Well, today is the day that I finally feel pregnant. As visions of Nicole Richie dance in my head, I just realized (because I am so damn good at delusion) that this ain't no celebrity pregnancy.
I had more or less managed to stave off the feeling thus far, thanks to a combo of working out, drinking tons of water and having a good attitude; but last night's fajitas were the tipping point. The weight gain is still pretty small (and, no, I am not some total freakazoid pregnant woman who obsesses over her weight—well, you know, not a total freakazoid), but the bloat is on (as said to a Glen Frye beat).
The real purpose of this post is not to complain, but to exclaim the complete and total panacea that is working out. My fellow preggo dudettes, get your asses to the gym; skip the lunches out and Starbucks and invest in a trainer; and/or just move something. Working out daily (daily-ish) on my own and working out weekly with the uber-fabulous Lori Sawyer (www.mommy-moves.com) has kept me on a mental, physical, emotional and spiritual high, the likes of which I can not accurately express in words.
Despite the necessary weight gain and the unnecessary bloat (evil fajitas!), I am stronger and in better shape than I have been in years—since I left Manhattan, actually. And motivation begets motivation, so making a goal to work out and then doing it really, truly impacts all areas of your life.
Well, off to pound down some water in an effort to rid myself of last night's salt fiesta. Puff Mommy is not a becoming moniker.
Other good names for this post: Boss Hog and Heifer National.
It's going to be a brisk, but not cold, sunny day today. The sun is just entering my office. I feel like I've lived a lifetime since I awoke. Oh, the gambit of emotion, thought, love, hate, fear, panic, happiness, sadness, calm and chaos that has echoed through my mind's eye in such a brief time. Despite the roller coaster, I still did everything I endeavored to do:
Return emails 5:30 am Workout 6am Return emails 6:45am Get kiddo up. Remember what living is about: sharing—in this case myself and my full consciousness with my daughter. 7:15am Sit down in office chair to actively stress over day. Forget what living is about. 7:25am Get Daily Conscious Tune-up. Remember again. 7:30am Remember what living is about. So here's today's Tune-up, from them to me to you.7:37am See below:
One of my favorite definitions of fear is:
False Evidence Appearing Real
Fear is one big bluff; it’s an imaginary brick wall we are meant to run through — head first. Think about it. Haven’t some of your biggest achievements come as a result of pushing through your terror and anxiety?
Today, jump into the scary moments and know you’ll be able to deal. This is where the real potential for growth is concealed. Now go forth and share something—a smile, a kind word, an ear to listen, a quarter for the meter, a truth, anything—with the people in your world.
A lovely woman sent me an impassioned email last night about www.asmallvictory.org, a charity that helps families deal with stillbirths, miscarriages and neonatal deaths, of which there are a reported one million annually, via information, support and Loss Kits that are intended to ease parents' bereavement.
Thusly moved by her personal account of loss and how A Small Victory helped her, I checked out the site.
Here's what I found:
A Small Victory is taking part in the Case Foundation and Parade Magazine: America’s Giving Challenge. If A Small Victory can get at least 200 individuals to each donate $10 or more by January 31st, we would have a chance to win this challenge. If we won this challenge, we would have the ability to help over 500 families that experience the tragedy of losing a baby. The entire Challenge is designed to take place online, involving the use of such everyday activities as e-mailing, blogging, and social networking. Anyone can donate using a valid credit card through Network for Good. The challenge ends January 31 at 3pm EST so we have to get going! The objective here is to have as many people as you can donate to your cause. Duplicate donations from the same individual will only be counted once. This has nothing to do with how much money we raise but has everything to do with the number of supporters we have. Don’t put it off! Give now! Visit asmallictory.org/give and donate and then send this link to friends, family, and colleagues. If you’re a member of a social networking site, like MySpace, post the link on your Profile page. From there, it’s easy to share it with the friends in your different online networks. Got a blog? Post the link there, too! I am not kidding about this. This could help hundreds of families all over. We are now sending our Kits all over the US and even to Canada. Go now and donate - then pass it on!
If you've got $10 to spare, why not send it Small Victory's way?
We just launched a new monthly column called "Postcards from the Edge—of Parenthood." (I hope Princess Leia doesn't get all cease and desist on us.) Written by TFG's own super cool mom-entator Sasha Brown-Worsham, the columns—I've read the first three so far—are really well-done.
January's is about mean moms. Are you one? Are you one by mistake? Click here to find out.
Look for: Must-Read Mommy Books How to turn Your Home in to a Zen Palace Postcards from the Edge—of Parenthood A Single Mom's Tale of Success, True Love and Cosmos Relax! Just Say Spaaaaaaah Easy Beauty What Not To Wear Working Mommy Guilt No More How to Fit into Your Skinny Jeans Again It's Easy Being Green What You Really Need to Know About Being a Parent Ten Things That Will Make Your Life Easier Liz Lange Wants You to Indulge Five Fabulous Pieces These Moms Want You to Know... What is Rett's Syndrome?
Oh lordy..... Forgive me Blogger, for I have sinned: it's been three and a half months since my last post. So much writing for THEFAMILYGROOVE.com and so little time for introspection—not a good thing, I suppose.
But, anyway, I am back and eight pounds heavier—or so I can revel in until next Tuesday's OB appointment when I find out what damage the holidays have wreaked. Just three and a half months to go before Baby Brother, as Scarlett would prefer him to be called, arrives.
The last six and a half have gone by in a flash, but this time in a good, conscious, awake way verses the first pregnancy during which I completely ignored my growing belly—and the person inside of it. It feels good to feel connected and to allow myself to live in my own skin. I guess it's a function of being in my thirties, all the life lessons that Scarlett has taught me, allowing myself to trust in my relationship with my man, growing up because at some point you just have to, my spiritual endeavors and my recommitment to health and fitness that have guided, empowered and inspired me to be here now. Or perhaps it's the endorphins from my 6:15am workout coupled with the medium coffee I just guzzled. Whatever the reasons, I'll take this current presence of mind.
