up on the toxins, and try to give my gut a rest.

It’s a choice I have made and so far I have gotten up every day for 88 days and made that choice. I didn’t choose to have coeliacs but I can choose to live a long and healthy life in spite of it. I can choose to not get bowel or stomach cancer by adhering to a strict gluten free diet for the rest of my life. I can choose to be able to absorb all the nutrients and good stuff I need from my food by healing and supporting the villi in my gut and for now that means being very careful with what I eat. And the next person that tells me that I could eat a ‘little bit of gluten no harm’ is gonna hear about it.

Day 85 – Owwwwwwwwwwww!

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Travelling Squat Jumps. Those three little words represent nearly two full days of agony on my behalf. I can’t sit down or stand up again without groaning and grabbing something – anything – for support. I quietly said ‘ow, ow, ow’ for every step I took up and down the hill today at work. And did I mention that my school is built on a hill?

Travelling squat jumps. 5 pressups and then 5 travelling squat jumps. All the way in that direction and all the way back again. Have you done these before?

You throw yourself forward as far as you can, using your arms for momentum. Then. You. Land. In a squat position and let yourself sink in to it (this helps with your balance too). Then you throw yourself forward as far as you can. Using your arms for momentum. Then. You. Land. And sink in to a squat position. And so on. Until Nicole says you can stop. And you feel good. Really good because it’s quite exhilarating even though it gives you Jelly legs.

But then, a couple of hours later, you notice the stiffness setting in. Uh oh.

And I woke up this morning and couldn’t move. Normally I would take the dog for a run when I’m all stiff and sore – because you know that cardio and ‘loosening up’ the muscles is actually the only way to shake off the pain. But it was raining and I was on a go slow this morning so I let my legs atrophy.

I hobbled around School today like a little old lady with terrible arthritis. I held on to the banisters as I walked up and down the stairs and I sank slowly in to my seat every time letting out an old lady ‘ooooph’ as I planted my ass. I felt sorry for myself but also knew I had to keep moving otherwise I would be more fucked.

Now I am going to crawl to bed because I have boot camp again tomorrow morning and I can ‘run it off’ there.

If I survive the night that is. Owwwwwww!

Night!

Day 84 – Mindfulness course class number two.

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And I got there on time! Actually I was so paranoid about being late that I got there half an hour early and I sat in my car for twenty minutes. But I was first there so I win. It was, again, very interesting. We talked about Mindfulness and emotions. The four big emotions that neuro folk can agree are Fear, Anger, Sadness and Happiness, and how we process these can get hard wired through family conditioning and life experience. We talked about suppressing certain emotions and how this can cause other ones to flare out, and the difference between ignoring or distancing oneself from an emotion and actually processing through it. We talked about acknowledging an emotion without judgement of whether feeling it was right or wrong. It was good.

I have failed at my two minutes of mindfulness a day last week, and now have a new mission to try to process troubling or niggling emotions using the steps we talked about (while still trying to have 2 mins of mindfulness a day). I feel optimistic. Or at least – I reckon I can experiment on my deaning cohort with some of these exercises and I’m interested in that! (mwaahaha evil scientist laugh)

Things I am mindful of right now;

  • The warmth of the bed and the snoring GD next to me.
  • The ache behind my eyes because I have been awake so long.
  • My scabby and sore face.
  • Dear friends who are hurting and not being able to do anything practical to help them through it.
  • Feeling full from a nourishing meal.
  • The faint whiff of kitten shit on the breeze.
  • The fact that I can’t hear the kitten anymore.
  • Hmmmm. That’s not good.

I had better find the carpet cleaner….

Day 83 –

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My house is immaculate. The GD had the day off work and he cleaned, Hoorah! I got home and it was evident immediately. No crumbs, no toast, no Lego, no stinky boy shoes or minecraft junk, no man-puddles-of-discarded-clothes or dishes to be seen. It also smelled a bit whiffy. Stale cigarette smoke and farts. Dog smell and kitten toilet wafted through. And the smell of those cleaners that you spray over the site of the ‘little accidents’. A rainy day and a man alone with his fur-kids.

