Book Review: Eating Wildly

A few weeks ago, I had the amazing opportunity to read Ava Chin's new memoir, "Eating Wildly: Foraging for Life, Love, and the Perfect Meal." I wish I'd had the time to post about it sooner, because I. loved. this. book.

Not just because I've had the pleasure of getting to know Ava online, and not just because I'm kind of hooked on memoirs right now. No, this book is a delight for a whole host of reasons.

Number one? Food. Oh, the food.

You may or may not recall, but I'm a little bit obsessed with food. And my obsession pales in comparison to Ava Chin's.

She tells the story of coming to terms with her childhood and her mother through the lens of food. But not just any food, foraged food. Each section of the book, each part of Ava's story about her estranged father and self-pitying mother, is paired with a recipe for the foods that recall the events. Foods made with her own foraged finds. While I cringed when she unearthed a big fat spider in the process of picking wild mushrooms, I couldn't help myself but wanting to run into the parks near my house and go searching for edibles.

I read this book right after clearing out my garden plot, and immediately regretted tossing all the "weeds." What if those were the perfect ingredients for Ava's grass pie?

This isn't just a book about food. It's a book about learning to accept the flaws in your life and yourself. Using the beautiful metaphor of wild plants, Ava walks us through a familiar urban wilderness, teaching us to learn to know things not just as they are at one moment, but in all their life stages.

I might not end up making a grass pie. I might not even end up cooking morels- although you can bet the farm I'd eat as many as I could find in a heartbeat. But there is one thing I'll definitely be cooking.

My back yard is home to an enormous mulberry tree. Ava's mulberry story is tied to her relationship with her grandmother, and in particular with the end of her grandmother's life. The grace and beauty and dignity of that woman sticks with me so strongly, that now I can't look at the tree behind my house without thinking of her. When the berries come, I'll be cooking from Ava's book, and contemplating the sweetness of life and love along with the berries, plucked from the wilds of my own back yard.

Mulberries

Definitely do read this book. It's truly a delight. And check out Ava Chin's website!

Advice

When I started this blog, nearly four years ago, I thought I would dispense advice about parenting. I figured, I'm a rational, even keeled lady. I knew I would never be the sort of person who had Pinterest-Perfect birthday parties or hosted tablescaped dinner parties. (I've actually surprised myself quite a bit in that respect.)

I was completely wrong.

I know nothing about parenting. And every time another thing goes wrong, I'm more and more certain that I know nothing about parenting.

I know plenty about being a parent, sure. But when it comes to advice?

I only have one thing to offer.

Purple oatmeal.

No matter how exhausted you are, how sick you are, how disrupted your routine, how much chaos in your life...

No matter what, you can make purple oatmeal. And you know what? It's a lifesaver.

Nobody tells you when you're pregnant that there will be days where you've got one kid with diarrhea and one with an ear infection, where you've probably broken your foot tripping over a tiny wooden chair while carrying a thirty pound toddler, and you've got to figure out whether or not it's worth it to get yourself to a doctor without a sitter.

Nobody tells you that there will be days when you just couldn't drag yourself out of bed early enough to make scrambled eggs and pancakes, as requested, and you've only got ten minutes for the kids to eat before you have to bring them to school.

Nobody tells you that you need a back pocket full of tricks that will only work for only one child, and only a couple of times, because sometimes that's all you need.

Instead, you get advice.

"Take help when people offer it."
"Let the floor go unswept- they're only babies for a short while."
"Enjoy every minute."
"Nap when they nap. Sleep when they sleep."
"Take time for you."
"Cherish it."
"Don't forget to laugh."
"Spare the rod, spoil the child."

It comes from every corner, from everywhere. "Parenting advice." And nine times out of ten, it's just added to the heap of clutter in your head making you feel guilty, or ineffective, or insufficient to the needs of your family.

But no matter what else happens, you can make purple oatmeal.

Boil 3.25 cups of water. Add two cups of quick oats. Stir occasionally for about six minutes. Add 1.5 tablespoons of brown sugar. Add 2.5 cups of frozen blueberries.

As the blueberries thaw (and they will in less than thirty seconds) they cool the oatmeal. The moment it's done, the kids can eat it. You don't have to wait for it to cool. You don't have to worry they won't like it. You don't have to worry about a thing. Just make purple oatmeal, put it in bowls, and give the kids their spoons.

And no matter what else is happening, at least they're all eating, and they're happy.

This is the sum total of my advice as a parent.

This is all I've got.

Next time a friend tells me with joy and fear and excitement that they're going to have a baby, I won't tell them how they'll be overwhelmed with every feeling a human can feel more often than they can possibly imagine.