And just when you feel at peace, just when you think you've got a nice slice of pie, just when you think you've got it sorted, the Universes comes a-calling. Today's Daily Conscious Tune Up from Kabbalah says: It’s easy to be spiritual when we are lacking. But it’s not so easy to maintain the flame once we’ve been satiated.
I have people coming to me all the time who are desperate to fix their difficulties. But they don’t have the same intensity of desire once they get what they want. As soon as the relationship is better, the money is back in the bank, or the health is restored, they’re not as willing to do whatever it takes to connect. I am guilty of this as well.
Drawing energy and maintaining an awareness of the Light is more important after we get what we want because it’s without agenda. It’s a higher level of spiritual connection.
Recall a major prayer that was answered. Do you remember the intense desire you had prior to getting what you wanted? Allow it to resurface today and by doing so, you will receive even more fulfillment in that area.
It annoyed me and my first thought was to ignore it, so I know it's a truth. Yup, it's time to dig again; time to drudge; time to shed light.
Here's to a very dirty 2008! May you never stop digging.
When people ask why I've fallen off the blog-an, my first thought is: I dunno—I guess I have nothing to say lately. But, upon deeper thought—yes, this does require deeper thought—the answer is a host of things from www.thefamilygroove.com being hella busy as we prepare for the success of the first and second quarters of 2008 and work to take the editorial to new levels to the inevitable and often scary sitter transition from summer to fall schedules to an overarching sense of queasiness.
Yup.
Uh huh.
I, like every woman I know or so it seems, am pregnant. 9-ish weeks. Just as my life has calmed down, sorted out and freed up, here I go again. Am I bananas to think it will be different this time? Am I totally coo-coo to think that I can handle it better than I did the first time around?
All of my friends with two youngins say it's totally hard and it completely challenges every fiber of your being—ya mean like it did the first time?
The great news is that my life is completely different this time around and I am in a much better, happier and more empowered state. And, thankfully, I have THE FAMILY GROOVE to help me find, well, my groove during the pregnancy and beyond.
So between THE FAMILY GROOVE, my spiritual work and a renewed sense of self-discipline, I do feel wholly empowered to rock my way through this new phase of my life, including the actual birth, which mega sucked it the first time around.
And speaking of self-control, since I weigh exactly 20 pounds more than I did when I got pregnant with Scarlett, my doctor told me to gain 10 to 15 maximum, so the total would still be in the top of the good range (35 pounds). I am not too worried. I only gained 27 pounds the first time around and I was not working out and eating healthfully then. Although, I must say that all I want to eat are bagels and pasta. Evil carbs!
I'll be back with updates on my exercise routine (I am starting to work out with super trainer Lori Sawyer www.mommy-moves.com next week), crazy hormone-related thoughts, baby gear obsessions and more bumpy accounts from life on the front lines of motherhood.
As parents, we have enough to worry about without fearing Barbie, Dora and Polly Pocket.
I say we boycott.
Well, I am boycotting—do you hear that Mattel?
And I am rallying my moms-in-arms to do the same.
No more Mattel or any of it's other companies until they stop making toys in China and/or prove to every last sleep deprived, caffeine-fueled, over-taxed parent that they've stopped cutting corners.
So, take that Barbie—I always knew you were a bitch.
Not too much time to blog—just finishing up my September issue. Yes, it's finals week again.
Here's what I emphatically have to say: Get off of dairy.
Stop it.
Stop it now.
I've been dairy-free for two weeks and I feel like a new person.
My skin is stunning; my mind is clear; my stomach is flatter; my step is springing.
The whites of my eyes are getting whiter—for real, folks.
Be sure to supplement with calcium-rich foods like peas and broccoli and start popping a good calcium pill (I am taking a combo calcium/magnesium/zinc one) and vitamin D (D3 is the D to take).
Don't go too heavy on the soy in reaction to the missing dairy either. Soy can mess with your hormones. I've been using rice milk, which is quite tastalicious.
So, mooooooove away from dairy and mooooooove into a healthier, happier you.
The Weigh-In: Da na na naaaaa: Four pounds. Okay, so four pounds in one week is great, especially considering that I had the July 4th afternoon and evening debacle and Saturday night wedding. I also look much more narrow and toned.
However, I know that some of the loss can be attributed to the colonics—I had another one yesterday late afternoon. (This one was much easier. It left me feeling fantastic. One more to go to complete the series.) As such, I know that the wine here and there, stolen bites of dessert and the such all added up to not being as successful as I could have been.
I'm not an over-achieving freakazoid. I know that I have to take things one step at a time and be grateful for little victories—which I do and I am. But this week was about strength of mind over matter and integrity of my word. If you don't have integrity of your word to yourself, then there's no way you'll have in other areas of your life.
I didn't have impeccable integrity of my word this week: I had a few more drinks than I should have; I had more sweets than I should have. I had gratuitous sips of coffee. Why? I was the one who chose to eliminate coffee, so why wouldn't I listen to my own advice/mandate. Interesting. Very interesting.
Anyway, psychoanalysis aside, I feel rocket-propelled. I feel lithe and alive. I feel even more committed to powering ahead on this path of physical, mental, emotional and spiritual awakening. I feel even more committed to aligning my actions with my words (intentions) and vice versa.
I'll continue to journal sans blog—so as not to bore the readers with such extreme tedium— as a way of keeping my eating, supplement-taking, working out, intentions and actions in check.
Thanks for obliging me in my week of strength. I know it was my ego/vanity/fear of being exposed as a failure that helped keep me in line. However, now all the good behavior has taken hold, allowing me persevere for the right reasons.
Stay tuned...
The Workout 5:45 am: Woke up psyched to get my arse to the gym. 6:15 am: Triceps, biceps, shoulders, chest, upper and lower back, 50 push ups, 50 dips, 125 sit ups on the bally ball, followed by 30 minutes of elliptical cardio at level 4. Just can't seem to move it up yet.
The Food: 7:25 am: Homemade low sodium, organic chicken soup from the gym cafe. One digestive enzyme pill.
8:00 am: Green tea.
8:30 am: One brown rice waffle, 1/4 tablespoon (or so) of low fat Smart Balance butter, dollup of syrup. I estimate the breakfast to be about 300 calories, aka the same amount that took me 30 minutes to burn on the elliptical.
