I hope that….

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Bright and early this morning, I put my 12, almost 13 year old, on a bus today with his entire 6th grade class for a 3 day/ 2 night camping trip to the Everglades. He was so excited, he insisted packing himself and when the head of middle school corralled the kids for a meeting and to prepare them to load the bus, he jumped right to the front of assembly line to load everyone’s luggage on the bus. I stood back and watched him with a crooked smile as he was working to lift each of his classmate’s bags over his shoulder onto the back of the bus in his neon yellow and black Puma outfit and teal blue sneakers. I was filled with so much love for this kid that I missed him already.

I hope that while he is away:

1. He doesn’t get eaten by an alligator.
2. He doesn’t get bitten by a poisonous snake or spider.
3. He uses bug repellant so he doesn’t come home with dengue fever.
4. He uses sunscreen so he doesn’t get melanoma when he is 50.
5. Most importantly, I hope he remembers to shower every day and use a lot of soap.

14th Anniversary of my first Labor Day

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You are probably wondering what country I could be living in if today is the anniversary of my Labor Day. It’s the good ole USA! I have 4 Labor Days. There is the one in September that is celebrated by all and the there are three more which are on the days that I labored to bring each of my children into this world.

So today is the 14th anniversary of my first labor or my oldest daughters 14th birthday if you want to get technical. She is beautiful, bright and has my sense of humor. She is going to kick ass. I did really well but let’s get back to the day of her birth and the struggles I surmounted to bring her here because honey, they don’t call it labor for nothing!

My husband and I decide that we are ready to have a baby and I swear that I am part cat or peasant or something but the fact that we just agree on this decision literally is enough to conceive a child. In fact, we have bad chicken wings in Atlantic City during a weekend getaway when I ovulate so when I go to dinner with a friend a week later and we meet up with our husbands after that for a drink, I can’t understand why I feel so terrible and why for days later it won’t go away. I take the afternoon off from work and I tell my housekeeper that I am going into the guest bedroom that is as dark as a crypt. She asks if I am pregnant and I tell her not that I know of but my period is 5 days away. I lay in the dark and wonder could it be? Off to Walgreens to get a test…. Or 6. I run home and quickly pee on the stick…. Nothing. Hmmm, revenge of the chicken wings I think as I throw it in the trash can. I fix my makeup and lean to toss out my trash when I see it….. The freaking stick turned positive in the trash! Holy sperm, Batman! How did that happen?

So now we are pregnant….. Actually I hate that statement. Only one of us is pregnant. Only one of us falls asleep every afternoon and drools on her desk, only one of us who wants an egg sandwich everyday but the minute anyone gets one within 10ft of her she runs to put her head in the toilet, only one of us pees like a racehorse. There is only one pregnant person and my husband ain’t it!

At 10 weeks, I begin spotting and I am traumatized. I call the doctor and they say to rest but there is nothing to be done to save the baby if I miscarry. I call my husband sobbing. He can’t stand it when I cry and he immediately tries to say anything to make me feel better… Are you ready? Here it comes…. “Please don’t cry. If you lose this one, we will make another one tonight.” He is drop dead serious. My husband who holds 2 degrees and is a successful businessman must have slept through every freaking biology class. I tell him that it doesn’t work like that and didn’t he pay attention to the teacher in health class. He is thoroughly confused…. Thankfully I do not lose the baby and this passes.

As I grow and grow, my husband waits on me hand and foot and I am a princess. Speaking of growing, my nose begins to do this thing where it spreads from ear to ear and I hold every molecule of water found on planet earth in my hands and feet. Pretty! This is the happiest time in my life. One day I am at work and he delivers a brand new Mercedes to me because I should be safe when driving around town. He rubs my feet and takes me to my favorite restaurants. I feel fantastic, I love being pregnant and decide right there that I will have 5 more of his children.

I hit an icy patch with a bit of preterm labor but then progress on to the night of April 7th right after we are seated at a new restaurant. I notice that my Braxton Hicks are actually very regular, like every 9 minutes….. Hmmmm. I quietly time them all through dinner and they stay regular and then get a bit closer. We get home and I make my husband hang all the pictures in the nursery and still don’t mention the contractions. Except that they aren’t pain free anymore…. Hmmmm. Now I tell him that I have been in labor for about 4 hrs now. We go to the hospital and the nurse says it’s very early, why don’t you go back home to rest and come back in a few hours.