Now of course, the house is still clean but I can’t find the remote. I am stuck watching home improvement shows on Choice. The British couple I am watching right now have taken the build on themselves (of course), are living on site and spending hundreds of thousands of pounds to create a dark little box in a rotten little suburb of high brow london. The neighbours hate them. I hate them. But it was better than music videos from 12 year old pop tarts singing about love lost. Because they know so much about it of course! I actually had to get up off the couch to change the channel manually.

Another unorganised day. Eating things I shouldn’t again – salad today. I got stuck with no dinner leftovers and had to eat what was to hand and I have had a swollen and sore tummy all day from the raw greens. Add to that the ‘meth addict’ complexion I am rocking from the re-introduced-but-now-banished-again-forever-Dairy and I paint a pretty picture. Hey Sexy. Luckily I am too tired to care. I spent most of the day saying ‘what?’ and ‘huh?’ and ‘can you email me that please because I will forget’. I am counting down the days until the school holidays. This is not a good look still a week and a half out!

In book news – My little book of ‘organise your life and watch the magic happen or some shit like that’ arrived in the mail today – very exciting. Might make it compulsory bedtime reading for the lads.

Day 82 – cooling down

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I am cold. Rocking the hoodie and slouchy tights combo on the couch and feeling cold. That’s no good people. It’s only the end of March! And I am going to Christchurch in April – I am going to freeze. But, with the cooler months come the lovely cozy tights and fantastic coats and jackets. The cape coats and the trench coats and the leather jacket/hoodie underneath combos. All the delicious-ness of warm winter clothes. I do like wearing what amounts to a duvet for three months of the year. And it doesn’t really get cold in Auckland, not actually cold. Just cold enough for the look of it and that’s all that matters really.

It does however get cold in Christchurch. I am going to hang with my new niece Miss 2.5 months and her mum, my sister. My brother-in-law is going to China for work and I am going to co-parent for the week to help because she’s just wee still. My sister has all of these wonderful brand-new-mum ideas of ‘sleep training’ Sophie and ‘getting her on a schedule’ while I’m there to help – ha ha. I think the theory is that because I’ve already had two and they have lived that I am meant to be some sort of expert. It’s not like my sister to be this naive but I appreciate her faith in me.

It will be nice to have a week ‘off’ life, I am looking forward to it but I keep reminding myself that I’ll be living with a very young baby again for a week so it’s not exactly a rest!

Monday dawned low and long, the boot camp ladies and I blinking as we adjusted to the beginning of the working week. Monday is my no-stopping day at work and I basically lurch from teaching to meeting to teaching so it was good that I had done some prep yesterday. The GD was working a new location today so instead of making sure he was ready earlier than usual he did his man thing of relaxing, lingering over his coffee, long shower doing who knows what (when I should have been showering – it was my turn man!) and then rushing around like an angry bear because he was late – dragging the reluctant and barely awake Master 7 to school in his wake. Because I was organised I managed to have the fastest shower in the world, feed all the children – furry and dutch – get my shit organised and get to school within time enough to not be late. The GD says that it is not a competition. But he only says that because I am winning.

Trying to pull back again this week. Reminding myself of the mission. The Healing and Balance objective. Remind myself to ‘crowd out’ with lots of cooked veges and good fats and bone broth and to trim all of the no-gos that have been slipping in out again. Run with the dog, Try to get to a yoga class. Be mindful.

Day 81

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Satisfying day. I got jobs done, saw family and managed to fold all of the laundry on the laundry couch! It is amazing to see the rest of the couch. The animals keep coming up and looking at it, sniffing it and then sidling up to it suspiciously – they see it so rarely. The lads immediately took to leaping off the top of the couch on to the floor or each-other. Only one of them bled. And it wasn’t for long.

After lazing in bed until 8am (8AM!) I got up and fed all of the children and fur-kids. Eventually fed myself and threw myself in the car to head up the hill to see my grandies. I can’t take the three Dutchmen with me at the moment because both are in a delicate state, so I left them at home ‘cleaning’ which I think mostly amounted to a marathon Lego session on the Music lounge floor.