Supplements: One acidophilus, 2 B, 4 D3 (the new way to D—apparently), one whole nutrient multi, one calcium/magnesium/zinc, one tablespoon of flax seed oil with Omegas 3, 6, 9, four ounces of active aloe.
12:30 pm: Portobella mushrooms sauteed in a little hazelnut oil and egg whites.
3:30 pm: Protein shake with water and a banana.
5:30 pm: Cup of roasted eggplant and tomato soup, salad with shrimp, tomatoes and asparagus. Too many of babe's fries and a bite of her chicken tender. In the words of Michael J :Who's bad?
The Workout 6:15 am: Legs (quads, hamstrings, calves), including a killer squat set. 50 dips, 50 push ups, 125 sit ups and 30 minutes of cardio at 4.
The Food 8:00 am: Two non-wheat (brown rice) waffles, a dab of lowfat Smart Balance, 2 tablespoons of maple syrup. Supplements: Flax seed oil with Omegas 3, 6, 9, 4 ounces of live aloe, one acidolphilus.
8:30 am: Green tea. You are supposed to wait one hour after eating before you drink. Today it was just luck.
9:00 am-12:30 pm: Tepid water
12:45 pm: One small chicken breast from last night's dinner. Held in a napkin and eaten while working—no wonder I have digestive problems.
2:00-5:00 pm: Tepid water
5:00 pm: Hunger mounting. Brown rice crackers and hummus.
5:45 pm: Half a piece of grilled chicken breast, a few slices of avocado, a spelt English muffin with a dab of soy butter (craving bread big time!) and a handful of Babe and babe's waffle fries. Even though they are organic and lower fat than regular ones, I really have no excuse. 4 ounces of white wine. Supplements: Digestive enzymes, one calcium/magnesium/zinc, one acidophilus, one multi, 2 B.
8:30 pm: Green tea.
Tomorrow's the last day of my Week Minded challenge—and yet it's just the beginning.
The Workout No 6:30 am today. Even though I was up, I just couldn't get it together to go—alcohol was still coursing through my veins. Waiting for Babe to return home from baseball game so I can go—looking forward to it greatly.
12:30 pm: Slight hangover is looming, but I decide not to let it stop me. Triceps, biceps, back, shoulders, 100 sit ups, 50 push ups, 30 minutes of cardio at level 4 (still).
The Food 8:30 am: One small organic spelt pancake, a dab of soy butter and dip of organic syrup. Three sips of coffee with rice milk. Worked through the litany of things I was craving: a pumpernickel bagel with lox and chive cream cheese; eggs with American cheese; anything but the things I could have. I methodically intellectualized my way through it though and immediately got over the craving.
11:39 am: Green tea. Not hungry at all. Supplements: Tbsp of flax seed oil with Omegas 3, 6, 9, 4 ounces of live aloe juice, 2 ounces of prune juice.
1:30 pm: Starving. Should have grabbed a few almonds or something before I went to the gym. Apres workout: one cup of homemade chicken soup and grilled turkey, asparagus and brown rice (just a few forkfuls) from gym cafe. Water.
5:00 pm: Want chips. Eat five brown rice crackers and hummus. Don't want the chips anymore.
6:15 pm: Grilled chicken in Mediterranean marinade, half of a corn on the cob, tomato and arugula salad with splash of olive oil, balsamic vinegar and ground flax seeds. Water.
The Workout 6:30 am: Legs (quads, hamstrings, calves), dips, 100 sit ups, 50 push ups.
The Weigh-In: Lost two pounds since yesterday—must be mainly from the colonic.
The Food 8:00 am: A few pieces of cantaloupe—because my Daree, the lovely woman who gave me the colonic, reminded me that you're not supposed to eat fruit with other food, only before. Fruit wants to be digested in 20 minutes, while other foods take up to four hours. As such, if you eat fruit after or with a meal, it winds up getting backed up in the digestion process and turns rancid. In order to derive the maximum nutrients from the fruit and work with your body's natural digestion process, you must eat fruit at least 20 minutes before eating anything else or at least four hours after. Here's something I didn't know: melon should be eaten alone verses with other fruits. There's something about the makeup of melon that makes it not as digestable when eaten with other fruits. Apparently, many spas actually have separate melon bars and fruit bars and forbid a cross-consumption.
8:25 am: Frozen Asian vegetables, sauteed in hazelnut oil, and egg whites.
Supplements: One tablespoon of flax seed oil with Omegas 3, 6, 9, one acidolphilus, 2 B, one whole nutrient multi, one magnesium.
9:00 am: Greet tea—because Daree reminded me of what a former accupunturist used to avow: never drink while eating. Daree explained that liquids put out the fire of digestion. Interesting!
12:00 pm: Brown rice sushi sans most of the brown rice.
5:30 pm: Apres my girlfriend's gorgeous royal-ish wedding ceremony at St. John the Divine in NYC, we went for a drink to kill time before the reception, which started at 7. One glass of white, one crab cake, one bite of cheese, olives and cornichons. Let the destruction begin.
7:00 pm: Hors d'oeuvres are relatively healthy, though not so great for my ailing stomach. Ate a lot of little: shots of vichysoiss, bean salad, crab cakes, two mini gourmet BLTs (like the size of a Hershey's Kiss). Abstained from cheese and overly wheaty and dairy-seeming things. One glass of wine and one glass of water.
8:30 and beyond: Lobster souffle, salad, snapper, couscous. More wine—hard to tell how much really because the servers just fill up your glass. I could have stopped it. I didn't. I must have had another two glasses at least and a few sips of champagne.
11:00 pm: One sip of Shawn's coffee, lemon meringue on a cookie thing. No cake though.
Fortunately, the food was clean-ish and healthy-ish overall, but I could have been stricter. My stomach felt like it was in a vice by the time we left. If I had strengthened my intention, I would have kept to my word. But the reality is that I went in knowing that I'd cheat, so, of course, I cheated.
The Workout 6:30 am: Triceps, biceps, back, shoulders, 100 sit ups, 50 pus ups. 30 minutes on elliptical at 4. Ready to go next cardio level.