What a terrible idea! There are no drugs at my house. I can’t rest or find a comfortable position, I shower every hour and use up all the hot water. This sucks. And it hurts! A lot!
I decide that I don’t want to have this baby and I am not sure how I feel about my husband. This goes on for hours and hours, for 12 hours I stay at home and suffer, bounce on a birth ball, walk with my doula, shoot dirty looks at my husband, cry, shower and basically try not to lose my shit before I head back to the hospital. I don’t care if my water breaks in my husbands Benz, it will serve him right. I hope they can’t get it out of the seats, I hope it stains, I hope it stinks. It never breaks and I walk with my doula into the birthing center while my husband parks when the mother of all contractions hits and my knees buckle as I cling to a railing in the hallway. At just that minute, a door opens and 3 prospective couples who are touring the center enter the hallway and stop and gape at me. I am ugly with pain all the way to my soul and I say, “This is exactly what you are in for.” I tell myself it’s a public service message but really I want to kill them for looking happy when my inside are being torn out.

They settle me in to a room and I start shouting for an anesthesiologist. Epidural, now!

“Did you watch the video?”

Really? That’s what we are going to talk about, the freaking video. Yes, I watched the damn video! Now. Give. Me. The. Drugs.

Drugs come and I am happy for 3 hours.
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I have now been in labor for 25 hours. My water has been broken and life is good! But what is that? Ow! Why is it hurting again? What do you mean the baby is posterior? What does that have to do with anything!? Omg! Back labor? What do you mean epidural so don’t always work with back labor? You know what!? The freaking video did not say anything about this. Fix it now!!!!! You wanna know what the fix is? Getting the baby out! So we are going to do this the hard way!

Here is the ugly part. I make big, beautiful babies but I am a little girl on the inside. 3 hours of pushing and sobbing make me insane with pain and when they ask me to try to get on all fours to help deliver this baby, I do it. I will do anything! Just get it out now! I don’t know who is President, I don’t know what day or year it is. I do know that I am going to die. There is no way I will survive this and when death comes, I will welcome it. Crack goes my coccyx breaking from the pressure. They let my mother in law in to see me. I am naked and on my hands and knees with my butt facing the door. We don’t speak about this ever but we will never recover from this place.

On and on it goes and then I hear a loud crash behind me. My husband has gone down. Seriously? I repeat it again. Seriously? Get up and get my cool washcloth. He says he needs a minute and they are checking his head. Fabulous, I will just get back to dying here.

And then it happens, after 28 hours of labor, I have given birth to this beautiful almond eyed, perfect head and skin, healthy and beautiful baby girl. She barely makes a sound after her first squawk and just looks around and takes the world in. She is captivating and just like that I am in love.
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Happy 14th birthday to my sweet Reese Nicole. May you never lose your desire to understand the world and all it’s moving parts. May you find love in the hearts of all that know you. May you find joy in all that life brings. May you always remember that you are fiercely loved and one of my greatest gifts.

Happy birthday! I will always love you beyond words and measure.

Happy birthday! I will always love you beyond words and measure.

Christian Grey definitely does not live here

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I trudge up the stairs still sore from Mondays P90x and Tuesdays Barre class. Up another 2 flights to a dark room with this contraption that looks like a huge trestle with straps and handles hanging from the top. I stare at it in fascination.

“You will be suspended from there.”

Who me? Oh. My. God! This is it. The famous Red Room of Pain. Christian Grey is going to walk through those doors any second with a flogger in hand. This is great! Why haven’t I signed up for this before?

*Martha, my dear friend and sometimes workout partner, says that it will be a great workout. I am so excited and now I find out it’s just her and me and the instructor, Sasha.

Martha has not read 50 Shades of Anything so she simply cannot appreciate our good luck. Luckily for us, I have read the trilogy…. Twice. Don’t get all judgey…. How else would I get the playlist down pat?

Anyway, Katy Perry starts singing about a dark horse and I am getting in the groove. Naked Me sarcastically suggest that I skip TRX and try pole dancing class. Really, do I have to put up with this from her? Back to class…We start by using the straps while we squat and do sumo kicks…. This was definitely not in the book….

Moving onto some very complicated rows, I begin to realize that this hurts, a lot, and an hour is a really long time. Somewhere in the middle of the set my body just says no and it refuses to do one more rep. Sasha says, “You are not going to quit on me now are you?” Ummm I don’t have a choice. I told my arms 3 times to bend and they told me to go f*** off. Hmmmm, that’s a first.

