Days of Our Lives

I had to post an email from a friend of mine. I think it just about sums up life in the 'hood—motherhood.

Here it is:

OK, this is about as funny as the girl in the check
out asking me how many months prego I was...

Here I am telling you to just get a small tree. Well,
today my hubby and I went to get our tree,
and he decided he wanted TWO trees: one for the front
window and one in the sunroom. So not to be a grinch I
said ok. After he set them up, he went into his studio to relax???

I spent all day dealing with the baby and trying to light and decorate two trees, not to mention the trip to Target to get the light we were missing. So now I am finally done and I go outside to take a deep breathe when my next door neighbor (who I love but...) with no kids, asks me if I am ready for Xmas. And I say, "Well, I still have a few things to pick up."
To which she says: "What have you been doing? You're home all day!"

Merry f'in Christmas!

So Touching

I would have been here sooner had I not been derailed by a vid clip of Angelina Jolie at the premiere of her new movie. God, I love that kind of stuff. And watching TV on the computer rules. It feels—I dunno—private and sneaky. Oh la la! The two are just about to formally integrate. It's cool to witness the progress of a medium and how it affects the world. Hello, Fahrenheit 451. We (www.thefamilygroove.com) are going to be featuring video in 2007, too.

Anyway, I digress—and regress quite often for that matter. I am actually here to vent about touching. Copycat alert: I am completely biting off of the great Chelsea Kaplan's post on creepy peeps who touch her kid. (It's hysterical, by the way. Go to http://www.thefamilygroove.com/blogtoc.htm to read hers.) But I have to say that it is really a problem. Why do people think it's okay to touch my kid? And on her face, no less! Gross!

And here's the worst part: I'm too much of a wimp to say anything. So instead I sit there or stand there or do whatever it is I am doing there with a strained look on my face, body tense, breath held, until it stops. Then I let out an uncomfortable non-laugh laugh joined by an awkward smile and frantic head nodding, all in some kind of subversive attempt to frighten the toucher away.

Okay, now you are thinking that I am a total germaphobe. I'm not. I swear it. I mean I don't want my kid to get sick, but I'm no Howard Hughes (and neither is Lindsay Lohan). But seriously, hands off, people. I don't go around touching your faces.

Now there are about four places with known (to me) touchers and I have boycotted them. (Well, in my mind I boycott. In reality I just don't go there anymore.) I have no choice. Okay, I do have a choice. I could and should just nicely ask the people to please not touch my kid—with their dirty, germ-ridden, yuckers hands. But instead I avoid.

As I see it, I have two options. The first is to grow up and tell these people to kindly stop touching my child. The second is to reach out and touch them. How great? How great would it be if I just touched these randoms right on their faces for no good reason? Or if I just took someone's hand by his or her fingers and kind of loosely wagged it up and down? Yup, from now on, I am going to reach out and touch the touchers. How touching!

The Guilted Age

In the immortal words of Barbra and Barry: And we have nothing to be guilt of...

Then why do I feel so guilty when I do something for myself?
Tonight I went to the gym and ran turkey-related errands instead of doing the dinner, return emails, bath, return emails, bedtime, return emails thing.
First of all, let me say, what a treat!

Wait: Our love could climb any mountain, near or far, we are and we'll never let it end. I had to. It's stuck in my head now.

That hour and half felt so good—and you know, I felt guilty about the fact that it felt good. I also felt guilty about not working (on my mag site www.thefamilygroove.com—awesome though round the clock) or hanging with the fam or teaching my child something or teaching my man something (hehe) or, I dunno, doing something routine-related. But tonight at 6:15, there I was treadmilling it up. Me—alone. And hey, was that me making multiple stops at various stores, pulling into a spot, opening the driver's side door, closing the driver's side door, pressing the lock button and walking away from the car? What? No wrestling with Britax straps and a bulky, but cute Baby Gap coat? No clumsy, momentum-induced hook of my purse onto my shoulder as I balance my 21 month old?

I felt like a teenager who just got her license—yup, just out tooling around on her own. Why, I got a coffee just 'cause I could do it sans baby. Yes, that bit of stolen time— music loud, arms free—was a refreshing shot of me-ness. And you know what, I like me. I miss me.

And as I write this, I am over the guilt. In fact, that song is out of my head and has been replaced by George Michael's "Freedom." Equally as good, but now much more suiting of my outlook.

