Give me fitness. Give me abs. Give me a Hawaii Chair.

workout woman

Experts say it takes three weeks to turn a new behavior into a habit.  So if my past experience is a predictor, at two weeks into my New Year’s fitness regime I’m going to be, well, bored.  Cardio intervals? Yawn. Core fitness? Zzzzzz.  Eat less, exercise more?  What-EVER.

Give me gimmicks.  Give me fads.  Give me a piece of exercise equipment I can hang wet laundry on when I’m tired of using it.

What can I say? I’m a sucker for lazy-woman fitness.

I’ve been enamored with useless home exercise equipment ever since I watched my grandmother unveil her newest apparatus.  “You wrap this band around your hips,” she told me. “Then you flip this switch.”  The machine began to agitate her body with such vigor, she looked like she was in California during The Big One.  “I-I-I-I a-m-m-m e-xxxx-er-cisingggg!” she squealed over the din of the motor sounding like a post-menopausal Elmer Fudd on an infomercial.  After being shaken by the machine for exactly three minutes, Grandma somehow managed to flip the switch off. The band around her hips went slack and fell behind her legs. “Whew, what a workout!” she said patting her forehead with a towel, although she hadn’t visibly broken a sweat.

If this was working out, then I could embrace fitness. [Read more…]

What To Do When The Snorchestra Begins

snoring man

I took off my glasses and turned off the light.  I pulled the covers up, rolled on my side and closed my eyes.

That’s when it started.

Snick. Snick. Snick.

It was like the sound my car made when the alternator died.  But unlike the noise that stopped once I realized turning the key with greater frequency would not revive the lifeless battery, this sound continued.

SNICK. SNICK. SNICK.

The cacophony, which I feared would rattle my glasses off the nightstand, jeopardized not only my martial bliss, but my pre-menopausal ability to catch some Zzzzs without sucking on an Ambien.

The Husband was asleep on his back, which meant – he was snoring.

He denies that his supine slumber treats me to the occasionally nasal symphony.  But that night, I stared Eyes Wide Open into the dark listening to his mournful Call of the Loud that sounded like the guttural musings of a small wounded rhino.  [Read more…]

Jeans for Every Occasion. Seriously.

jeans

Ever since Jacob Davis and Levi Strauss invented them in 1873, workhorse blue jeans have been a part of the American landscape.  The advent of Lady Levis put them on the female fashion radar in 1934.  And we’ve had a love affair with all things denim ever since.

Although we adore our brands with a fierce loyalty, women have endured many incarnations of this iconic wardrobe staple.  We’ve paraded around with Gloria Vanderbilt, Calvin Klein and Jordache stamped on our derrieres. I’ve worn things that would warrant the Black Bar of Fashion Don’t Shame to hide my true identity when I donned trendy, less-than-flattering nightmares like jeggings (jean leggings), jorts (jean shorts) or that too-long denim skirt that made me bear an uncanny resemblance to Ma Ingalls.

In 1947, Wrangler introduced the “new jeans for cowboys.” But recently Wrangler made an inventive effort to reach out to the female consumer. And I bet their latest denim development has Jacob and Levi turning over in their graves – Wrangler Spa Denim Jeans – better known as moisturizing jeans. [Read more…]

When The Girls Go South

I’ve been spending time playing with paint, paper and scissors which will play hell with my upcoming deadline. Because Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest aren’t big enough Time Sucks in my life.

So before I throw myself into a Writing on Deadline Frenzy, here’s what I’ve been working on. It was inspired by a column about the not-so-subtle body changes that occur for women at midlife.

It’s really starting to piss me off.

Like the day you no longer need Victoria’s Sexy Secret Embrace Bra. Because when the girls start their trek to your personal southern hemisphere, you’ll need Victoria’s new Mid-Life Bra, sporting secret dual hydraulic jacks. And sadly, you’ll never be able to pull off that Madonna bra again.

Coming Clean

ratherroar than clean 001 copy

As my mother and I watched TV one night in the early 70s, I never suspected that the Flip Wilson Show would change my life. As we tuned in and adjusted the foil-covered rabbit ears, the fuzzy image on screen became clear. It was Helen Reddy belting out I Am Woman, the anthem that encouraged a newly empowered generation of females to roar. My mother watched, transfixed. When Helen stopped singing, my mother stood up and let out a barbaric yawp of her own. “I’m going to college,” she announced and left the room presumably to burn a bra before matriculating.

Watching mom navigate being a full-time student while also being a full-time parent and wife, I learned a lot of things. I learned how to entertain myself when she dragged me to her classes because the babysitter bailed. I learned that in the name of time management you have to set priorities. Given all she had to do, it’s no surprise that teaching me how to clean was never very high on mom’s to-do list. Thus began my blissful oblivion to dirt. [Read more…]

Lost – The Home Game

man fridge

By the time I heard the refrigerator door open for the fifth time in less than a minute, I knew what was next.  Footsteps were heading in my direction, just like clockwork.