Sasha allows me get a quick break and moves onto chest presses while hanging from the damn straps. WTF? If I had known that this whole class was about me using my body weight as measure of resistance, I would have fasted…. for a month! Naked Me hangs out in the corner eating a cheesecake lollipop and drinking a French Martini with one eyebrow raised at the prospect of me actually fasting. She suggests that I start off slow and go for more than 2 waking hours between meals. I don’t need her attitude. Mind over matter, I decide to ignore her and I try to do the damn presses… Really I do but…

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This is going to be a hard limit for me.

Let’s move on to another sequence she says….. Ya, wanna know what this is code for? It means, “I will just sneak another exercise in that does the same thing and when her muscles are shaking and she looks like Michael J Fox she won’t be any wiser!”

Wrongo sister girl! This is the exact shit my hairdresser says when she says, “Just a half inch.” And then makes 4 sweeps over the same area like I can’t add or notice there is 2 inches of hair on the floor.

“Will you text me and tell me how you feel tomorrow?” What? I will save myself the data… I am already crying and ready to safe word.

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Onward we go… I am convinced that Sasha isn’t even a real human. In fact, I am fairly certain that she is a Terminator. She may even be a direct descendant of Arnold Schwarzenegger.

I have sworn so many times this class that I have lost count. I beg her to shut the door so that the Pilates women are not offended…. Nope, she won’t. I am just going to show up to next month’s grievance committee hearing and save them the stamp.

Martha has found a great stalling technique. Ask detailed questions about your form to save yourself the million reps. Of course she utilizes that when I am working my triceps and now Sasha loses track of time and of my pain. Nice try but the next time I tell her I will help with her form. Martha tells me that it’s ok and Sasha can help her. I whisper furiously with her to just go with it for crying out loud and that she owes me for leaving me hanging during arms. Martha laughs… We laugh a lot… And try not to pee. It’s a good pattern for us…

Class ends and I ask for a piece of cardboard so I can slide down the stairs. Sasha tries to tell me we are fresh out.

I have 3 days to the event and P90x in the morning. I don’t care what the Non Disclosure Agreement says. I don’t care what it looks like. I am telling you right now…..

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Christian Grey does not live here!

My Fairy Godmother came to the door!

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We are 5 days from go time!

Both dresses arrive and I open the second one which was my first choice and……I HATE it! The fabric is too white and the wrong blend, the gold chain looks cheap and too big and if that wasn’t enough it has nude boob pads sewn over the center of the chest that not only show through the material but are too small to be anything but oversized pasties. I look back to my alternate and try to find the good in it…. Frankly it doesn’t fit anything like it shows. It is beaded in a geometric pattern which is always a nightmare to alter and it needs a TON of altering. Did I say ton? I meant that it needs to be remade. I can make an overnight bag from the amount of material that needs to be removed from the waist. image

Argh!!!!! I scream. I swear. I throw them on the bed. I throw them on the floor. I hang them up. I scream again. I fold them back up in the box.

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I call *Carol, my best friend but I can tell from the beep that she is on the other line. I leave her a message telling her about the dress debacle and ask her to call me back and talk me off the ledge. I text her pics of the alternate dress so she is prepared to make me feel better. image

Ding-dong goes the doorbell…. Actually it’s a fancy doorbell and it makes this music when it’s rung, but I don’t know how to write music so ding-dong it is. I open the door to find Carol! With a black dress! Now to appreciate this you have to see the big picture. Carol is 5ft tall and tiny all over. She says, “Got your message. I don’t know when I bought this but I am never going to wear it. Never had it altered so here you go, you can have it.” I race into the bathroom to try it… What’s the chance that it will fit? I am 5’5, size 2-4 on the bottom half with a 34F bra size- nothing ever fits properly and what Carol with her 34A would ever be doing with something that could accommodate these cannons is less likely than winning powerball. But yet….. Zipppppppp! Holy Mother Mary of all things good in this world, thank you for seeing me in my time of need! The only alterations needed is for me to take the boob pads out. This dress is smoking. I am smoking. Life is good. I have the perfect Jimmy Choos to wear with it and the perfect Edidi bag. I am sooooo happy right now.

So now we have discussed the dress and the fact that it fits, whatever I do now for exercise and diet only gets me more breathing room. I am no quitter so there is another p90x class that is fabulous and has me crying for mercy and whimpering every time I go up the stairs. Yes! I love the pain!

The next day I decide to get up early and try a body blast class. I don’t know what it is but it’s only an hour. I can so do this….. Except that I am a few minutes late and class has begun on time for once…. And it’s crowded….. And they are doing a lot of choreography….and I don’t speak the language that the instructor uses as she calls out the next sequence… “Grapevine left for 3, then March it up for 4, quarter turn and then an X step”.