Yo Yo Mama

Okay, so I can't believe I am going to admit to this, but I really think Nicole Richie looked good until very recently. Not so much in that picture of her running on th beach, but in clothes she looked pretty good. Is that sick of me or what?

I always blog about what I am eating or not eating. When I eat pasty white crap, I look like pasty white crap. When I eat clean, high water content food, I am clean, flushed and light, mentally, physically and emotionally. I suppose the same can be said of what I consume in other ways, too. As of late because I am working all the time and momming all the time (insert other semi-poor excuses here), so when I do get a hot minute to myself, I shovel in an US Magazine or binge one of those Access Entertainment Hollywood Red Carpet Fabulous Life of Celebrity Kids shows—you know, the ones that beacon the official decline of Western Civilization. Good lord—and I love them. I love them. Watching them feels dirty and wrong and just yuckers and I can't get enough—ergo, Nicole Richie looks pretty good, Posh Spice was kinda right about Kate losing more weight for her wedding photos, Ashlee Simpson looks amazing and all sorts of other vain, inane thoughts swirl around in my head, informing my perception of the world.

Here's the pattern: I think these twisted sister thoughts and then feel so bad about my loser actions—think I-just-ate-the-whole-bag-of-cookies kind of remorse. Then I go back onto my diet of mind and aesthetic enhancers (which at this point is relative at best), such as Discovery channel shows on Pluto, the NY Times and shunning my mom's attempts to gossip with me—lame, but not reprehensible.

A couple of weeks ago when I was on the wagon, I stumbled onto an episode of Charlie Rose (if that black background doesn't straighten you out, nothing will) on which he was interviewing Jane Fonda and Gloria Steinem. You can imagine how proud I was of myself—akin to one week of no white flour, sugar or salt—and that was still a TV show. I'm working up to getting back into reading. It's like going vegan—which I am contemplating getting back into, but that's a whole other post— you have to work into it.

And so the yo you dieting continues. Back and forth. Up and down. On and off. Either way, you are what you eat.

TMI

I don't poop.

Sorry.

Sorry.

Sorry—I had to say it.

It's a problem that a lot of girls (or women or ladies or whatever the hell we are) have. It's not cool—not at all. You gots to poop, people. All disease starts in the colon. A healthy digestive track is a healthy person (that was last week's Mama Says Tip of the Week on www.thefamilygroove.com.)

Being regular is mucho importante. Think about all the—yes, I am going to say it—crap that's just stuck inside your poor colon. All those chemicals and toxins—gross! Here's the shittiest part (come on, I had to): your mind has a lot to do with how regular you are. We hold on—we literally hold on—to stuff. What you eat also plays a huge role. Most of us are allergic to wheat and dairy. I notice that when I eat wheat (evil, evil grain that it is), I am less regular and more bloated.

When I go (go where?), I feel so much lighter, happier and more optimistic about life. Seriously!

So I've been on a mission for the past month to let it go. I wanted to share with you what's been working for me:
1. Aloe Juice (I actually do the gel. I find it less yuckers for some reason)
2. Probiotic pills (Fiber Smart or any kind of straight probiotic will help get the good flora back into your system. Peep this week's Mama Says: Get good flora (intestinal bacteria) back into your belly today. Available at most supermarket, drugstores and online, a probiotic (dietary supplement containing beneficial bacteria and yeast) does a body good, helping to manage lactose intolerance, prevent colon cancer, lower cholesterol, lower blood pressure, improve immunity, beat the bloat and more.)
3. Whole food vitamins (I actually take these prenatal ones that Gwyneth told me about—well, me and the rest of the free world in her Vogue interview. She takes them and swears that it's the reason why her hair always looks so great. I'll let you know how it goes for a mortal.)
4. Acai juice (3 ounces daily and loving it)
5. Omega 3/6/9 oil

When I do all of the above and drink my 100 ounces of water, it's howdy doody time (yup, I went there). It's actually howdy all things goody time, including energy, lightness, calmness, wholeness, positivity and a flatter belly.

I'm not a doctor and I don't even play one on TV, so be sure to ask your nutritionist or doctor before taking any of these supplements.

So that's the poop scoop. I won't have such a shitty posting next time. I promise.