I won't tell them to remember the precious moments, or to learn to take quick cold showers, I won't lecture them about a "heart outside your body," or the ever present fear that comes with the love, or how all encompassing, life changing, and life affirming that love can be.

"Make sure there's always room in the freezer for blueberries," I'll say.

"You're going to be just fine."

My Farewell to Blogger Idol

My first impulse upon being eliminated from Blogger Idol was instant acceptance. I had known it was coming. That's what happens when you dedicate the majority of your emotional and intellectual energy elsewhere so late in the game. And I have no regrets, I was doing something I believed was important, and I think I may have actually helped someone in doing that. So I'm proud of myself.

My second impulse was to use the link a friend sent me, about a million times. That actually made me laugh my butt off.

Third, I blamed my husband. After all, his advice guided the post that eliminated me, and he has minced no words over the last several months about how much he dislikes this competition. On top of that, my elimination means he gets beard grooming supplies, and he's always been very beard-proud.

That was when I found out I'd actually tied for the lowest score (or second highest, whichever), and I got angry. Or maybe hangry, who knows.

As soon as I realized I was going through my stages of grief backwards, I did what I always do to make myself feel better about life. I ate and pouted. Simultaneously.

First a bag of marshmallows. Yes, the whole bag.

Then I made a double batch of chocolate marzipan cookies.

Then I had a deep friend food fest at my favorite pizzeria. And a nice cup of hot tea.

And then I saw the Desolation of Smaug, ate a bunch of peanut m&ms, and drank a giant slurpee. But I was still bummed out.

So I curled up in my nice warm bed with my nice warm husband and ate more spinach and potato pizza and watched the Daily Show.

And then I realized what had been missing from my process... music.

And so I will bid adieu to Blogger Idol the same way I started... with a song.



So long, Blogger Idol. It's been awesome.

******

I want you to know, that I'm happy for you

I wish nothing but the best for you both

A better writer than me

Are you funnier than me

Would you climb up a tree with a hatchet

Do you write eloquently

And do you have three babies

Or do you write funny stories about your pets  

'cause the votes were for me but a tie wasn't able

To make it enough for me to be Blogger Idol, no

And every time I write a post

Nobody will judge it and tell me

How much it sucks, or it rocks

I'm not in the finals

And I'm here to remind you

Of eleven bloggers who went away

You'll battle for the grand prize

And the new Blogger Idol will be crowned

Go, go, go kick some ass

You judge very well, all the blog posts

I don't write as well, or I'd still be there

Did you forget about me Mr. Manderstanding

Daddy's in Charge wanted me to win the contest

A grin's been slapped on my face because I got to third place

and now we'll find out which blogger i  s the best

'cause you judges are nuts and you sit on your butts

telling us to write stories about being arrested, oh

And every week we'd laugh so hard

We freak out every Tuesday and beg for votes

'til we won, but I lost

I had a good time

And I'm here to remind you

Of the fun I had in Blogger Idol

Best of luck in the Finals

I'll  be judging there like Simon Cowell

You, you, you oughta know

There can be only one

Real Life Parenting

or Mid life at the oasis

'cause the jokes that we made made us laugh every day

And I'm not gonna lose

all of the memories with my new friends, and you know it

And every time I hear that song in some elimination

I'll still hate it...well we all hate it

and I'm here to say Thank You

To my lovely readers who vote for me

You're the best people ever

You got me so far and showed so much love

You, you, you oughta know

and I'm here to say Thank You

To my lovely readers who vote for me

You're the best people ever

You got me so far and showed so much love

You, you, you are the best

Intermission

From my window, where you can send your glow from my menorah, on newly fallen snow, I will set you eight little candles on this the last night of Channukah...

As of today, we have reached what I have come to think of as "the intermission." Channukah is over. Christmas is still a few weeks away.

It's time to shake off the candle wax, wash the latke smell out of my apron, and shift into Christmas mode.

And that means cookies.

So while I compile my list of recipes and ingredients, I can watch my children enjoy their Channukah loot, and remember my favorite conversation of the last week. It was on the fifth night of Channukah, and SI gleefully informed me of the fact.

Channukah with Aunt Something Funny, her BF,
and Grandmommy

"Mommy! It's the fifth night of Channukah!" (She makes sure to pronounce the "chai" sound- her Hebrew is quite impeccable.)

"Yes, it it!"

"Tonight we will put five candles in the hannukiah! And then we will get FIVE presents!"

"Actually, tonight I only have one present for you, and I think maybe Grandmommy has one. But that's it."