Weigh-In: One pound since Tuesday morning. Pretty good considering the late Tuesday debacle.
Extras: Colonic. Yup. Been wanting to do one for years and decided that now is the time in lieu of my recent GI problems. It was great—not so comfortable, but great. I was mentally and physically exhausted afterwards, which is normal.
The Food: 8:30 am: Half bowl of oatmeal, splash of rice milk, blueberries and strawberries. Green tea.
Supplements: One acidophilus, one whole nutrient multi, 2 B, one magnesium, one tbsp of flax oil with Omegas 3, 6, 9. Water.
11:30 am: Starving. Onion soup (no cheese), broth questionable (meat-based? veg-based?). It was the lesser of all evils since the rest of the soups were cream-based and I was craving soup. Water.
12:00 pm: Egg whites cooked in hazelnut oil—because olive oil should never be heated. Water.
1:30 pm: Four pieces of turkey with a dot of mustard and a pickle—craving salt today.
5:00 pm: Brown rice crackers (practically no calories or fat...or taste) and hummus.
6:00 pm: Turkey burger, corn on the cob and baked julienned sweet potatoes, a few dips of organic ketchup (as if the organic nullifies the sugar), 4 ounces of white wine—which led to a slight sliver of Babe's homemade key lime pie.
July 5: The Workout No usual work day 6:30 am workout. Too tired. Had to be the junk food. Will workout today at some point though.
3:42 pm: Think about going to gym at 4. Realize I'll have to go after dinner, bath, book, bed.
9:10 pm: Just got back from the gym—ya-huh! I can't believe I went. Scratch that, I knew I I'd go because I prepped for it from 3:42 on. Knowing beats believing by a landslide. 30 minutes on the elliptical at 4 (tried 5 for a hot minute). 100 sit-ups on the ball. 40 push ups.
The Food: 8:00 am: Green tea 10:30 am: Portobello mushroom and barely soup. More green tea. Met with fitness and nutrition guru to the mom stars Lori Sawyer for half an hour to talk business. Just seeing her made me recommit.
12:30 pm: 3 almonds
1:00 pm: Brown rice sushi (salmon and avocado) with most of the brown rice taken off. Three sips of tomato basil soup. Three bites of babe's chicken. Water. One piece of dark chocolate (non-dairy). Rationalization: I need the anti-oxidants.
5:00 pm: Two flaxseed crackers—no wheat, no dairy, no taste—dipped in hummus.
6:00 pm: Salmon in Mediterranean marinde, arugula and tomatos in olive oil and balsamic, two (Britney) spears of broccoli. Two tablespoons of brown rice. Water. Poured myself a glass of gorgeous Rose from the fabulous CH Wines. Took one sip and poured it out. One glass would equal no nighttime exercise.
6:40 pm: Supplements: One magnesium, two B, one whole nutrient multi, one acidophilus, one tablespoon of flax oil with Omegas 3, 6, 9.
6:41 pm: One non-dairy, non-wheat, oat-y chocolate cluster thing from Whole Foods, eaten while doing dishes. Rationalization: they were there. Water.
9:15 pm: Shot of aloe, shot of prune juice (gross). Kava tea is brewing.
Because my brain is a sieve and my mind is illusional, here goes one week of diary-ing my eating and working out habits.
The goal: Workout every day. No coffee, no dairy, no wheat, no sugar, very little alcohol.
Calling anyone out there who's on his/her way to accomplishing something: start journaling.
Whether it's losing the 27 pounds of baby weight you gained and never lost, getting ahead in your job or finding spiritual harmony, integrity of your word will get you there.
Tuesday, July 4: The Workout 6:45 am Triceps, shoulders, back, abs (100 crunches on the ball), 40 push-ups, 30 minutes on elliptical trainer at 4 (only).
Did what I've been meaning to do for months now: cardio apres weights—finally, I felt something. I started off saying I'd just do 10 minutes of cardio. At 15, my endorphins kicked in. After 30 minutes I could have kept going, but I felt pressure (from myself) to come home to see what was up. Nothing was up. Babe and babe were sleeping. Babe had a late night of work and babe had a late night of identifying every noise outside her window.
Back later to report on the food.
The Food 8:30: Three egg white omelette with mushrooms and spinach. Had to order some salsa. Underestimated the role that cheese plays in making things taste good. Hot green tea. Ate half only—it's definitely not a trigger food. Had stand-off with babe's freshly baked blueberry muffin. I won. (Hear: Shot down in a blaze of glory)
9:00: Supplements: One acidophilus, one whole nutrient multi, two B, one magnesium, one tbsp flax with Omegas 3, 6, 9.
10:38: Not hungry.
1:00: Patron Silver margarita (it is July 4th), four shrimp, salad with chicken and tomatoes. 1/4 of babe's French fry. Patron Silver margarita (did I mention it's a holiday?)
4:00: Realize I should have started my week tomorrow. Corn chips and salsa. Lots. Weak.
7:00: One slice of flat bread pizza, three sips of Coke, four spoonfuls of ice cream. Am I crazy? I never drink Coke and I rarely eat ice cream. What the hell happened?
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He asked me why all moms think their lives are so bad or hard. I told him that most moms don't think that at all—well, we have our moments but we get over them pretty quickly. And, moreover, I know my life is the bomb, the bomb diggity, and that I was merely recounting my day.