Listen, All Y'all It's a Sabotage

Well, if the chunk of time in between my last post and this one is any indication of my life over the past month, I guess one word could describe both: absent. I could give you a few more, too, if you like: overwhelmed, poorly dressed, fried, bleery-eyed and bloated. Why is it that when life (read: work) gets out of control, I go right back to letting myself (read: poor food choices and no exercise) get out of control? You'd think it would be time to straighten up and fly right, but instead it's a frenzy of food-otage.

Okay, okay, it's not that bad. Actually, I ran into a friend of mine who I hadn't seen in a couple of months and she thought I looked great. She even said my butt and legs were looking good. However, I am nowhere near where I could have been had I stayed the Lori Sawyer (www.mommy-moves.com) course. I have only been getting to one of her workouts each week (in all fairness to me, one week it rained almost every day). Those workouts are the anchor that keeps me grounded during this lifestyle overhaul.

Oh, wait, I have to say this: I saw a picture of me at my sister-in-law's wedding and I looked so bad. That's what's been weighing on me, too. I knew I wasn't Kate Moss, but I also didn't realize I was Britney Spears. I kind of get why she lets herself look the way she does: she thinks she looks good.

Anyway, I have come to understand that every piece of this weight loss is integral. Stop one and you can kiss the rest of 'em bye-bye. One hour of working out begets 100 ounces of water drinking begets supplement taking begets no cravings for crap food begets good food choices begets a light mind, body and soul begets less time obsessing about the overhang (you know, the belly overhang) begets more interest in Shawn begets more interest in being woman and wanting people to hear me roar.

If you made it through that sentence, you are a trooper.


So today, as of 3:49 pm, I pledge allegiance to BE GETting me back on track. And since my new thing is all about integrity of my word—and because now all this is in print and the overhang is just gross—I am going to do it. Just you watch!

Hedwig and the Angry Inches

Angry.
Angry, I was.
Angry every time I had to get dressed to go out and my size 4/6 closet taunted me—so smug were those Theory suits, Katayone Adeli pants, CRonson tanks—jerks! Oh, and those custom-made Agatha leathers and full row of perfectly worn jeans—why sometimes I could hear them snickering to one another and I know it was about me.

First off, let me say this: thanks to the booty that was NYC bartending, I have some good clothes. Secondly, now that me is a mama with a much larger booty on her person, mama can't get no brand new bag. So health, anger and obsession aside, Slimdown 2006 was a very practical, even economical decision.

Back to the anger: I was angry every time I had to get into or out of car and my legs strained to move, encumbered by jeans that were way too tight. I was angry every time I laid on my side and my belly joined me (does anyone know what I am talking about here? It's a nightmare.)

I was just a mega player hater.

But now I am a player lover.

Dudes, I am free. (Insert George Michael's "Freedom" here.) I don't duck mirrors. I don't dodge photos with my daughter (poor girl has hardly any photos of her mommy because of mommy's narcissism and laziness—a deadly combination). I look forward to going out, to seeing people, to being seen. I have Me back. As I said before, Me isn't back entirely, but the spirit of Me is.

Da-da-na-naaaaaaah. Now for the results of my six-week jump start Ultra Fit awesome program with Lori Sawyer of Mommy-Moves and LS Fitness (www.mommy-moves.com):

Weight: 153 (Lost 8 pounds. No, it's not Me's 125, but read on.)
Body Fat: 26.96 (down 7%)
I actually lost 13.85 pounds of fat, but I put on six pounds of muscle.
Neck: Lost 1.5 inches
Chest: Lost 3.25 inches
Arm: Lost 0.5 inches
Waist: Lost 2.75 inches
Navel: Lost 3.25 inches
Hips: Lost 1 inch
Thighs: Lost 1 inch
Calf: Lost 1.5 inches

I am so happy to have shed those angry inches. And I'll be happy to continue to shed them, although now they're not so much angry as just ready to move on.

Stay posted!

Das Boot Camp

Relish—and I don't mean the kind you put on hot dogs. I relished my last two Uitra Fit Challenge workouts with Lori Sawyer. I loved the challenge. I loved knowing that there is a direct and immediate result from hard work and effort. Come on, folks, what other arena in life offers you immediate results? Look, I am still not the former Ms. Awesome USA (120 pounds, fabooo haircut and slightly ironic clothing) yet, but I am on my way to her. I am, however, feeling 180 percent better in every area of my life. I get that results are cumulative. I get the cause and effect. I get that feeling as rocker as I do now is what I was after even more so than fitting back into size 27 jeans.