Nana has dementia and since Christmas has been in care, currently in a nursing home with lovely staff and fellows oldies. Grandad moved in next door so he could be near her and visit but had a fall a couple of weeks ago, and then because of a brain bleed has had to have neurosurgery. He is in recovery and is doing very well but will need to move in with Mum when he has finished rehabilitation. Poor Mum and her man have been basically taking care of the two of them by themselves since before Christmas – Mum’s sisters do try to help but they don’t live in the same city so they are mostly moral support. Anyway – long story short I head up the hill to see them twice a week to try to give Mum the day off where I can.

I love going to see them – I used to drive the boys up to see them every school holidays – because they were up north it was harder to get to them regularly. This way they are only 40 mins away so I can hang with my fave oldies whenever I like in theory. Nana is funny. She has built quite a comfortable world in her head, based on actual events, twisted all out of reality and all stories end with people adoring her, or apologising to her for perceived slights, or recognising her essential ‘right-ness’. She has had some very bad moments, and has said terrible things (to poor Mum mostly) which is difficult for people to deal with but she is ok with me. We have always been each-others favourite person. I am prepared for her to not be alright with me and when she is I don’t take it personally because I can see she isn’t in control anymore. It’s mostly like visiting a toddler now.

Grandad on the other hand is a totally different man but in a good way – he finally gets to talk! Nana always did the talking for him or over him, and it is really cool to hang with him and have him so chatty. He has always been a voracious reader and I knew he KNEW stuff but he lost his sight about ten years ago and got depressed. The one good thing that has come out of this whole thing is that Grandad will get to have his own opinion for the rest of his life now. And he will be with people who can encourage him to learn new stuff again and open new doors for him technologically – My mum and her man are techy geeks.

So, a satisfying morning hanging with my oldies in their respective situations, assuring Nana that yes indeed Grandad is still alive and yes that’s where I was going next, Talking to Grandad about how we both really like Hospital food and ordering his meals for the next day. Eventually I had to jump back in my car and head home to see what state the house was in – The GD’s parents came around for dinner tonight and we needed the house CLEAN.

We did the mad as massive clean. I folded washing like a BOSS. I dusted shit like organised people do. I hung up dresses and ironed and got ‘work clothes’ sorted for the week. It was amazing. The GD vacuumed, and did dishes and helped the lads tidy up their toys. Then I made a delicious and healthy dinner for the in-laws and the kids ate it all! It was a miracle. Spicy fish fillets, steamed asian greens and homecut fries (parsnip, potatoes and kumara). Delish.

AND THEN. As if I am not awesome enough – I baked pizza wheels for Master 7’s lunches, and another batch of bliss balls. Fucking homemaker queen.

In other news, the re-introduced dairy has caused the skin on my face to get red and peel off all over the place. I am SO pretty right now. Dairy is definitely a no go.

Day 80 – secret groups and pissing off strangers.

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After the IQS program ends you get this ‘special invitation’ to join the graduates facebook page (it’s a secret group) and I did of course – who turns down a special invitation to join a secret group?! Well I may have made my first enemy on the page. As I write this I am waiting to see the little (1) to turn up on my facebook tab telling me I have had a response to my comment. It’s a slightly sick feeling.

What happened was that a woman posted that her checkout person had exclaimed loudly and made quite a big deal over her food shop – being that it was mostly fresh fruit and vege and dairy and meat (no packaged food). The checkout lady told her that she hardly ever saw that any more and that it was so nice to see someone shopping healthy. The woman who posted described herself as feeling ‘proud and a little sad’. Proud because she was providing her family with healthy, nutritious food, and sad because ‘wasn’t it sad that people were too uneducated or too reliant on convenience foods these days’. Remember this is after only 8 weeks of ‘being educated’ herself – freely admitted. I let it go.

And let it go and let it go until about 5 other people had posted about their pious and gold star worthy shopping, most of them adding little patronising comments about ‘other people’ who ‘didn’t bother’ cooking from scratch, ‘didn’t understand’ how fresh produce was simply better for you or were just too lazy.

So I wrote this; Fresh produce costs more – the simple fact is that most people would like to feed their families fresh fruit and vege and dairy but that their budget doesn’t allow it. When you are trying to keep tummies full and a roof over your head you do what you can. My husband and I both earn enough to be able to buy fresh as well but a lot of people don’t. I don’t think its ever ok to assume people just ‘don’t know’ or can’t be bothered – they may not have the means.