You may find yourself, living in a shotgun shack 5:45 am: Make a pee-pee—on the toilet. No one applauded... 5:46 am: Read emails 6:05 am: Obsessively look at the next week's daily to-dos. 6:10 am: Open all-too-loud closet door (thank you 100-year-old house) to get pants for gym. 10:15 pm of the night prior forgot to remind me to get them then. 6:15 am: Roll down window of car to feel the quiet morning breeze en route to the gym. 6:20 am: Pull into gym parking lot and realize that I left my headphones at home in my other purse. Consider packing it in altogether and going home. Don't. 6:22 am: Smile at woman at front desk. Wonder why she always wears a scarf around her neck. Is it fashion or necessity? Get annoyed at myself for thinking such vapid thoughts. 6:23 am: Decide to do weights only today because cardio sucks sans TV. 6:24-7:00 am: Workout medium. Get motivated to do better next time. Wonder why I just don't choose to do better this time. You may find yourself in another part of the world 7:01 am: Make happy decision to go to Starbucks. Debate over coffee verses tea. Hope that I choose tea even though I'd rather coffee. 7:10 am: Choose tea. Iced. Green. 7:15 am: Return home to babe and Babe up in bed, watching Noggin. Try to sneak onto computer before entering bedroom to greet family. Hear: "I want to see her." Feel like a jerk. 7:20 am: Coax crew downstairs for the morning shenanigans. Babe goes into his office to work. babe begins her brigade of breakfast—or should I say Sunday brunch at the Four Seasons. Somewhere in between 7:20 and 8 am: Read Page Six. Feel normal again. 8 am: Bring babe upstairs and get her dressed for the day. Go back onto computer to check emails. 8:10 -9:45 am: I think I started an article. I know I spoke to Chelsea. She pearled me with her wisdom: "I don't negotiate with terrorists," said when she spoke about her son in between discussing fall editorial. 9:46 am: Debate whether to join my family as they jaunt to pick up my sitter/niece. Think through the entire scenario as if I were going to be tested on it. Decide against it. 9:47 am: Babe and babe leave to pick up sitter. You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile 9:48-10:15 am: Work like the dickens. Talk to Amy. 10:15 am: Greet niece. Make egg whites—a late addition to the buffet. 10:20 am: Eat egg whites. No toast. No cheese. Just egg whites. Who rules now? Drink 16 ounces of water. Who mega rules now? 10:23 am: Start cleaning up—yes, just three minutes later. Call girlfriend to confirm how bad coffee is for you. I know how bad it is, but I wanted confirmation, ergo praise for my good choice. 10:24 am: Girlfriend not answering. Leave lame message. 10:25-12:00 pm Work like the dickens. 12:00 am: babe napping. Run out to local market to pick up lunch and dinner—and to spare my sanity from the confines of my office. And you may find yourself in a beautiful house 12:25 pm: Marvel at how quickly a gal can spend $75. 12:45 pm: Put lunch out on the table for my peeps. Choose turkey sans bread for me. Yep, just an ugly, fleshy looking roll up and a little cole slaw I treated myself to. 12:48 pm: Take vitamins—yes, just three minutes later. Drink 16 ounces of water. 12:50 pm: Clean up. Wait, impatiently, for peeps to finish, so I can clean up. Wish I could be in the moment. Decide to work on that tomorrow. 1:00 pm: Work like the dickens. 3:00 pm: Take niece home, babe in tow. Thankful that something got me out of my office. 3:20 pm: Return home. Plop babe in bed—mine, per her request—turn on shows—hers, per her request. Stress over new issue going live tonight. Wish that we could dine al fresco avec el drinko tonight. Remember that it will be an all-nighter for one of us. 3:25: 4:59 pm: Work like the dickens. 5:00 pm: Whole family is hungry. Start dinner. 5:10 pm: Dinner is served. Best $75 I ever spent. 5:11- 6:00 pm: Sit down, listen to new Bob CD I purchased at Starbucks, think about what a wacky and innovative business model they have, scold babe for throwing peas at me, hold back laughing, marvel with Babe at babe's arm, discuss scholarships, watch babe dance, dance. Feel happy. 6:01 pm: Clean up. Babe helps. Feel grateful for having such a great Babe and babe. With a beautiful wife 6:10 pm: Take babe upstairs. Return emails. 6:25 pm: Commence bath, bed, book. Think about that email forward I posted on my blog about a mom who wishes she didn't wish away the bath, bed, book routine now that her kids are older. It helped—kinda. 6:26-7:00 pm: Laugh. 7:00 pm: Put babe to bed. Laugh. Babe makes up non-words to babe's nighttime music. Yes, it's a habit now—the music, not the made up words. 7:05 pm: Thank the lord that I got out alive. Return to computer. 7:15 pm: babe says she hungry. Realize I fed too early. Think curse words. Babe told me to give her snack before bed. Take babe downstairs. 7:16 pm: Give babe yogurt. She eats it. Give babe bread and butter. She eats it. Give babe water mellon. She eats it. 7:30 pm: Brush again. Return babe to bed. She goes right down. 7:35 pm: Go downstairs. Peer into office of Babe who is squinting at his computer. Feel bad about how tired he looks. Feel stress about his stress—even though he's more tired than stressed. Feel guilty nonetheless. 7:36 pm: Fight with a cookie. 7:36:30 pm: Fight with another cookie. 7:37 pm: Fight with another cookie. 7:38 pm: Drink 16 ounces of water as if it will nullify the cookies. 7:40-8:00 pm: Work like the dickens. 8:01 pm: Decide that taking garbage out for Babe is the right thing to do. Scan my brain for ways to avoid it. Come up with nothing. Take out the garbage. 8:07 pm: Unravel hose to water dying impatients. Hose goes nose grows Sue sews rose on Slow Joe's clothes. No, actually, that didn't happen. 8:11 pm: Give up on the hose. Decided to weed. Think about the efficiency of weeding in the near-dark. Decide to throw efficiency to the wind and weed like the dickens. 8:45 pm: Scratch mosquito bites. Walk into home. Babe is still squinting. 8:46 pm: Do a cost-benefit analysis of drinking a half glass of wine—glass half full, of course. And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here? 8:47 pm: Cost outweighed the benefit. Pour the wine anyway. 8:50 pm: Pick up the den. 9:00 pm: Return to computer. 9:14 pm: Blog. Work like the dickens. 10:18 pm: Think about the laundry that needs folding. Try to remember when I showered last.
This is from an email that is going around. Some of you may know the story already. Every time I think I'm living or I think I am "awake," in the words of Buddha, something comes along shakes me alive, more alive than I knew possible.
So whether it's this story and video, a purple flower on the side of the highway or the breeze gracing your office window, it's my hope that we all continue to wake up.