During my last two workouts, Lori and I talked about how this is just a jump start. The operative word here is "talked." Even though she was killing me, I could still talk—how's that for improvement? We talked about the ch-ch-ch-changes that I've undergone in just six weeks:

1. I look forward to working out.
2. Instead of spending my time obsessing over the crap I ate and feeling badly about letting myself down for finking out of a workout or shoving in Scarlett's mac and cheese, I relish the thought of drinking another glass of water, taking my next round of vitamins or getting in one more superset of push ups. I've gone through a solid six weeks (give or take a few down days) of not hating on my body. Seriously, think about it: your body is completely at the mercy of you and all you do is treat it like crap and then talk smack about it. How mean are we?
3. I feel so empowered now that I actually do what I tell myself I am going to do. Integrity of your word is all you have. When you let it go, you're nothing. Following through on what I say I am going to do for myself on the health and fitness front has made me a better mom, a better editor, a better business owner, friend, partner, etc. Doing what you say you're going to do, having integrity of your word, is just remarkably empowering.
4. I feel so much better. I am so much clearer. I am so much stronger, both mentally and physically. I don't pass out at night's end. I have boundless energy—seriously. The water and drinking less play a major role in the aforementioned, too.
5. I am back in control. So this was, in total, a story about control. I even sorted out why I allowed myself to get out of control—and I've since dealt with it and moved on.
6. I make good choices for myself—and boy, oh boy, does that affect every single area of my life. It's amazing how just choosing not to eat a slice pizza and opting for some tuna and a slice of sprouted bread can make you a better decision maker all around.

So my friends, I urge you to get a handle on your health and well-being. Give your former half-hearted follow-through ways the boot and sign up for the life you're supposed to have starring the person you are supposed to be.

I just told you what I gained, but I still have to tell you what I lost. Tune in next week for the results.

Weight, Weight, I Never Had a Chance To Love You

Ya-huh, White Lion.

It's a White Lion lyric, people. Why that was the first thing that came to mind when I sat down to blog about my weight training week, I have no idea. Well, wait—wait, I never had a chance to love you, now I only want to say I love you one more time—a minute, I must confess: I am a former metal head—well, glam rock hair band cute boy soft metal head might be a more appropriate term.

And you're welcome for that nightmare song being stuck in your head all day.

Okay, back to the weight training week. I'm actually a week behind in my reporting—but (or butt, as it were) at least I'm not a weak behind anymore. So I'm going to tell you about my two heavy workous from last week and my day at the beach from this week.

It Ain't Heavy, It's A Five Pound Weight
Oh yeah? Five pound weights after rounds of super duper intense arm and shoulder supersets feel like five tons. I am such a people pleaser. I want to do a good job. So there I am huffing and puffing and grimacing—the uglies were in full effect—thinking that I couldn't do it. Shoulder work sucks the most and my shoulder were on fire. But I pushed through. I mean, come on, it's one hour of intensity. I can't handle that? Of course, I can. And you know what? My shoulders have some shape and definition to them all of a sudden. In fact, my whole arm area is very much leaner and straighter. The chunk of it all is leaning out. NICE! I might even let the arms come out to play. They've been in forced into hiding for some time now.

I'll briefly tell you about the leg-cersises. Think: step ups (done on my porch stairs) down into a lunge. Think back to the reason the weak behind is no longer. Step ups, lunges and squats totally suck, folks—but do them anyway. Do ten squats right now whilst you're reading this. You'll thank me later.

The eating has been overall clean and tasty. Some winey-wine has snuck (is it snuck or sneaked?) back into my world, but the moderation remains. A stray steamer has landed in my mouth, now and again. Overall, though, Ultra Fit is an easy and inspiring program to follow—especially with Lori's support and guidance.


Now to this week's workout, aka, Not Beachy Keen
My friends, doing anything on the beach except laying (is it laying or lying? when do you use lain?) is hella hard. This was the hardest workout so far. We ran, we lunged, we walked, we pushed up. We even did dips on the lifegaurd stand. The workout was so challenging that I didn't have time to fight it or wish it away. Subsequently, I was 100% in the moment—I had to be in order to get through it.

So that's the catch up—not the ketchup, there's none of that in my clean eating plan. Only a week and a half left.

