OMG you've put on so much weight... what happened?

"Oh my god, Glow, you've put on so much weight... what happened? Oh, you probably don't want to hear that... but what happened?"

These were the EXACT words that greeted me a few weeks back when Bobbin and I shuffled off to a morning of stopping my child putting crap in her mouth at playgroup.

I'd like to say that I immediately had some witty retort but instead I just mumbled something about life being hectic and "oh Bobbin is getting too close to the heater, excuse me". She was half a room away, but it was the best exit strategy I had available, and one that I will continue to use, I'm sure.

I avoided the woman who said it for the rest of play time and even left early because AWKWARD.

When the only pants that fit you have an elastic waistband and your muffin top is now a whole fucking bakery top, it's a bit obvious you've put on weight. But I was absolutely gobsmacked that it was said (before she even said hello), and since it was only a day after the whole baby in the car incident, my already fractured confidence was further shattered. It's not like I didn't know it had happened, but kick me while I'm down, whydontcha?

I was under the (obviously mistaken) impression that it's just not polite to mention that someone you haven't seen for a while is now a fatty boombah. Because a) RUDE, b) what business is it of anyones? and c) REALLY FUCKING RUDE.

I asked the followers of my Facebook page what I should do when I was going back to playgroup...

"Oh my god, you've become such a bitch! What happened?" was quite popular, as was ignoring her. I was so anxious and I played different scenarios over and over in my head all morning and even considered just never returning. But I rocked up with Exit Strategy, err, I mean Bobbin, ready to see what happened and maybe, just maybe, be an adult.

Breathe. You'll be fine.

She waved hello, with a warm, genuine smile.

I gave her a close lipped, raised eyebrow smile. You know the one. The one that says either "oh, we're friends, are we?" or "I think I have something in my teeth". I'm not super proud of myself but I was panicking a little.

After a while she made a beeline for me, and asked if I was OK because I seemed anxious.

Aw geez, don't be nice! I'm trying to be indignant and maintain a sense of superiority. That just won't work if you're not a cold bitch.

I brushed her off (I'm really not good at the whole conflict thing) and a few minutes later she came over again, expressing concern that I was so stressed that she could see it from across the room. Here I was thinking I was acting cool and aloof when in actual fact I was showing signs of being seriously unhinged.

Oh great, you're fucking lovely and concerned. How am I meant to be cranky at you now?!

So I did it. I acted like an adult.

I told her calmly and carefully why I was the Queen of Awkward. I let her know what she had said, and that it had hurt my feelings that she would rather point out my weight than talk about ANYTHING else. As soon as I said "hurt my feelings" I was kicking myself. I felt like I was seven. I had rehearsed this and used a thesaurus full of words because that totally makes me feel smarter. Insulted. Annoyed. Offended. Affronted. Antagonized. But no. Hurt fucking feelings.


She was absolutely mortified and so genuinely apologetic. She thanked me for being honest with her and you could have blown me down with a feather, you know, if I wasn't so fat. She had wanted to start a conversation on her own weight gain and that is how it popped in to her head to start it. I hadn't noticed her weight gain (which is probably indicative of my observational skills rather than any "I see inner beauty only" bullshit), but she explained to me she'd been diagnosed with a thyroid condition and promptly diagnosed me with one too.

I diagnose myself with cake. And zero self control. And poor time management. And chocolate. And binge eating.

I'm disappointed in myself for eating my feelings (and oh boy, they are delicious) and not dealing with my problems. I'm annoyed that I was so healthy this time last year - a great weight, a great BMI and a great place mentally. I lost all my baby weight then put it all back on, one Nutella croissant at a time, and at the same time went a little crazy.

I'm slowly coming back from the crazy by focusing solely on my family (and thus neglecting the blog and what feels like a billion emails), taking medication and I've even started exercising. It'll figure itself out soon. Well, it better. Otherwise I'm going to need to buy new clothes. But hey, at least I don't go around pointing out if people have gotten fat.

How would you deal with this situation?

Philips Airfryer Review {alternatively titled Ermagherd Healthy Chips!}

Ermagherd CHIPS.

If you're not familiar with ermagherd it's the noise I make when trying to say oh my god with a mouthful of chips.

A few months ago I was sent a Philips Airfryer to review. In that time I've put that baby through it's paces. Purely for research purposes you see, it *ahem* had nothing to do with the whole I love chips thing. At all. What?! Stop looking at me like that.

I'm a chip connoisseur. A chipoisseur if you will. And I have never EVER tasted homemade chips this good. Once again, ermagherd.