Give this a read (it's from the mass email that took the story from a Sports Illustrated article written by Rick Reilly) and then click on the YouTube link below it.
Dick Hoyt has pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles 85 times in marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a wheelchair, but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and then pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars—all in the same day.
Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. on a bike.
And what has Rick done for his father? Not much—except save his life.
This love story began in Winchester , Mass., 43 years ago, when Rick was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.
"He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life," Dick says doctors told him and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. "Put him in an institution.''
But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was anything to help the boy communicate. "No way," Dick says he was told. "There's nothing going on in his brain."
'Tell him a joke,' Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain. Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? "Go Bruins!''
After a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the school organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, "Dad, I want To do that." How was Dick, a self-described porker who never ran more than a mile at time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he tried. "Then it was me who was handicapped,'' Dick says. "I was sore for two weeks.''
That day changed Rick's life. "Dad,'' he typed, "when we were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!''
And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.
"No way,'' Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quite a single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway until they found a way to get into the race officially. In 1983, they ran another marathon so fast they made the qualifying time for Boston the following year.
Then somebody said, "Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?''
How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick tried.
Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii. When asked why he doesn't go it alone, Dick says, "No way." Adding that he does it purely for the "the awesome feeling'' he gets seeing Rick with a cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.
This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best time? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992—only 35 minutes off the world record, which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time.
And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries was 95% clogged. "If you hadn't been in such great shape,'' one doctor told him, "you probably would've died 15 years ago.'' So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other's life.
Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass. , always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's Day.
That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy. "The thing I'd most like,'' Rick types, "is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once.''
I saw her today for the first time in a long time at our mutual friend's son's birthday party. She looks amazing. She looks the same as she always looks: put together, calm, cool, hip. She's on chemo indefinitely. She's always been a star: successful financier turned fashion entrepreneur. We talked about the past few years. In one run-on sentence, I relayed what our mutual friend had filled her in on prior. The melodrama: the sudden divorce, the start-up magazine, the breaking away from another bad relationship (work-related). The kismet: Meeting Shawn, getting pregnant, THE FAMILY GROOVE.com. It's a story I usually relish telling—so twisty and turny, so rollercoaster. It's like my own Frank Capra short and I usually love to regale people with it, but this time not so much. I knew I was sitting with her to hear her and not myself for once.
She filled me in on her past few years: her move to NJ; her thoughts on Suburban USA; how she so misses the city but wouldn't live there unless she could live well there; and her cancer. She said, "Everything's great except for the cancer."
She asked me how I felt about motherhood. When I asked her, without skipping a beat (I skipped many beats), she said, "I love it." There was nothing else in her words except truth. No buried thoughts, no apprehension, no hidden confusion, anger, fear—just truth. And she said it to me in the moment, right then and there, with no thoughts of what they were having for dinner or the bills that needed to be paid or a phone call she needed to return.
When she answered me, when she spoke those three word, it was like talking to god. I haven't heard such honest words come out of someone's mouth in so long. I haven't spoken to someone in such a long time who didn't have something else buried in their words. The intention and meaning behind those three words beamed light right into the depths of my soul.
I'll keep that purity and that truth with me always.
Summerize Your House Buy Dad the Grooviest Gear The Coolest Swim Wear for Hot Summer Days How to Get a Healthier Glow Pretty Makeup for Your Season in the Sun Water Safety 101 Get a Beach Body Now Eat the Way Nature Intended Dress Up Your Baby Bump Is It Safe to Exercise While Pregnant? What You've Learned That's Changed You for the Better Do Something Important: Support C.H.A.S.E. for Life And so much more
A friend just emailed me to talk about truth—and how there is none in most parenting magazines and how she likes that we tell the truth at THE FAMILY GROOVE.
She writes: "One very cool thing about what you are doing with this online magazine gig is simply being honest. Motherhood is such an intangible when it goes beyond the procreation part...even that now is fraught with issues—to bank or not to bank (the cord blood); are you a negligent parent if you don't shell out the $10,000 bucks? Will that be yet another knife of penance? Did you let your child FALL OFF THE COUCH!!! SEE!!! THERE YOU GO!!! It is always the mother's fault."
What she wrote along with the topic of my last blog (read below post) have been on the tongues of all of my gang members lately. We're all wondering about, trying to make sense of and mired in attempting to feel comfortable in the newfangled, modern day world of motherhood. Don't we have anything better to do than fret over the formulation of an ever-changing institution? Must we really, truly know our titles and job descriptions—is that even possible?—and everything else that goes along with our latest and greatest gigs. Why can't we just be here now and let the job unfold itself before us. Well, for one thing, the constant act of picking up the mushed blueberry muffin bits off of the den floor has been doing my head in lately. I guess you could say I'm on a crumby overload right now.
A chick down the block from me left her family a while back. How did she get to that place? I just want to know how you do that—not so I can do it, but so I can understand. And so I can know that there is so much farther to go before you really, really, really can't take it; that there are problems and then are PROBLEMS; that I'm just a gal going through growing pains like I've done at every major turning point in my life; and that I am just a normal mom who has normal feelings, the same as everyone else. I guess I am just seeking to understand the extreme to help me feel more comfortable in my place in the world. And I guess that's what we're all doing to varying degrees: trying to figure out our place in the world, one blueberry muffin crumb of truth at a time.
I love my daughter. She is the light. She is smart and beautiful and fun and has a wicked sense of humor. She just gets it. She has built such depth into my life, the likes of which I could never have imagined. She is my little best friend. She is my blessing. She is my teacher.
I got an email yesterday from a dear friend of mine, a very smart and successful woman; an out-of-the-box-thinking maverick. Friend has just had her second babe. Friend's first born is just over two. Friend says what so many moms think. Hearing her say it was like the warm afternoon breeze drifting into your room, reminding you that you are part of something greater; reminding you that you are alive. Friend tells me that she is finally getting her head above water—kinda— and that she's "hanging in there but, honestly, there are days when the thought of escaping to somewhere in the middle of nowhere and just forgetting this entire part of my life exists seems like heaven."