And it brings me to something that I have been finding distinctly uncomfortable about the newly ‘cool’ JERF movement. I think that we all know that if you can get fresh fruit and veges, meat and dairy for your family this is good thing. And I also know that the grumpy Dutchman and I spend more money every fortnight on food for the four of us than on anything else – and it is a lot of money. Way more than we’ve ever paid before and it seems to go up and up all the time. It’s gotten so that I try not to take the GD with me food shopping because he’s never dealt well with the spending of the money on the food ‘But, but, but’ he splutters ‘we are just going to eat it all! And then have to buy MORE! It’s such a waste of money!’. (He’s never dealt well with the spending of any money on anything mind you).

And we both work full time jobs. And we are lucky to be well paid in those jobs (in as much as teachers and house painters are well paid). But not minimum wage and not unreliable or seasonal work. So we have wiggle room when food shopping that includes fresh produce and less packaged foods as works with my special needs and our taste.

But, there are people that simply can’t afford to do this. They need to keep their families fed, and they need to keep them full so they do the best that they can and buy food that is going to do the job. There are people who are time poor because they work multiple jobs or a solo parenting or have a really good social life and they want food that it quick and easy and does the job. There are people that grow their own produce and buy their dairy and meat at specific places so when they go to the stupidmarket all they are buying is all the other stuff – the toilet paper and the crackers and the chocolate biscuits. There are people who do whatever the hell they want and it’s none of my fucking business. Or yours.

And this is my point. It’s none of my fucking business what you buy at the stupidmarket. It’s none of my business what you feed your kids. And it’s none of my business why you do it. I have no right to look in your trolley and you have no right to look in mine. No judging full stop. And it makes me so uncomfortable because it just seems to be another stick to beat people with. ‘Oh look at that person, she’s obvs far too thick to feed her kids healthy food – she needs ‘educating’. As one of my girls said to me the other day ‘Miss I know the sandwiches in the cafe have salad in them BUT I can get wedges and a coke for half the price at the shop up the road’. Because what teenage girl doesn’t love wedges? I was a particular fan of mashed potato, white bread sandwiches with a lot of butter as a teen. Mmmm. White carbs. No judging – this is a safe place.

As I write this I am remembering getting annoyed with someone on the coeliacs page for only wanting to know about junk food when I was trying to give ‘helpful’ advice about ‘real food’ snacks. I will own this food snobbery and learn from it and try to bite it back when I am tempted next time.

I realise that my ‘journey’ is about this stuff (ha ha I can just about feel the GD cringe as I write journey – he hates that shit), and that I am obsessed with what food will be ‘good for me’ because I am trying to heal my gut, and that I’m gonna write about this stuff BUT I am going to try to be aware of not wanking on like a sanctimonious prick about it.  Because food snobbery is gross. And I let my kids eat all sorts of shit that I can’t be proud of. (you can’t fight Dutch grandies when it comes to treat foods believe me – I had to learn to let it go before one of us got cut).

So far no notification. Maybe I haven’t pissed off some random stranger in a far far land by implying that she is naieve and snobby? Or maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t care what I have to say.

Day 79 – ice cream headaches

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Ice cream. I missed it. I spent the day at Polyfest watching people eat these amazing looking creations of ice cream piled high on watermelons bowls, with chocolate sauce and wafers….. (drooling).

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So when I dished the last of the french vanilla ice cream up for master 7 I had a small bowl myself. No guilt remember? And I am trying to have no guilt but it is hard. I have decided to treat this like an experiment to see how I do with the dairy and sugar. And so I am trying to be ‘in’ my body seeing if I can detect any noticeable effect.

So far I feel sick. So that worked. Not ready to re-introduce dairy then. Good to know. No more ice cream for me – and I know the sugar was a bad idea for my tum too. Good to have this reinforced anyway.

Polyfest was great – I totally recommend it if you can get there tomorrow – I am going out to watch our Maori and Niuean groups. It is SO good to see the girls performing, they have worked so hard and had very little sleep for the last 8 weeks, I am a very proud Dean (I have nothing to do with the groups – the Teachers in charge work SO hard and I think sleep even less that the girls!).

The food all looked and smelled amazing – dumplings, fry bread – if you are not special needs like me it is worth going just for the food!

Mmmmm fry bread.