Uncategorized

Healthy Recall: My Plan B

Lawn
Lawn for Lunch

I ate a tub o’ spinach for lunch, topped with some kind of creamy dressing found at work to make it more palatable. About three-quarters of the way through, I was over it. Not only did I feel like a deer eating lawn for lunch, with the exception that I was in a cubicle, but I also just began to physically recoil–which also happens when I read all these healthy resolutions going on (including my own). In response to the recoil, I’m doing a recall, a recall of all things healthy. 

Seriously, I’m over it. I’m going to go all-out backlash now and just INDULGE. Here’s Plan B:

  1. Menu for Dinner: Pasta. Heaps of it, a carbo-vore’s delight. This will be accompanied by a loaf of French bread, globbed with butter, and maybe two glasses of wine.
  2. For Dessert: M&M cookie sandwich (these are easily accessible and already in the freezer #kids).
  3. I will then sit my can on the couch, lobbing my Fitbit across the room with glee, and turn on the tube. I will watch hours of Bravo’s Real Housewives of you-name-it-county while wolfing down cheese Doritos and Chex Snack Mix. I might even pour salt on it, just to make it even more of a health hazard. ‘Cuz I’m then thirsty, I will pour some more wine, or maybe go so far as to have a fat pina colada with tons of milk, just to get as many calories as possible.
  4. I will stay up too late watching You Tube and forget to wash my face and apply any kind of retinol/anti-aging/rip off serum that doesn’t work anyway.

This sounds like an awesome plan!

Oh, and maybe I’ll take up smoking, just ‘cuz I might look like of retro cool and bad ass. And I will wear my skinny jeans like body paint with no shame. I may even go so far as to buy a midriff and let my post-childbearing bod just flail on the loose.

What else can I do? Oh! I will ingest as much bold coffee as I want, and I will pity all gym rats.

Wouldn’t this be fun?!?!?

I love Plan B.

It’s not going to happen, because I’m way too vain, socially conscious, afraid, and self-punitive, but it’s nice to imagine.

It was a fun ride.

What would you do? 

 

 

 

Uncategorized

Need a Lift? A “Progress” Report

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I’m doing lifts: leg lifts, lifting the glass of wine to my lips, lifting my bat wings in reverse arms circles, and lifting the remote to pause the news while I tell the dog to “shut it” as it yaps at me. I’m also lifting my Fitbit to see the excess of 1,000 steps I’ve earned running up and down the steps to help my children while making dinner in the last hour. Yes, 1,000 steps. You may wonder, how is that? That seems excessive. Well, yes, it is. And here is why:

After the children reluctantly forced down the grilled chicken and broccoli I whipped up in fifteen flat while still in my work blouse  and ID badge (#hot) (“Just five bites!”), they agreed to my rule that they had to play together before running off to their various screen devices. This is brilliant, no? I hold the devices hostage, and they are forced to interact and actually use their imaginations.  Crazy, right? But needed.

So, just as I relaxed into the couch, the blue Superhero Barbie was jettisoned onto my son’s knuckle, upon which  he writhed in pain vehemently declaring that that he will never play with her again.

She runs upstairs, proclaiming her innocence and accidental injury, also screaming, and I wrap my son in my new soft Christmas blanket, kissing his hand, while the dog barks incessantly with jealousy, an Oedipus if I’ve ever seen one.

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“Mom!!! Mommy!” she yells repeatedly. “Yap! Yap,” he barks.

I want to ignore her, but I run up the stairs. It can’t be serious because she’s still breathing, I think.

“What is it??” I ask, opening the door. She’s  trapped underneath her new easel, between that and the plastic kitchen, trying to make a fort to hide with her Frozen comforter. I get her out using the jaws of life, (well, just my hands), and hold her head as she cries on the bed.

“I need a driiiiiink,” she whimpers. Um, so do I, but we are trying not to! Remember?

I run downstairs to get her a soda water, making sure to put ice and a top on it, the way she likes it.

“Mom!” he yells from the basement. The Fortnite is “lagging!” Uh, I’ll show you lagging… Alas, I run downstairs to fix the faux internet issue, only to realize it’s because there’s an update on Epic games. Why I even know this scares me, or any Fortnite terminology and various skins frightens me.

Okay, so now everyone is attended to. I am at peace. Well, that’s a lie; it’s just a little less crazed.

Now I have  a moment to focus on me and my new four goals of the New Year. I have to not eat sugar, no carbs, and exercise. Oh, and less screen time and what’s the other one?

Well, it didn’t happen. After all that, I poured myself a glass but did some lifts simultaneously as I watched the news. Lift, lift, lift…

 

Motivation, Uncategorized

#MeTime: When Being Selfish Isn’t Bad

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I want to be selfish. Is that a bad thing? Is that unfeminine of me to suggest that I just want to think about me for a change, kids aside, and not a partner?

Like I said, I will always put my children first. But, after that, there’s now gonna be me.

Me, myself and I.

There’s a sort of song in that. “Me…Myself…and I…” I can hear it now and begin to tap my feet.

Yeah, it feels kind of good to say it, not in a female empowerment, Gloria Steinem-kind of way. Rather, I just want to look out for numero uno for a bit. Like, if I want to eat crackers and cheese for dinner, I’m gonna do that, instead of making you a meal. And, if I want to go for a run on my free time, I’m gonna do that instead of rush to be by your side on your schedule. I’m also going to watch what I want on television and have the temperature in the room at night set to me-degrees. I am going to drive how I want, albeit defensively, and I’m going to order what I want at the restaurant.

I am going to do me.

I am tired of compromise. My schedule is so tight that there’s very little room in it– for me. Perhaps I will find a dot on my google calendar for just me, instead of the various other activities, meetings and events I must attend.

I will set the Google event called “ME” to have a reminder, every day, all day, to not forget ME. Alert!

I have forgotten me a lot over the years, sometimes only leaving a shell that looks like me but lies dormant beneath. I remember many years back, in a former relationship, a peer of mine said to me, “You look sat upon.”

Sat upon.

I will never forget that, as it resonated clearly. I hadn’t seen it before, but I felt it. The Princess and the Pea, and I was the pea under 100 mattresses.  I went home that night, and late-night, wrote a Facebook post  that read: I feel sat upon.

I waited a second; I got nervous; I deleted it.

But, the next day, as I walked through town, a friend pulled her car over to the side of the road and yelled through the window, ‘”You all right? You’re Sat Upon??” I had been discovered, outed, for the moments before I deleted it and hid.

I don’t feel that way any longer. And I’ve had time to be me, without the weight of others overbearing me. But now is my time to be selfish. I’m sorry for that. Wait, no, sorry I’m not sorry. I hate that saying–it sounds so selfish.

Hah.

That’s me! Selfish.  Maybe we all need a little me, myself and I time in our lives.