Her words of truth capture what so many moms think, whether it's whilst drudging through the mud of postpartumdom or on a day-to-day basis. I defy any mom to tell me that at some point in her life, she's not had that thought.
When you become a mom, you're name changes—and you're entire identity and raisond'etre does, too. It's wonderful (see top of this post) and it's horrifying, frustrating, lonely, confusing and insert your here.
From time to time, I have had that swirling, is-that-thought-really-happening? thought about leaving this part of my life—and then I wonder if I could actually do it and then I get upset and spiral into thinking about how much I suck for not only having the thought, but giving it any energy at all. Don't I know better than to give into such menacing thoughts?
It's almost like a sicko test I do to myself to see what I am really made of. I remember when Scarlett was a newborn I used to have a real panic that I'd be one of those moms who up and leaves her family. I used to tell Shawn that I feared that would happen to me or worse, I'd be one of those moms who just goes crazy. He'd say that if I feared I could go crazy then I'd just drive myself crazy, so I should stop worrying about it because it probably (hear: "prolly"—"probably" said very quickly) wouldn't happen.
The "prolly" part was not so reassuring, but it made me laugh because that's just Shawn: a real no-frills, non hyperbolic guy. I wanted him to say "No way, Jose, you'd never go crazy!" or "You'd never do something like that!" But, alas, Shawn is a scientist with impeccable use of his words. He rarely says "never" or "always."
Anyway, the essence of Shawn's being as it was encapsulated in the word "prolly" made me laugh. So every time I'd have the fear, I'd say to myself: "it's prolly not going to happen" and kind of chuckle-to-self. It released me from the grips of panic.
So dear moms—and dads, too—out there, I just want to say that we're all in this together, thinking the same things, feeling the same things, fearing the same things, loving the same things and growing the same—dang personal and spiritual evolution!
And if it helps, I am here to say that even when there is a moment when the light seems gone, when you the fear seeps in and you wonder if you can really do your life as it is today, just remember that you 100% absolutely can do it....prolly.
I don't know the policy on copying and pasting stuff like the below. The Internet is indeed the wild, wild west. All that aside, my aunt sent me this forward with her Mother's Day greetings. I hate forwards, but read it, knowing that it was sent in love.
You must read it. The part about not rushing through dinner, bath, book, bed kills me. And the part about wishing she could remember what her kids sounded like on a particular day made me tear up. So, please take a few and read this now:
By Anna Quindlen, Newsweek columnist and author
All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief.
I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves.
Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through unreliable haze of the past.
Everything in all the books I once poured over finished for me now.
Penelope Leach. T. Berry Brazelton, Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations -- what they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.
Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything.
One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2. When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome.
To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow.
I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane?
Last year he went to China. Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.
Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the, "Remember-When-Mom-Did Hall of Fame." The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, "What did you get wrong?". (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?
But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night.
I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.
Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top.
And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.
Well, the whining has subsided for now. "No" has worked.
Enter: the sweet needing.
Here are the latest quotes:
"I need you" "I need to hug you" "I need to hold you" "I wanna hold your hand"
Oh, yes, my little Sarah Bernhardt is quite an adept manipulator—like most her age.
Let me tell you, this girl has skills (read: skeeelz). Her ability to manipulate with just the right words used in just the right tone and peppered with just the right amount of desperation is remarkable.
And how nice it is that she wants to hold my hand. That she wants to be near me. That I provide comfort and safety for her.
And how difficult it is to stand up to her (how crazy does that sound?) and lead by example with strength, consistency and follow-through—but I do it, for her sake and for mine.
I just stick to my plan, knowing that I am doing the best for and by her—and then I put it out of my mind.
Ignorance is bliss—not really. Ignoring is bliss—really.
My first question is: Is there supposed to be a comma in the title? Is it "Y'all Want This Party Started, Right?"—as in a request to affirm the statement? Or is it "Y'all Want This Party Started Right"—as in start the part correctly people!
What's in bloom? Fabulous wines How to deal with the grandparents Quicker fixer uppers for your skin The styles of the season A must-read story about a special needs mama All about baby sign language How to get skinny Great shopping Amazing discounts to the hippest online store and so much more
K, so number one: I had a private training session with the mighty Lori Sawyer (www.mommy-moves.com) today. She is three weeks away from birthing a human being and she looks like a super model with Linda Hamilton in Terminator Whatever arms. I had to. I had to do it. I have to get back on track. The rock star supplements helped me lose some weight (and body fat, too—how cool is that?), but I need to work out. So, I signed up for two personal sessions next week plus I intend on taking two of her Mommy-Moves classes (workout classes with stroller in tow).
Peeps, I am so ready to rule again. I am so ready to look awesome. I feel like Christmas is a-coming and I'm at the top of the good list. I am sorry—I don't care how educated you are, how globally conscious you are, how unaffected and down-to-earth you are or what the freak is going on in your life, if you don't feel like you look good, you are not a happy camper.
So, that's that deal.
We have our first event, THE FAMILY GROOVE's Spring Fling on May 1 and I am ready to rock the casbah. By the way, if you are in NJ, email me (jillian@thefamilygroove.com and I will put you on the list for our bananas event. Bananas.
And now, for number two/the reason I signed on to blog: Barney. He sucks. He's gross. He's the opposite of Prince. My friend (well, I've never met her in person, but we email every day and she's a star amongst stars, so I guess we're friends in this newfangled, postmodern world)]who lives in Russia now, says this about his purple loserness: "Do you know that we get Barney here now??!?! (maybe he will be exposed for perversion like dear dear Peewee Herman...(I really liked THAT show) My little doodads still click their eyes to it...in my best bi.chy voice of disdain: 'Barney?!!! Yuk!!!'"
Shawn and I hate him, too. We see him every now and again whilst flicking to find Scarlett her shows. We hold our breath for the nanosecond that the TV passes through the channel that houses that purple people eater. I am not sure why we hate him, but we do.
Ready for the best/worst? Well, here it goes: I ordered Blues Clues decorations online for her birthday. Blues Clues is mega watchable, although Steve is the way. Joe—not so much. Joe is a faker. So, I get the decorations—and feel so mom-proud that I was awesome enough to give her a Blues Clues birthday—and upon their arrival and immediate savage-like opening, I discover that it's not lovely Blues Clues that I ordered, it's Blue and Friends. Well, guess who's friend of that big bugger. Yup, Barney! Freakazoid Barney infiltrated my daughter's second birthday party.