"But I want FIVE presents!"

"But do you know what? Channukah isn't about presents. It's about celebrating freedom, and being with the people we love."

"But we give presents!"

"Yes, we do. But only because we love each other. We give Grandmommy presents because we love her, and we give Daddy presents because we love him, and mommy and daddy give YOU presents because we love you- and Channukah is a nice time to do that. But it's not the only time. And that's not what makes Channukah special."

"When else do we give each other presents?"

"You give me presents almost every day. You draw me pictures at school, and you make me cards... but my favorite presents you give me are just showing me you love me."

My big sweethearts

"How?"

"Well, sometimes you give me hugs and kisses. Those are the best presents of all."

"Mommy? I want to give you a present now."

"Okay."

"Here you go!"

And she gave me a giant hug.

I've thought about that conversation every couple of hours since. I'm so grateful for my children, for their love and their affection. I'm so grateful for my family, for my parents and my husband and my in-laws and my friends.

Hopefully, keeping that in mind will just make my cookies sweeter.


----


It's the last day of voting for this round of Blogger Idol! Please vote, and move me up to the top three!

Please vote for me! Thank you!

Thanksgivukkah- A Pinterest Wet Dream

Gobble Tov!

In case you've forgotten all about Thanksgivukkah, allow me to give you a recap:

Because of the way Thanksgiving moves around on the calendar (based on the third Thursday rather than the date) and the way Channukah moves around on the calendar (because the Jewish calendar runs on a lunar cycle instead of a solar cycle and has leap MONTHS), Channukah and Thanksgiving generally DO NOT overlap.

However, it's possible. The last time it WOULD have happened would have been about 150 years ago. Just a few years before Thanksgiving was invented.

That means that this year was the FIRST Thanksgivukkah!

Oh, but there's more. Because those two calendars are so darn wacky, they're not going to overlap again for 79,000 years.

And let's face it, a lot can happen in 79,000 years. It's entirely likely that this was the only Thanksgivukkah that any humans will ever have the opportunity to experience.

So I did what any modern-day American woman would do when faced with what is literally a once in a lifetime dinner party opportunity.

I went to Pinterest.

My Thanksgivukkah board is a thing of wonder. It's only the food- because let's face it, with all the food on the table there wasn't going to be a single spot left open for decorations.

So here's the big question- what did we eat?

The most important element of any Channukah meal, let alone Thanksgivukkah... the latkes. Also pictured- a bit of the Manischewitz brined Quorn and Celebration Field Roast, my mother's famous maple and chestnut brussels sprouts, and the most amazing squash I've ever eaten- Za'atar roasted squash.

You can't have latkes without apple sauce, but when you're having THANKSGIVUKKAH latkes you need to up the ante! Cranberry apple sauce, green bean casserole (topped with extra crispy latkes instead of onions), challah stuffing, cornbread challah (more on that later), and those amazing brussels sprouts. Not pictured- sour cream and gravy. And let me tell you- gravy on hot latkes was a revelation.

And check out those gorgeous linens! Dreidle napkins, and ornate menorah and Mogen David table cloth! Plus, my mother's dishes. I could write poetry about my mother's kitchen, and the dishes would have their own stanza. She's collected them individually- each plate, bowl, and mug is a work of art.

Even with endless bottles of cider and mead, we found room on the table to squeeze in a Menurkey- on a platter with candy corn and marzipan potatoes. Because mazipan. (There's the girls with Aunt Something Funny!)

But you don't think we stopped there, did you? For dessert my mother concocted pumpkin pie rugalach and pecan pie rugalach- which is even more amazing than it sounds. And on top of them on that tray? Cranberry filled sufganyot! Plus a giant box of the best chocolates Washington, DC has to offer. 

And if you thought it couldn't get any better, you'd be wrong. The next morning my mother created something unfathomably delicious. If there is ONE legacy from Thanksgivukkah to carry in our hearts and minds through the ages, for seventy nine thousand years, let it be this: pumpkin pie blintzes.

How I wish I had a picture. But no picture could convey the perfection. Nothing but eating a steaming plate of those magical blintzes will ever do them justice.

Oh yes- and the sweet potato keugle we ate for dinner a few nights later. Because you just can't stop the Thanksgivvukah spirit.

So how can you recreate some of this incredible food in your own home?

Never fear! Here are some of those amazing recipes. Enjoy!


Cornbread Challah- gluten free and vegan!
Yes, it's gluten free! That's because it's basically a braided, baked tamale. So if you like tamales, you'll LOVE this cornbread.

