I love how your belly shakes when you laugh

I enter the room and everyone gasps in awe because I look so killer. I am wearing red heels and a v-neck something that shows off my decolletage. I walk around smiling and talking. I know everyone in the room but cannot seem to recall any one conversation. Everyone's financial achievements is palpable - the diamonds, the clothing, the recent vacation tans. At least I am perceived thin. I achieved that. I finally look good. I walk over to a mirror to check my lipstick and then I am in a store trying to find food for the kids to eat. All I come across are tomato sandwiches (which I know the kids will never touch.) I ask for something else and all the lights turn off.  I leave the store with no food for the kids.

I wake up and realize that THIS was my morning to sleep in an now it is 8:28am. If I go back to sleep I will have another weird dream.

All day when it comes to food I think DO THE RIGHT THING. Drink water, drink tea, stay away from carbs from grain, no extra sugar, more vegetables, no chips, only drink 1 Sprinte/7Up/Ginger Ale. It is EXHAUSTING.

I almost-ish have the food thing down. I have to find a way to make myself move more. And I need to get it going before it gets too hot.

I spoke to a friend of mine from college. She has always been inspiring because she keeps herself is such killer shape. I remember her in college and she always felt better taking a run and getting out of her head for awhile. Now she is a working mom of two with a myriad of things to contend with on a daily basis. Her stress is at an all-time high right now and in order to heal she has to go back to the basics.

Sleeping
Eating well
Exercise

I find myself thinking about what makes me different from these friends of mine? The ones that love to run. The thought of sweating to me sounds awful. Am I alone on that one really?

Why can they put down the cheese popcorn and I cannot? What drive do they have within them that says I would rather have a 26 inch waist then a chicken cutlet sandwich once a week?

Last night my son was telling me a story and we kept laughing together. Afterwards he said,

"I love how your belly shakes when you laugh." 

I wish my belly didn't shake. I was gutted again. I recovered quickly because I didn't want him to think that he had made me sad. I cannot tell him that. I have learned that to I have to love my body with all its curves and extra curves, and bumps, and scars in a way that shows both my children that they must love themselves. Always. Over anyone else. Over EVERYTHING else.

And with my honest beret on I have to say that when my daughter tells me that my butt it is cute (and that is the least cute thing about me aside from my feet,) I have to agree with her.

They will learn through my example that they are both smart, funny, creative, artistic, kind, and beautiful because I tell them that they are everyday.

Zumba Legs

Show up and shut up. Be present. Stop making excuses. Stop doing the things that you NEED to make excuses for.

I am not in optimal shape (I don't want to use the word thin) because I like to eat at the wrong times. The truth is I feel better when I don't eat at all.  Once I start it is every two hours on this new regimented plan. If I keep to the plan, I eat well.  If I don't have enough protein at home or salad, then I deviate. 

By adopting the new tea & lemon water regimen for the past 4 months I took off 15.5 lbs. I have not lost an ounce in the past 2 weeks. Why? I don't move my body enough. The lemon water picks up my metabolism. That helps. This week I have the morning shift with the puppy. First walk is 7:15am. I take the dog for a longer walk at 11am. I should take her for a longer one at 1pm as well - just to move. She doesn't need it but I do. I have hit a plateau. PLATEAU. I hate that word when it relates to weight.

I Zumba'd with the kids during a school fundraiser and couldn't walk for at least 2 days afterward.

"Zumba legs" I said when I wobbled down the stairs.

I did more exercise in one night then in the last 6 months. But it felt good. Great. I have never liked to exercise. I never found these endorphins that really healthy in shape people talk about. Even when I was in shape at 16 I never felt them. I just felt my awesome shapely thighs and loved how I looked in clothes. At Zumba I was sweaty and happy. I felt young and cool and I did it with all the wrong moves. I liked the sweat.

The Zumba scene was interesting. I am not modest and never have been. I am not conservative either. I have always been a people watcher. When the ladies Zumba'd they were really into it. They were focused and in control. The time spent was going to be paid for in sweat (FAME!) The ladies stared at the instructor and moved their bodies in totally immodest ways. In between the songs the ladies would look at one another, chat, giggle, perhaps repeat a move, and then pant in anticipation of the next song. Once the music started again they all refocused. I don't have that type of control or focus but that's okay too. Because I am awesome. I danced and sang along probably (most definitely) too loudly. I just made sure to keep moving. The kids had a great time and we felt good doing it all together.

Now I have to do this again. Or something else. Today when my daughter comes home I am going to try to teach her to ride her new bicycle. That's me. Being present. Trying every day.

I also drank a Ginger-Ale when my stomach hurt after lunch. Then I drank 64 oz if water to flush the sugar away. The Gingle-Ale was awesome. It tasted great and did the trick. The water afterwards made me feel better about my choices. It's a battle.

When are you due?