I always knew he was a louse, but this confirmed it.
Bless me father for I have sinned. It's been 30 years and ten months since my last confession: I returned a gift for my daughter and used the money to by myself makeup.
Now before you go casting, I didn't return it in order to by makeup. But after I got the return gift card, the dang makeup counter called me out.
Well, at least her evil mommy can have fabulous Bardot lips right in time for spring.
Can someone please tell me that I am not a total loser for watching American Idol?
Okay, so I know for many it heralds the imminent demise of western civilization, but for me, it's brilliant. Seriously, if I weren't so tired and impaired by the ringing of the day's requests for "or something else"—referring to Scarlett's request for something else to eat (say that one twenty times—it'll give you the same effect as spinning around)—I'd wax Seacrestian about why it's postmodern approach to entertainment is genius.
Anyway, it is one of my dirty little secrets—especially because I used to work in the music business and am a singer (or was a singer).
Boy, motherhood really makes you have no shame, huh?!
Whatever—it doesn't matter as long as it's groovy. Dig what we've got this month:
The best all-natural cleaning products How to get your sex life back in the groove Expert tips on taking better pics of your family A simple how-to for sensational skin More on the most gorgeous makeup of the season Our favorite maternity looks Potty Training 101 How to raise happier boys Advice on getting your kids to eat their veggies Tons of amazing giveaways A great charity of the month: The WHO Foundation And lots, lots more.
It's actually funny. I mean the nerve this two-year-old has is just, well, actually admirable. She knows what she wants. But my goodness, I see how if you don't curb it now, you can really create a monster.
Don't get me wrong, she's a sweet, sweet girl and often quite compliant; but when she doesn't want to be bothered, she tells me to "Push it." "Mama, push...mama, push it." Are you kidding me? I birthed you, child—and that was the last bit of pushing I am doing for a good long time.
And when she is in boss hog mode, she spews order after order after order. I know this is par for the toddler course. I get it: she is learning to affect her environment, she's testing boundaries, she's establishing her place in a world she is just waking up to and she needs me to get things and do things for her—that's part of my job.
So, mamas and papas, I am calling out to you for some parenting advice or at least commiseration here. How much ordering is too much ordering? When do you say "no" and why do you say "no?"
Friday, 9:23 am: Begin work Friday, 9:23:45 am: Cannot work, ears are ringing—like I just came back from a Poison concert at MSG. (Yes, I have been to a Poison concert—age 10—and those high-pitched guitars stay with you long after Brett Michaels—Michaels? Michael?— has left the building.)
Here's what I hear: PinkyDinkyDoocookiesPinkyDinkyDoocookiesPinkyDinkyDoocookiesPinkyDinkyDoocookies PinkyDinkyDoocookiesPinkyDinkyDoocookiesPinkyDinkyDoocookiesPinkyDinkyDoocookies
(So first of all, there are no Pinky Dinky Doo cookies. I don't know where she came up with that? I think she's asking for these chocolate animal cracker things from Whole Foods.)
Now imagine it in a crescendo, with each third or so tone thinning to a chalkboard screech—the kind that hurts your eyeballs.
It takes every ounce of composure, yoga breathing, Buddhist tenet, every other spiritual path I've ever studied and fear of my child being on the couch at 7 to stop me from either walking away or screeching back.
In one second, every way potential proactive way of handling zooms through my head like Indie cars on a Southern Sunday—zooooom, zoooom, zoooom. Wait, I, I, I....I can't make out how to handle this—dang thought, you just passed me at 145 mph. Okay, so what to do? Breathe. Just breathe.
Thinking is just simply out the window. Instinct—learned and unlearned—kicks in.
Here's what I hear in my head: Don't react, proact. Listen. Just listen to you child, beyond what she is saying. Comfort her, guide her. Reassure her. Be strong. Lead by example.
Okay, done and done.
Here's what I hear: Yummy, eggies.
Mega meltdown averted.
Time goes tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tocking by as my once and former angel eats her egg whites and raisin bread toast. And all is right with the world again.
Here's what I hear in my head: You rule! You are awesome! Great job, mommy!
Tick-tock-tick-tock.
Hear's what I hear: Specialcookiespecialcookiespecialcookiespecialcookie.
Here's what I say: Time for a nap, Scarlett.
Here's what I get to hear for another half an hour or so:
Oh, blog. Where for art thou, dear blog? Since we last rendez-voused, you have been munched up by Google. I can't blame you, but I have to say this does changes things for me a bit now that you've gone corporate. I think you're a tad less cool—although the spell check option redeems you slightly.
Dudes and dudettes, I have been MIA from the scene for too long. My fingers have been glued to these dang Apple keys, feverishly pumping out www.thefamilygroove.com. (You must check out this month's issue, Sex, Love and Parenthood—so much good stuff.) I just couldn't gear shift from editor to mom-itor.
Anyway, peeps, I am back. So much of me is back: the platinum hair, the self-care, the savoir-faire and the devil-may-care—and my super duper rhyming flair.
I got my blood analyzed last week, which revealed some yuckers stuff like parasites (thank you sushi from dodgy NYC joints), yeast, vitamin deficiency galore, low thyroid and more. For a week now, I have been on the wagon—taking supplements, drinking my water, eating clean, not eating anything white (if it's white do not bite), even drinking less coffee. My skin looks amazing, my energy is gangbusters and my waistline is a-shrinkin'.
My whole outlook has improved. I even might make it to the gym today. I am curious to check out my weight (I know it's not the ultimate measure, but I still like to know what it is).
I am giving my new high maintenance, high reward program another week. If I still see marked success, then I will share all the labor-intensive details with y'all.
Looking and feeling good is a full-time job. It has to permeate everything you do. It has to live in the fore of your actions in all areas of your life. But, at the end of the day—and the beginning, for that matter—it's worth it.
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!"
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!
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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!