What???

Here is where I take out everyone on my side of the room. They are not amused. I try to catch up and there she goes again speaking that strange language. I don’t know what a Mogul is…. I know WHO a mogul is… Just not what… “Pony left for 4″….. Ok clearly this is not the spot for me. I have to get out of here…. Now! But I am stuck in the middle of the room right behind the instructor. I look up at her with an expression of sheer terror on my face. She sees it and replies, “it’s the same sequence in a different direction.” That tells me nothing! I couldn’t do it going forward and I sure as hell can’t do it going to the left. This is hell. This is karma. I have done something very wrong as a child or in the past several lives. Everyone around me wants to kill me and just when I can take it no longer I look back to the instructor and….. She is laughing hysterically at me. She can barely stand up and do her little chain dance because she is doubled over. This is exactly why I belong in the corner where I bother no one.

I don’t understand this! I have great rhythm. I can dance my ass off… Really well. Why can’t I do this? It is a divine mystery to me. Whatever! I believe when the class signed in, they also signed a petition barring me from class next week. I may have caught the words “Temporary Restraining Order” flying around.

Back to yoga on Saturday because I am so sore I can barely sit on the potty and I figure it will be a good stretch. I decide to embrace the annoying breathing and do it louder than everyone else so I only hear myself.

5 days before show time! Tomorrow is Barre and Wednesday is TRX…. Don’t leave me hanging here! We are making book here. 3 to 1, I knock off someone in Barre class. Any takers?

T-minus 10 days

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10 days to Gala! First dress arrives today and it’s a possibility. It will need some significant alterations but it will work. I wait for my first choice which is due to arrive on Friday. A snap decision will need to be made because my seamstress will need the week to finish the dress. So that leaves me 2 days to get to the point where my dress will be taken into and anything else that I can lose or tighten will be breathing room. So let’s get on with what I have been doing…..

I went out of town over the weekend and for the most part I was good, until lunch at Beef O’Bradys…. It wasn’t my idea, it was Naked Me and you know that she is always trying to foil my hard work and then she taunts me from the mirror when I climb into my bath. It was a poor choice I will admit, made worse by Naked Me’s order for our table of Pub Chips which are like thick homemade potato chips, smothered in cheese and bacon with sour cream and ranch on the side. I got the bacon on the side because my eldest daughter and I don’t eat bacon so somehow that translated to a healthier choice. Naked Me forces 6 or maybe 12 or 15 of them into my mouth before I realized that I hadn’t eaten fried foods in a while and…. Wait! What is that feeling in my mouth??? Omg, it’s like I ate engine oil. I drink and drink and drink my iced tea…. OMG, I have the equivalent of the BP oil spill on my tongue. I scrape my tongue against my teeth to try to rid myself of the horrid taste…. ITS NOT WORKING!!! I have the most undeniable urge to scrape my tongue against the pavement. Clearly, I have been eating clean for 3 too many days. My husband offers me an ice cream cone to get rid of the taste. He is in cahoots with Naked Me.

Feeling guilty I leave the table and offer to peddle on the paddle boats, so all 5 of us climb aboard and my son is my co-peddler. Wow! This is work… There is about 500 pounds of people on board of this boat and there are distinct times where it gets very difficult to peddle. Ironically, those time coincide with my son taking a break and resting his feet on the peddles. I don’t like him so much at those points but I remind myself that it’s temporary pain and I really do love him deep down… Until he wants to explore a short cul-de-sac that leads nowhere and he begins to peddle backwards in a grudge match to get there. In that moment with my quads burning and shaking I want to throw him off the boat into the 3 ft deep, unnaturally dyed, blue-green water that has turned the koi swimming by our boat a teal blue and orange. I catch Naked Me reclining in her gondola with a chocolate martini while Antonio effortlessly glides them through the canal. Why the hell did she have to come on this trip? I can’t get away from her for 5 minutes. I hope she falls overboard. Back to my boat where my son and I begin to disagree strongly about our course and I consider just jumping overboard and possibly swimming under the boat. I threaten to spank him if he doesn’t take his feet from the peddles, which he finds amusing because he is nearly 13 and I have never once spanked him or his siblings. So I come clean and tell him the truth, “if you don’t take your feet off the peddles I am going to throw you overboard.” Wish granted and I peddle us back in content in the fact that I have worked off the pub chips.