I haven't been "due" since November 2007 when my belly fat was deemed socially acceptable because it was in fact my daughter. After her birth my inability to lose my fat-baby (which has been there since the late 1990's) was judged as decidedly lazy and undisciplined by mostly thin people.

The winter is finally over here in Montreal; that means; the coats are off, the sweaters stay in the car, the pants turn to skirts, shorts, and dresses, and the boots are replaced with sandals, flip-flops, and ballet flats. It is a rebirth of flesh and sunshine. 

I am eating healthy and walking more. I feel good in my skin. I have lost weight, toned a tad, and have that New York spring in my step. I am wearing a dress and ballet flats. It is 78 F. 

I walk into the Marche de L'Ouest in D.D.O (which is a small shopping mall filled with different kinds of stores: specialty foods, butcher, fish monger, flowers, gift items, and a new tea shop.) I walk past the new tea store. The tea hostess is offering samples of their new exotic green tea. I drink green tea daily. I am their market. Green Tea is my only source of caffeine. I take a sample from her tray and she says,

"You shouldn't drink that. When are you due?"

It hurts EVERY TIME. 

Do I just look at her and say thank you? Thank you for assuming my fat was a baby. Thank you for your thoughtfulness in protecting my unborn fat-baby. Thank you for reminding me that no matter how awesome I feel walking in here you managed to slay me with 4 small words. Do I say thank you and pat my fat-baby and give the hostess back her tea? Can I make up an imaginary fat-baby that has a gender and a due date? Maybe my fat-baby has an awesome conception story? Do I engage and tell her that I am not expecting? Then I have to see that look on her face. It is the same look every time. Terror mixed with embarrassment with a sou-son of pity because I am clearly fat enough that the assumption was made in the first place. 

Is it more important that I care about her feelings and subsequent reaction when she just crushed mine?

I cannot control where the weight disappears from on my body. I am on the right path. That is was matters. 

When will the sting come out of those words? Why is it that those words are only spoken by thin people?

Here I am with my kids, no make-up, all me. Truly happy and not feeling like I am "due".

Mother's Day 2015

This weekend was Mother's Day. I slept in and enjoyed the children and husband. We planted a bit in the garden and it was low key. Just the way I like it. The husband took the kids to the park for two hours and I got to chill. I cooked extra hamburgers the night before so I could eliminate the need to cook. I ended up making KILLER steaks. I used the Asian marinade on the steak and BBQ'd them.

Here is my daughter, 7 years old, I see this as our love in a series of three moments:

And here is my 9 year old who says we can still snuggle till he is like 10, maybe 11 that the most.

Not my finest moment

Last night the children were punished for causing a major ruckus upstairs (crashing, running, and doors slamming noises) when my husband and I were having dinner. I went upstairs and discussed their selfishness and handed out punishments of no iPad and no computer. They could play quietly in their rooms and would also lose their stories. They could not play together.

Within 10 minutes the notes came down the stairs .. pictures of forgiveness, letters of apology, requests from them both to just be together and play quietly.

An hour later we commenced the bedtime rituals sans story telling. After the tooth-brushing my daughter pulls me into her room.

"He was really upset so I stayed in his room to make him feel better" she says.

"That is not what I asked you to do" I say.

"It was more important to make him feel better than to listen to you. I'm sorry. That is my choice and I make the right one. He needs me more than you need me to sit alone and think about selfishness" she says.

She is right. My 7 year old just laid me out.

"You told me to always pick him over everyone else. You said: if he is sad, and I can make it better, I should. You said: it is us against the world." 

"Yes. This is what I said. Do you want to tell me what actually happened now?" 

By the time we heard the real story of the crashing water bottles, running, and slamming doors we realized that this was a #parentfail.

"He was stung by a wasp today. Then he saw a bee in your room. He got scared because he didn't want to get stung again. He threw a water bottle at it, we ran, we screamed, and I slammed the door to keep the bee out."

I was WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.

Then I went to my son. The 9 year old.

"I wasn't going to get stung again, Mama. Not on my watch" says my son.

"I get it, I am sorry. I was wrong. I will always admit when I am wrong. I am really sorry. Look, it has been 3 years since you were stung. I guess your were due" I say and try to laugh off the sting. He is not really having that.

"Do I have bad luck?" he asks.

"You have Russian luck" shries my daughter from her bedroom.

"What's Russian luck?" asks me son.

"I have no idea. It must be harsh. Russians have a harsh but morbid sense of humor so I would assume their luck must follow the same path" I say.

Looking at me skeptically, "tonight was a good lesson, Mama. This would have made a really funny episode for the first season of my show." 

"But, I look really bad in this episode. I didn't listen enough. We all learned lessons tonight" I say quietly.

The hugs abound and everyone gets tons of kisses. My daughter runs in and does a "happy dance" to say goodnight to my son. At the end of the dance she hugs and kisses him.

My son says, "We should record her dances for posterity."

"Do you like when she does this?" I ask.

"I love it, this is the footage that we can run while we credits are rolling at the end of episode."