I'll leave you with lyrics from another White Lion song: when the children cry, let 'em know we tried, 'cause when the children something, let 'em know something else.

That's it. That's all the White Lion I know. I'll stop the terror.

Never Mind the Bollocks

Bad blogger! Bad blogger!

Forgive my absense from the scene. Allow me to blame it on the heat.

Anywooo, I am back and I'm totally over the Justin song. I knew those In Syncers couldn't be trusted. I'm semi over the Gnarls Barkely one, too.

Okay, so first of all, last week was all about a core workout. Lori, the body of steel (www.ls-fitness.com), came to my house to help me reclaim my core, my middle, my guts. The cool thing about both of our workouts is that I can, and have been, doing them on my own. You'd be amazed at how much of a workout you can get in your own living room. Check out Lori's monthly in-home workout routine in the Well-Being & Health section of www.thefamilygroove.com. I really felt like my very own Cindy Crawford working out with Radu all while being taped for a segment of House of Style. I miss House of Style.

Everyday peeps think that they can't afford a personal trainer. I say bollocks to that. How much money do you spend a week on coffee? On magazines? On stupid crap that you don't even need. Even if you can only save for a trainer once a week, that one-on-one time will anchor you for the whole week.

The reality is that pre-Lori I was way to easy on myself when it came to my fake outs—I mean workouts. With most areas of my life, I live by the motto: If you are going to do something, do it the right way. But for some reason, that work ethic skipped town everytime I stepped foot on a treadmill. I say bollocks to that, too. Where along the way did I decide that it was okay to let myself down?

These weeks have taught me not only to take the time for myself, but make the most out of that time. Every morning and night, I do supersets of push ups, sit ups, dips and arm exercises. I actually look forward to them now. With all the ups and down and nonsense of my day, it's these supersets, mini-time outs, if you will, that help me cope. They also reassert and strenghten my committment to myself. When everything else is out of your control, at least you can control yourself.

And now, the half way report:

Weight down 4 pounds
Body fat down 4 percent—that's a big deal
Arms down 1/2 inch
Waist down 2 1/4 inches
Navel down 2 inches
Hips down 1/2 inch
Thighs down 1 inch


I can't get hung up on the pounds. The body fat is much more imporant. I am psyched about the inches and am fitting into size 29 jeans—they're tight, but they close. I look and feel like a new person. My face has thinned out big time. I am going back to a nice heart-shaped face verses the round beach ball look—so not cute.

My goals for the next three weeks are to rock even harder and to be even more committed. The reality is that this six week program is just a jump start. I have a ways to go until I get back to my once and former self. I finally believe that I can do it though, as long as I nevermind my tired brand of bollocks!

Who Will Save Your Soul?

Every so often there's a song or an idea or movie that saves my soul. You know when you just feel like you're outlined in pencil, and it's been a long ass time since you've been colored in? And then you hear this song or learn something awesome or read a great book—though for me, it's usually a song—and you're alive again, in living color.

There's always an LP playing in my head—like my theme songs of the moment. They save me. They breath life back into me. They make me want to run faster, be smarter, be cooler, be happier. They snap me back to ME—don't worry, I won't go there again.

This summer, the soundtrack to my Ultra Fit 6-week jumpstart program with the one and only Lori Sawyer, www.ls-fitness.com or www.mommy-moves.com, goes a little something like this:

1. Crazy by Gnarls Barkely (Yes, me and the free world. I know. I know.)
2. Gold Lion by Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs (I love the melodic, polished yet deconstructed East Villageness. It reminds me of hot summer nights with nothing to do but hang out and feel the breeze.)
3. Anyday by Derek and the Dominos (So much talent, so desperate, so raw and so messed up, so sloppy and so rock-n-roll.)
4. Oh, and I can't belive I am even going to write this (my former punk rock self is pointing and laughing as I type): SexyBack by Justin—yes, Timberlake. (Dudes, it's a good track and it's exactly what I am all about right now.)

Let me tell you something: these songs saved my soul, my hide and my pride this week, the week of the hiking workouts. I hadn't been hiking since I was 20. I was just out of college and seeking refuge (after 7 months as a cocktail waitress and struggling rocker-be) in Hawaii with two of my bffs. I really don't dig hiking because, well, it's hard! I never breathed a word of this whiner crap to Lori though. In fact, I just pushed all these negative thoughts outside of my brain and went for it. If I wimped, I'd have to cop to it on the blog. My ego superseded my laziness.