Saturday night, I try my very first chocolate martini, which has been on my mind since I saw Naked Me on her gondola. OMG, she knows her stuff! This thing is AWESOME! I am sure as I get to the bottom of my glass that there isn’t much I won’t do to have another one very soon.

So back home we go and Monday comes. It’s P90x time. I get to class and who’s this? Where’s Molly, the instructor from last week? Molly was subbing for Phoebe? Who is Phoebe? Oh hi, Phoebe. Nice to meet you too. This is the point where Phoebe kicks my ass and literally drains the blood from my veins. It doesn’t even take 2 hours after the class is over to feel sore. Phoebe knows me though, like on the inside. She knows that I have exercise ADD, she knows that given any amount of complicated choreography I will be a distraction to the rest of her students and probably a 911 call. This class is where I belong. As class ends and the life seeps out from my body that is lying in an unnatural angle on the mat, I ask Phoebe what else she teaches. She tells me just P90x on Mondays and Thursdays and she trains clients one on one during the rest of the week. I realize that Phoebe is the chick to take me to that place where my old perky butt lives and no muffin tops are allowed. I ask her to take me on as a client, she agrees to bring her book to Thursdays class, which is tomorrow…. If I actually survive it. But there is more on the menu and a few other things I need to try…. I heard there is something going on upstairs from P90x and it’s life changing…. It’s called TRX and I am going to try it! I am pretty sure that Christian Grey lives up there… Stay tuned!

So it continues…..

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I give it a good run before we leave so that I can have a headstart on the disaster that will become my vacation meals.

First, my friend Ana Steele (well one of those names is her true name but to protect the innocent we always give my friends the option of an alias) and I attend a Barre class. Not overly cardio active but I am aching so much from the P90x the day before I can barely get out of my own way, so it is appropriate. My poor gluteus and quads are so sore from the 10,000 squats and lunges they tried to kill me with the day before that when it comes time to work that area with a bender ball, I find myself with a hip/ass cramp and before I can stop it, “SHIT!” (It’s caps because maybe I wasn’t using my inside voice) flies right out of my mouth. See this is exactly why I need private instruction! Ana is used to my nonsense so she just laughs and mouths “potty mouth”…. This is what I get for going to my club for convenience. (I live in a hoity-toity neighborhood and I know they have been dying to kick me out and scratch my barcode from my car since we moved in.) Anyway, I rein it in for the rest of my class.

Ana and I sit on a bench and wait for valet to bring her car around while we look for other class offerings on the schedule. “What about spin?”, she offers. I slowly shake my head and quietly say, “Noooooooo.”
“It burns so many calories”, she says.
“Ana, I would rather take a crab mallet to my vag. No!” To be fair I have taken 1, yes just 1-one-uno-singular spin class. I walked as though I had been violated for days and yes, I used the stupid gel seat. I have many friends who do spin everyday. They promise that it gets better but I don’t see how it could without something changing. I have had 3 children, each labor hurt as much the next, with the exception where I break my tailbone with the first baby and my doctor figures out that if left to cook a baby too long, they get too big for me to deliver and we induce me early for the next two.

Back to spin…. Something must change to avoid this pain if I continue to try spin. What is it? Will I incur so much nerve damage from the impact that it becomes numb? Like permanently? Cue Linkin Park singing “Numb”….. Or worse yet, does it callous? I can’t even expound on that because it’s so distasteful. All I can say is that none of my friends can tell me how spin becomes less traumatic to the girly zone. Spin just isn’t going to be for me. I can pretty much bet the farm on that one.

So the next morning I take a Yoga class. I position myself in the corner with the equipment so no one flicks one drop of sweat on me. I will lose my shit. I would rather see someone vomit than a stranger getting their sweat on me. I have issues, I am completely aware and I am so good with that! Anyway, yoga is lovely but what is that noise? There it goes again! I open my eyes and peer around the room. “Whoooosh”, there it goes again to my left. I peek through my Sun Salutation. “Whoooosh”…. It’s the guy on the next mat. Is he seriously going to breathe like that the whole class? I look up at the clock 55 more minutes of this??? Maybe yoga is not for me…..

My favorite class and activity of all time is Krav Maga. It’s Israeli Hand to Hand combat fighting. Some interesting bruises and it brings out my alter ego. Unfortunately, last year I discovered that when a second away from a head-on impact at nearly 50mph, it’s a really bad idea to use your arm in a locked position to brace yourself from the steering wheel. There were bones sticking up in all different directions. The surgeon did a great job putting it back together even if it is crooked and weak from ligament damage. That was the end of Krav for me…. Sadly enough, if I could do it over I would have just went with a broken nose and I could have had a Megan Fox nose today instead of a jacked-up wrist. I highly advise you to take inventory of your body and keep the weakest link in mind when in a sacrificial position or you too may find yourself investing in bangles and men’s watches!