I've embraced the whole cooking from scratch thing for a few years now and yes, that even includes chips. Partly because I like knowing what is in my food, partly because it's healthier and partly because, well, I just really like using those little mandolin slicy things and pretending I'm on a TV commercial. But the chips just didn't measure up to the store bought ones, no matter how much cajun seasoning I dumped on them.

But the Philips Airfryer makes them taste way better - like they've just come from a cafe. It does do more than chips (I cooked a range of homemade goodies in it including garlic bread, chicken nuggets and even beetroot chips) but it's called the chip machine in this house for good reason.

If you go a bit Cheaty McCheaterson and buy frozen chips that have been flash fried first, they taste just like you'd buy at a pub. Serve it with some dips in little bowls and a glass of wine whilst watching the footy and all of a sudden it's a Sunday Sesh. Serve them with fish and Oh. My. Cod. See what I did there? You're welcome.

But having said that, there were definitely a few down sides.

Firstly, every time I used it, without fail, it would set off my smoke detector before I'd put any food in it. The only way to combat this was to sit it directly underneath the rangehood - anywhere else and the smoke detector would start screaming after a minute or two of preheating. That was so insanely annoying because it meant we could only use the Airfryer when we weren't using the stove top. So if we wanted anything else with our chips, well tough.

Also, the bottom section really needs it's own handle. When you release the basket from the bottom there is no way to pick it up other than using just your fingertips - if I've got a chip basket in my hands that is 200C I can't exactly put it down easily to pick up the other part (which is also 200C) with two hands.

We've used this quite a bit in the last few months for different foods but even after all the drooling over how good the chips and the crumbed yummies are, and even loving the retractable power cord, I don't think I'd spend $330 on it when my oven can do a pretty good job at it. Will I sell this and go back to the oven though? No. Because ERMAGHERD CHIPS!

Are you a chipoisseur? Do you have cupboard space for a teeny oven?

This is not a sponsored post however I did receive a complimentary Airfryer. As always, all opinions are my own.

How Not To Ruin Your Marriage: Lesson One

Welcome to the first in an ongoing series of How Not To Ruin Your Marriage posts, complete with button. Yay for buttons!

Being married for all of four years of course makes me an expert in such matters, just as being a mother for a millisecond means I can give advice for all sorts of parenting dilemmas, and a ten day trip to Thailand means I'm qualified to preach Buddhism.

In today's lesson we're going to learn how not to speak to your wife when it comes to weight and shape, with an example from the delicious yet at times dickheaded, Map Guy, plucked straight out of our Easter weekend.

Read. Cringe. Enjoy. Laugh. But most of all, share this with your husbands and partners so that they may learn.
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Me: I'm always going to have a bit of a pot belly, I've had a baby, half of it's stretched skin

Map Guy: Yeah, just look at Miranda Kerr and Heidi Klum's pot bellies... oh wait.

Me: *DEATH STARE*

Map Guy: What I meant was...

Me: *DEATH STARE*

Map Guy: They're obviously genetic freaks...

Me: Lemme get you a shovel so you can dig that hole a little deeper

Map Guy: Um.... I love you?

Me: Fuck off and die

What would you have done? Grounds for justifiable homicide?

If you'd like your idiocy to be included in a How Not To Ruin Your Marriage lesson email glowless@wheresmyglow.com. Where's My Glow doesn't discriminate between idiots, so you don't have to actually be married or even straight to submit.

Oreo Macaroons

Bless me, Mother Magneto, for I have sinned. Until yesterday I had never made a macaroon or a macaron. In fact, I'd never even tasted one. But, it gets worse, a mortal sin it would seem... I had no freaking clue that they were different things.

Do you know the difference? MasterChef didn't and they got in BIG trouble for it. I do now. You can call me Smuggy McSmuggerson as I sit here in my foodie smugness. 

So anyway I was avoiding my own melancholy thoughts yesterday and saw Nicole from Planning With Kids tweet this recipe for coconut macaroons with chocolate and figured it was about time I lost my macaroon virginity. I'm not a major fan of coconut but thought I'd try them out and see. Since I have zero baking ingredients in my house I hauled my butt down to the local to grab some coconut and sugar when I spied something and had a calorie-laden thought.

Hrmmm. I wonder if I could just replace 2 cups of coconut with 2 cups of CRUSHED OREOS!?!?!

Behold, the awesome:

Oreo Macaroons

(makes about 18)

Ingredients:

• 2 egg whites
• 1/2 cup caster sugar
• 100grams of grated chocolate
• 150grams of crushed Oreos (I used a food processor to get it really fine)

Method:

• Beat egg whites until stiff (optional to make stiffy jokes with your significant other)
• Keep beating and slowly add in sugar - beat until glossy and smooth
• Fold in half your chocolate and ALL the crushed Oreos with a metal spoon (this means you can't sample any before you add them, OK!)

