30.4.10

Vlog: Reporting Live on My Twins' Poop And Why I Run Up and Down the Stairs So Much

28.4.10

Bringing Mom Sexy Back with The Mommyologist (No Leotard Required)


The Mommyologist has begun a startling new phenomenon in BlogLand---Bringing Mom Sexy Back. In her groundbreaking post on Monday, she broke up with her scale and kicked him to the curb (quite literally) in a one-of-a-kind vlog that will leave you empowered, inspired, and bent over with laughter. While I am not brave enough to hurtle my scale into a forest just yet, I am Bringing Mom Sexy Back with my Jillian Michaels 30-Day Shred dvd.

Because my friend Ian over at The Daily Dose of Reality likes to say, "Pics or it never happened," I asked The Father Load to take some photos of my latest shredding experience. Please remember the camera adds ten twenty thirty pounds to remove any small children or elderly people from the room before viewing the pictures below. Like The Mommyologist, I haven't really noticed changes on my scale; however, I am feeling stronger, healthier, and more empowered. Mom Sexy is in da house. And for those of you who like to make fun of my Jazzercise habit (you know who you are!), please note that these are my Jazzercise clothes. There are no legwarmers. More importantly, there is no leotard. And that is not a sweatband, it is a HEADBAND to keep my hair out of my face.

(I'm thinking this is why my knees are killing me---this move is tough!)

(Monster likes to join me during my workouts--I just love dog breath in my face when I'm doing chest flies)

(Are we done yet? Oh, the basketball goal is the best place to hang up hula hoops in case you were wondering)


(Even The Father Load joined me and he is Bringing Dad Sexy Back!)

So here's the rub: unless you are sweating, panting, grunting, trembling, and feeling like you're gonna die, you're not really working out, you are not pushing yourself to your limit; therefore you are not Mom Sexy. When I'm giving it everything I've got, I am Bringing Mom Sexy Back. When I'm done---stinky and exhausted and ready to collapse on the couch-- I'm Bringing Mom Sexy Back. I've said farewell to those calories, all that stress, and any feelings of worthlessness motherhood has brought upon me that particular day. I feel good about myself, no matter what the scale said that morning.

But Bringing Mom Sexy Back isn't just about exercise; for me it's also about eating right. I posted last week about my wake-up call from Jessica Gottlieb. In addition to shopping more carefully at the grocery store, I finally forced myself to watch the movie Food, Inc. and I wish I'd done so sooner. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend that you put it in your Netflix queue or head to Blockbuster NOW. It is Mom Sexy to be knowledgeable about the food industry, what is on our plates, and where it's coming from. It is Mom Sexy to educate ourselves so that we and our families can be healthier and kinder to our planet and its species. It is Mom Sexy to explore other options, consider new avenues, and teach our kids about what we're learning along the way.

I am Mom Sexy....when I eat right (most of the time).
I am Mom Sexy....when I exercise regularly.
I am Mom Sexy....when I learn as much as I can every day.
I am Mom Sexy....when I read, listen, and open my mind and heart.
I am Mom Sexy....when I trust myself, love my body, and learn to like what I see in the mirror.
I am Mom Sexy....when I play tag and Duck, Duck, Goose with my kids.
I am Mom Sexy....when I curl up and read Pinkalicious to my kids for the hundredth time.
I am Mom Sexy....even in an worn t-shirt and Gap jeans.
I am Mom Sexy....even if my hair is dirty and I'm tired.
I am Mom Sexy....because it's a feeling that comes from within. It's an attitude I'm adopting. It's a life change. It's being the best mom, wife, friend, sister, daughter, etc. that I can be. It means working hard every day to better myself in so many ways.

But being Mom Sexy also means having patience with myself, not beating myself up if I am not perfect. Rome wasn't built in a day. It starts with one little thing---throwing a scale away, buying a Jillian Michaels dvd, or tossing out all the Twinkies and Ding Dongs. It morphs, stretches and reaches into so many other parts of your life. It's contagious!

How are you Bringing Mom Sexy Back?

26.4.10

Memoir Monday: My Fear of Flying (not Erica Jong's), or Why Pan Am Went Down (Literally)

It's Memoir Monday, everyone, so if you'd like to play along, go visit my pal Travis over at I Like to Fish and link up!




Like Erica Jong, I have a Fear of Flying. Only mine doesn't have anything to do with zippers, sex, or the voyage of self-discovery. Maybe Ms. Jong would disagree. At any rate, the first line of her novel reads:

There were 117 psychoanalysts on the Pan Am flight to Vienna and I'd been treated by at least six of them.
Photobucket


Coincidentally, my tale today revolves around my first, last, and only time aboard a Pan Am flight circa 1983 (I was seven years old). I was with my Gramma Frances and we were flying from New Orleans to Houston, which happens to be a quick 50-ish minute flight.

When we boarded, I was given a fun, fancy packet containing a coloring book, crayons, stickers, and even a pin with wings on it. All featured the Pan Am logo, of course, and I kept the coloring book for years afterwards, though I'm not sure exactly why.

We had to fly through a bad thunderstorm. Maybe we hit an air pocket. Maybe lightning struck our plane. I'll never know. All I remember is that suddenly we began bobbing around violently and then we plummeted at least 1,000 feet. A gaggle of teenaged girls traveling together all screamed simultaneously. The overhead compartments opened and the oxygen masks fell into our faces, the tubes hanging and writhing like snakes. Intensifying our fears, the lights in the plane went out, plunging us into darkness. The plane bucked and jumped, I screamed and cried. Gramma remained pretty calm (or she was trying for my benefit), and I remember her holding me tightly and telling me we were going to be fine.

And then as abruptly as it had all started, it stopped. The plane leveled out. The lights clicked back on. The pilot apologized for the turbulence, and said the oxygen masks wouldn't be necessary.

But the damage had already been done. To this day at the age of 33, I am still a Nervous Nelly when it comes to flying. I've made great strides in recent years (mostly because I know I need to show a brave face for my children and not pass my fear along), but every now and again there's a flight that will reduce me to sniveling, snorting, and shaking, gripping my armrests until my knuckles are white. Takeoffs and landings don't really bother me. If I can see the ground with its buildings, streets, grass, etc., I am pretty calm. But I despise being in the clouds where I can't see anything. I loathe turbulence. And if the fasten seatbelt sign is on, I'm on high alert.

I anxiously await the day when it will inevitably happen all over again, like it did in 1983.
What are you afraid of? Did something particular happen to trigger it? How old were you? If you have conquered your fear, how did you do so?
 

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