So I continue searching for my exercise class… Meanwhile I will go back to P90x tomorrow and will have a bar installed next to my potty so I can get up off the toilet after class. 13 days and counting….

18 days left…. The Countdown and Naked Me- Part II

Yes I actually wore it. Yes it actually fit.

Yes, I actually wore it. Yes, it actually fit even if it was almost 20 years ago.

I am in crunch time! 18 days to go. I have been a good girl, mostly. Sometimes behaving all day means that I should be allowed one, just one, French truffle. And maybe a bite or 2 of ice cream… Well, mostly anyway.

Sunday, I go to the green market and found some delicious veggies and a gentleman who made smoothies from fresh veggies and fruits. So I trot up and say, “Make me whatever you like but I am on a diet and this is lunch.” He starts with a handful of spinach and then throws in some romaine and that’s where I get a little concerned. Liquid salad?… In goes some carrots and a golf ball sized chunk of ginger…. This is exactly what I get when I say make what you like…. “Umm maybe not soooo many vegetables and some fruits would be nice.” There goes my vision of healthy liquid lunch with everything but the umbrella. Naked Me pops up in my head and offers me a Chicken Philly Sub from the next tent as she reclines in my favorite chair with a Sexy Peach martini. Is it so much to ask for a little support from her? I shush her up and focus on the 6’5 250lb beast of a man whipping up my lunch. He replies that vegetables are good for me and throws in a big beet. What the hell color is that!? ….. He finally has some pity on me and tosses in a few shards of citrus. It’s a very frothy khaki colored thick beverage. Bottoms up! I feel full (or slightly ill) from the concoction for about 45 mins and then I am ravenous.

Off we go to try the new Fit Body Bistro that everyone is raving about. You can check out their menu…. Www.fitbodybistro.com I order the Bikini Bod and I am a bit shocked when I see how big 3oz (or small I should say) of tilapia is… I have stepped on Legos bigger than this…. But there is a pile of broccoli and some strawberries and it really is delicious. I would definitely reorder except maybe swap the broccoli for something else because as much as I love broccoli, 6oz of the stuff has it own super powers and that’s a little more than my colon can handle.

Today, my oldest daughter and I decide to try out the P90x class at our club. I haven’t taken a class or had a workout since my accident 16 months ago. So when I am breathing heavier than a prank caller before caller ID, the instructor says, “What do we do when we need to rest?” This is a trick question, right? You know the type where I look like a quitter no matter what I say so I try for a bit of honesty because it’s the best policy or so I have been told. “We pass out?” I offer. She smiles gently and replies,”No, we rest”. Same thing really. Resting is just a little more voluntary. Anyway, it turns out that P90x is just code for the cemetery plot marker where they dump your body when you are done “resting”.

At Costco, I pick up some Prime steak for the boys and a heaping load of fruits and veggies and a new Vitamix blender. I am now so ready to be skinny… In fact why hasn’t it happened yet?.. I have been trying for days! Except for Naked Me shoving a few Truffles down my throat, I have given this all my attention.

My darling husband announces he would like us to go away this weekend. I go through my bathing suit drawer searching for any suitable options when I come across a shocker in the farthest reaches! I have a vague recollection of him buying this tiny red bikini for me before a trip to the islands about a million years ago in my early twenties and it fit! I stare at it in wonder.

Cat's cradle anyone?

Cat’s cradle anyone?


He comes in from the office and I hang the bikini off my finger and sassily say, “You are one lucky man! I was a catch!” I mean really…. wit, intelligence and I could fit in this bikini, he should totally sacrifice something to the Gods of Marriage. He gives me a crooked smile and says, “why don’t you go put it on now?” Good feeling gone! Naked Me pops up in my head snickering with that insipid look on her face and suggests, “Yes, Stephanie, why DON’T you TRY to put it on now?” I give her a nasty narrowed eye stare. God, I hate that bitch! I hope she chokes on a hot fudge sundae.

Stay tuned for more dieting fun. If I don’t repost that only means that tomorrow’s Barre class has caused A-Fib and my ultimate demise. Wish me luck and if I croak make sure my husband buries me in my favorite Gucci pumps! Xo