You know what? It didn't suck. It was actually cool because I conquered the hikes, or actually I conquered my fear that I couldn't do them. Lori kicked my butt but good. Running up hill, using random fences and mega-gross logs as push-up and dip props was very challenging, but still fun and adventurous. Huffing and puffing, I kept on going. There was a natural flow to the workout: what—or who, as it were—goes up, must come down. So up and down we went, pausing to use her wonder band for arm, chest and back exercises. I knew that I could do anything she asked because also knew that I'd eventually catch a down hill break.

Bugs, uneven terrain, humidity, fear of ticks (yes, this is my fear du jour), impending period, watch out because I'm just crazy enough to let my gold lion loose. Anyday now, I'm getting my sexy back.

So what's saving your soul?

me is Not 18

Soooo, there's me. I'm a normal-ish, 30 year old mom, semi-new suburbanite, editor/writer—you know, same as you. Then there's ME: my totally rad alter ego (in my head), of whom I am so very fond. ME is 115 pounds, awesome haircut and color, cool—but not conspicious—clothes, swagger and witty retort. me. ME gets free drinks, doors held open and second glances. me kind of looks four months pregnant, so me still gets doors held open and second glances—but no free drinks.

Me. me. ME. 30. 18. 30. 18.

Soooo, there me is, doing her killer circuit with The Body, aka Lori Sawyer (www.ls-fitness.com), on some field next to a high school boys' baseball game warm-up. Me is killing the killer workout a la Pam Anderson in Baywatch (all smooth and graceful running, hair cascading in the wind, sun streaking on my skin) meets Heidi Klum post baby on Access Hollywood. What's up, boys? You all think I totally rock—I know it! Oh, but wait, that wasn't me, that was ME. me wasn't killing anything except herself in her mind for ever eating all those chocoalte bars, cheese doodles, mashed potatoes and pizza. me was red-faced, flailing and stumbling, gasping for breath, hair unwashed and held back by a stained headband, and squinting to avoid the sun getting in my eyes. There's actually a picture of this, but I have to work up to posting it.

Oh, me! Oh, ME!

ME and me agree that the workout rocked and I killed it me-style—which is just fine, thank you. me knows that ME will be back soon, but even better than before. Looks, metabolism, subsidation, lack of responsibility, and your whole life ahead of you aside, who really wants to be 18 again? I am going to be 30 with a vengeance. In fact, my 30 is going to be able to kick my 18's ass.

So much has changed in the short time since I started my Ultra Fit Challenge with Lori. I feel so much better; I look so much better. My family is eating better. I have so much more energy. I am excited, not daunted, by getting dressed.

me like-y.

Egg Whites and Soy Butter Rule

Okay, so the editor in me is horrified that I chose the above as my post's title. But, seriously, nothing sums up the theme of my morning better that "Egg Whites and Soy Butter Rule." Well, maybe "Egg Whites Are Not Un Oeuf," which makes me laugh, but works better spoken verses written.

Anyway, back to the happiness that is egg whites. Check it, folks: egg whites, italian spice mix, NO SALT, and a little soy butter = absoultely delicious and filling. Even my 16-month old daughter, Scarlett, the non-eater supreme loves them. In fact, these eggs are one of the few things she eats.

Oh, and the other wunderbar thing is that I am supposed to eat carbs (good carbs, no white crap) with every meal. I ate a gorgeous piece of multi-grain bread with my egg breakfast and didn't even feel guilty. I mean, serioulsy, feeling guilty about carbs has become a part-time job for me. I could have taken up knitting or discovered the formula for cold fusion (they haven't done that already, right?) in the time I spent obsessing over the carbs I ate and then planning how and when I would eat more of them—evil!

The other magnifico (yes, I am trying to include one foreign word in each paragraph for some bizarre reason) outcome is the marked improvement of my entire family's food consumption. As mom, aka ruler of the food universe, I control who eats what. My new-found gusto for all things healthy, organic, colorful, vital and balanced has completely overhauled every aspect of Shawn and Scarlett's diet, too. It feels so good now to prepare healthy, but still tasty, meals and snacks for my family. It gives me a real sense of pride and accomplishment.

Well, that's the scoop for now. It is the little things that lead to big happiness, huh?