• Using a dessert spoon, dollop mounds of mixture on to a lined baking tray
• Bake at 150 degrees Celsius (130 fan forced) for 12-15 minutes
• Melt the remaining chocolate (takes about 45 seconds if it's grated)
• Drizzle the chocolate over the cooled macaroons

Serve and watch your family bow down at your awesomeness

Oreo Macaroons. Embrace the Awesomeness

Crunchy on the outside, ooey gooey chewy on the inside. Noms!

And no, I've still not tasted a macaron. Aunty Penny says they taste like crunchy air, someone will have to send me some so I can decide for myself *hint hint*

Lardy McLard Ass

My BMI is so very very close to obese.

It scares the crap outta me.

I know I'm fat but I don't tend to step on the scales, so I didn't know my actual weight - even when I found out my weight I didn't think it would be enough to put me in to the obese category... but it did. No, I'm not gonna put it here, I can't bring myself to do it, but you can pretty much guess it I'm sure. 

If I’m to lose weight before December as part of my Thirty before 30 list, then I need to get a move on. Quite literally. So, I went walking. What did you see? I saw a yellow dog looking at me.

I can’t do as much exercise as some other people. I don’t really talk about it much, but I have a chronic pain condition that means if I go all out and “work through the pain” Biggest Loser style, I will end up in bed, unable to move for the rest of the week even with the help of some very hard core drugs. I’ve even got one of those disability stickers on my car that lets me park in the ACROD bays – it comes in really handy on the days when I can barely move, but, because I don’t limp or “look disabled” I tend to get abused by people who assume I have stolen my grandmother’s permit, so I don’t use it unless I’m desperate and ready to fight off people who block my car in (yes, that really happened).

Chronic pain affects my social life too; if I go out dancing or to a pub and have to stand the whole night, I do it knowing that the next two to three days are a write off… but I still go cos I’m stupid and quite partial to wine young (ish) and want to have fun.

When I do exercise, it has to be very gentle; walking is pretty much all I can do and there can’t be any incline. I even considered joining one of those granny walking clubs once only to find out they walk much faster than I can.

So yesterday I walked and five minutes in to it I knew it was a mistake. Not because I was in pain but because I made the stupid mistake of wearing a g-string, the only clean pair of undies in the house. Every now and again I’d glance around to make sure there was no one behind me and yank those suckers out. I am nothing if not classy.

For today's walk I will be much more prepared and actually wear proper underwear. A bit of walking, no less crappy food, and I'll be on my way to looking and feeling fab I'm sure.

Is your body screwed up like mine? If so, how do you keep fit?

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Glowless rocked the Aussie Bloggers Conference thanks to

HealthyChart and Baby Goes Retro and Simply Colors

Yo Mama So Fat

I was having such a good day today. See that little word there? Was. As in, it started well and now it sucks.

My Mum came over and played with Tricky while I did a few things around the house, we went to the shops for a bit and then met up with my Dad at a cafe for a free lunch.

It was free because we'd gone there for my birthday and I'd ordered a pizza that had olives on it and when it came and I bit in to it I bloody nearly broke my tooth because the olives hadn't been pitted. Seriously who puts non-pitted olives on a pizza? Anyways, they gave us a freebie to make up for it.

We're still obviously in the good part of the day here.

So while I was on a high of free carbohydrates and because I had my parents to watch Tricky I decided to have a massage.

And, oh, how things can turn so quickly. It went a little like this:

Tiny little masseuse lady: What you want?

Glowless: Back, neck and shoulder? Can you fit me in?

Tiny little masseuse lady: Yeah we got spot. How long?

Glowless: Just half an hour.

Tiny little masseuse lady (looking me up and down): But you pregnant, yes?

Glowless (wishing the floor would swallow me whole, or just swallow my ass): Um, no.

Tiny little masseuse lady: OK come through

Yep. Not pregnant. Just fat. Niiiice.

In my late teens I was with my boss when she asked a coworker when her baby was due. She wasn't pregnant either. Seeing the crushed look on her face that day, the look she tried so much to hide, made me swear I would never ask someone if they were pregnant. NEVER. I would hesitate to ask even if I could see their baby crowning and there was a midwife telling me to move out of her way.

You just don't do it.

So it has come as a timely reminder that yes, I am fat. And I should do something about it... right after I eat this tub of icecream to make myself feel better.

Has anyone asked you if you were pregnant when you weren't? Or is just me that has a lardass?

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Meet Glowless (and her fat bottom) at the Aussie Bloggers Conference thanks to HealthyChart and Baby Goes Retro