“Mom,” Older Boy asked, “Where’s the ketchup?”

There are only two possible answers to this question at our house – the fridge or the cabinet. Being in charge of condiment procurement and storage, I knew the correct answer was the fridge.

“Follow me,” I said. I opened the door and scooted the single gallon of milk a mere three inches to the right on the shelf.  This nearly imperceptible move immediately revealed a Costco-sized tankard of Heinz.

“Hmph,” he said grabbing the bright red plastic bottle filled with enough ketchup to liberally douse every French fry served on the 3-11 shift at any McDonalds.  “I didn’t see it.”

The reason, of course, is obvious; I spend my free time moving household items around to confuse him.

But I’m starting to wonder if we need to schedule a family visit at the eye doctor.  Because Younger Boy and The Husband also routinely experience this unique visual disturbance when looking for things.

Just last week, I heard what sounded like cabinet doors opening and closing in the other room.  A few minutes later, Younger Boy entered the room where I was sitting and asked, “Have you seen my tuba?”

Pause for a moment, if you will.

A tuba is not your typical household item.  Nor is it a diminutive and easily misplaced musical instrument like, say, a clarinet or kazoo.  When properly housed in its case, it bears an uncanny resemblance to a Volkswagen parked in a corner of my living room.  So, yes, not only have I seen the tuba, I’ve tripped over it in the middle of the night most notably when Younger Boy deposited it in the center of the room. At those moments in the dark of the night, I’m not usually referring to it as a tuba.

“Follow me,” I told Younger Boy, walking toward the living room.  He nearly tripped over it when we entered the room.

“So that’s where it is,” he said with relief. “I didn’t see it.”

So I wasn’t the least bit surprised the next morning when The Husband walked in the kitchen and asked, “Have you seen my wallet?”

Of course I’d seen it, when I was removing a couple of twenties.

“It’s on your desk.”

“I just looked,” he told me.  “It’s not there.”

“Follow me,” I said.  As we stood in front of his extremely tidy desk, I lifted a file folder to reveal his wallet.

“I didn’t see it,” he said grabbing his wallet and shoving it in his back pocket just before leaving the room.

I don’t know why they come in search of me when it’s time for Household Lost and Found.  Apparently, they believe I’m equipped with a homing device.  Sadly, boys, ovaries are not GPS enabled.

Then it dawned on me, eyesight isn’t the problem.  Their vision is just fine.  And it didn’t take a doctor visit to figure it out.  It’s obvious.

They can always find me.

So I have a plan.  I’m plastering a picture of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model, Kate Upton, on every object they might need to find. I guarantee I’ll never have to look for anything again.

I speak from personal experience; it worked for me.

Because I haven’t misplaced my car keys once, – since I got my Brad Pitt keychain.

The New Rules of the Working Mom Reality – Part 2

Recently, I explained the New Reality of the Working Mom to The Boys.  But after a few weeks in the trenches, I realized I left someone important out of the mix.  Someone else who needs learn the ins-and-outs of the Working Mom World.

That would be me.

I’m a little out of practice.

So to help those of you who are making that transition from stay-at-home-mom to Work for Pay, I’m going to share my experiences. It’ll save you a good solid month of workplace embarrassment.

You’re welcome. [Read more…]

It’s October – Get Your Mammogram

It’s breast cancer awareness month. Get your mammogram.  Remind someone you love to get theirs. I double dog dare you.

The Truth About New Car Envy

 

 

 

 

 

My friend thoughtfully offered to give me a ride.  So when an unfamiliar car pulled into my driveway, I barely glanced up.  But there was my friend, smiling and waving, sitting behind the wheel of a brand new car.

No wonder she was smiling.

When I opened the car door, there was no way to avoid it  – New Car Smell.

Now I had a bad case of New Car Envy.

If my truck smelled like that, I’d sleep in it.  But my vehicle is so old that in the State of Montana, it’s eligible for a Learner’s Permit.  And now it emits an odor that suggests I’ve used it on more than one occasion to transport roadkill.  [Read more…]

The New Rules of the Working Mom Reality

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Younger Boy and Older Boy,

As you may or may not have noticed, I’ve been at your beck and call for the last fourteen years.  I, your faithful indentured servant, have been available 24/7.  No lunch money?  I delivered.  Needed a ride?  I was there.  Forgot to clean your room?  It was done.

No doubt, I have been working.  And I’ve been well paid in the currency of stay-at-home momhood – glitter glue cards and spontaneous hugs.

But we’ve entered a new phase.  You’re both in high school and I’m bored.  So I’ve got BIG news. No, it’s NOT a baby brother.  [Read more…]

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