Oh, I guess "Gettin' Eggy With It" would have worked, too.

Skinny Is As Skinny Does

Okay, guys, let me start this post by saying two things: firstly, much love to the groovy gal who posted a comment. I truly appreciate your words of encouragement; secondly, it's 9:45 pm and I am drinking a glass of water—not wine—whilst finishing up my day's work. You can actually have one glass of red a night, but not me. I really want to do this thing the right way. Who needs the extra calories or the morning brain fog?. Honestly, even one glass of wine slows me down the next day. I am sure my dear, old friends from my bartending days just got a chuckle from that statement. So over the past few days I've gone from wine-o to water-o. I totally dig water again. I used to guzzle it, but got out of the habit. I am supposed to drink upwards of 100 ounces a day for the next six weeks—and I'm loving it. I think I may have been severely dehyrdated (processed foods, salt and alcohol adding to it) for three years now. I feel like a new woman—I SWEAR IT—just from drinking all that water. Just like experts say, drinking water curbs appetitie, sugar cravings, makes you have way more energy and flushes out the toxins and the bloat. Of course, the clean eating helps cure the bloat, too.

For my first workout with Lori (www.ls-fitness.com): Well, let me begin by saying she knows her stuff. She is the real deal. It's so cool to work with such a professional. She emails me everyday with supportive yet strong words. I will not let her down—and I will not let myself down! Our first workout was a circuit in the park in the afternoon. It was hot, but that was the only time I could fit it in. In the past, I would have used the lack of good timing as an excuse, but not anymore. We made a plan and I had to stick to it. So circuit, think: sit-ups, medicine ball, running military-style through hoops (you know when military guys and girls run through tires?), jumping jacks, lunges, sprinting, squating, lifting—just writing it makes me a little winded. There were a few times when I secretly wanted to stop, but my pride wouldn't let me. I made it: one hour of pretty much non-stop circuit training (well, there were breaks, of course, but you know what I mean). I loved it. I loved it. I am not athletic AT ALL and I am so thrilled that I made it through. I feel like a star.

Now, this working and working out mama must go and see what her still-working papa is up to. It's 10:02 pm, but since I'm feeling pretty groovy thanks to my new program, maybe the night is still young.

Custard's Last Stand

I am 160 pounds. Seriously, I cannot believe it. I should be writing about my awesome new online mag, www.thefamilygroove.com—it is the hippest parents' place in cyberspace— or life with child, and instead the only thing on my mind is my flippin' weight. You know in the beginning of Janet's (Miss Jackson, if you're not groovy) "Control" how she says, "This is a story about control, my control...?" Well, dudes, this is a story about control, my control. The truth is that my whole hour-to-hour happiness flow is predicated not on my family's happiness—of that I am certain— and not on the success of my new business—of that I am certain, but on the size of my waist.

How did I become zaftig? When did my size four closet turn into a museum? Okay, I know the answers to these questions: 15 pounds of what I call my suburban sprawl (I moved to NJ three years ago and force-fed to numb the culture shock) and 30 pounds of baby weight minus not-so-much movement over the last sixteen months since my daughter was born equals dodging mirrors, ducking photos and one humugous dose of denial.

Okay, now the laundry list of excuses: work, I work all the time; self-sabatoge; no baby sitter; too tired; those cookies are yummy. The real reason: totally horrendous eating habits and no exercise—duh!

So tonight, here I am freshly into my thirties with lyrics from another theme song on the soundtrack of my life bouncing off the walls of my mind: "We're not gonna take it! NO! We ain't gonna take it!" I don't know who "we" is, but I am done. I am not gonna to take it. I am not going to suffer at the fate of my own hands anymore.

Enter: Ultra Fit's six week challenge. An easy-to-follow, lifestyle-friendly eating plan, three solo workouts a week with TFG's MILF (Mother in Love with Fitness) Lori Sawyer, www.ls-fitness.com, my guide on the road back to me.

Bye-bye cake, cookies, pizza, pasta, butter, burritos, chips and cheese (somehow that list makes me feel like Homer Simpson). Hello, clean eating, working out, drinking water and rockin' it groovy-style.

Think I can do it? Get the bi-weekly skinny on my losing battle as well as blog gabbin' about all the other goings-on in my 'hood.

The Mother Load

The Mother Load of all Blogs begins tomorrow...