You'll note the recipe calls for pre-made masa- no worries, here's how it's done:
4.5 c masa harina (mexican corn flour)
3.75 c COLD water
1.5 c vegetable shortening (I used olivio)
1 tb salt

Cornbread Challah and Za'atar Squash

1. First, put the masa harina into a HUGE bowl. Then add the cold water. Now knead them with your hands- not a spoon!- until it's the same texture throughout. No lumps, no dry spots!

2. In a standing mixer, beat the salt and shortening. Once it's all mixed and fluffy, start adding the dough- one fistful at a time, beating until it's totally mixed in. You'll end up with SO MUCH DOUGH. You don't need this much for Challah, but for tamales... well... there's no such thing as too many tamales.

3. Cover and chill at least two hours.

Then you can go forward with the recipe above. I suggest really committing to the tamale flavor, though. For regular dinner purposes, I plan to make this challah again- only I'm going to glaze it with mole before baking. Mmmm!

Also enjoy the Za'atar Squash, Orange Cranberry filled Sufganyot, and Sweet Potato Keugle!

A Happy Thanksgivukkah to all, and to all a good night!


-----

Hey! It's time to vote in Blogger Idol again! Please swing over and cast your votes for Becoming SuperMommy! I'm in the TOP FOUR! With your help, and I can make it to the top three, and then WIN this thing!!!!

Thank you!

Today I have Four Year Olds

The birthday girls- DD in dots, SI in signs

It's been quite a week.

Last Monday, I took Poppa to a baseball game for his birthday. We watched the Pirates clinch the post-season, and it was AMAZING.

Me n' Poppa

Then LaLa came over for another birthday, and to celebrate my big girls' big day a few days early.

Another Birthday!

And then Grandma and Grandpa came to town for the party. A Care Bears party, as requested. I managed to dig up Care Bear hats and plates.

Little girls and parties are awesome.

I'd been slowly collecting lots of vintage Care Bears on ebay for months. So instead of gift bags, I had the kids do a rainbow treasure hunt.

Everyone got a different color

...and followed their streamer to find their treasure!

And the treasure? Big stuffed bears for everyone.

We even had a Birthday Care Bear Parade!

I think they were a hit.

Everyone loved their bears. :)

Also, as per request, we had "Rainbow cake with rainbows on it and Care Bears and Wish Bear and Bedtime Bear and TWO rainbow roses!"

The recipe:

That cake took me an entire freakin' day of "baking" with two nearly-four-year-olds and a basically-a-toddler. But in the end?

Worth it.

The next day M and I put together their present.

Yeah, a bunk bed. And now we're working on rearranging RH's room so that all three girls will share the green room.

And then yesterday was the girls' party at school with cupcakes. And also the present extravaganza with Grandmommy and Poppa at home. And then I barely managed to keep my eyes open to watch the Pirates CRUSH the Reds in their first post-season game they've won since the last year Poppa and I sort of went to a ball game together (we took my friend JS), and I passed out on top of the covers in all my clothes.

Seriously, when I woke up in the morning M was relieved. He'd woken up a few times in the night to make sure I was still breathing. My sweet husband.

And I really can't wrap my head around the idea that my children are four years old. And suddenly, my relationship with them has changed. I can't explain how it happened, but something yesterday- on their birthday- fundamentally changed me.

Maybe it was standing in their room while they napped. NAPPED. At the same time. At four years old. I looked at their faces, SI's pale eyelids, DD still limbs, flopped gracefully over her stuffed dragon...

I am so grateful for this time. They are everything I ever wanted. Everything. And when I look at their faces, I can still see the babies that slept on me in the rocking chair in the dark hours of the night as I sang lullaby after lullaby.

I see them, erupted into these... children.

They were flower girls a month ago- did I mention that?

Children that I suddenly trust more.

So much more that I am ashamed with myself for not seeing how big they are, how mature they are, how competent they are, sooner.

This morning I talked with the director at preschool about splitting them up. Sitting in their classroom and watching them interact with the other little kids, I saw that maybe it's not just me holding onto their littleness, maybe it's them. Maybe we're all holding onto what was comfortable, what we'd come to know.

But what we have now is a family full of growing children. A toddler who might not toddle but can practically have a conversation.

And sometimes supporting them means pushing them a little outside their comfort zone.

...

Speaking of being pushed outside of my comfort zone, today is the day that the first Blogger Idol challenge goes live at noon. The first challenge was... writing your own eulogy.

If you're wondering why this post wasn't funny, I used up all my humor energy writing that one. So go read it for a few belly laughs!

And hey- you can play along!

So read my eulogy! And vote for me! YOUR VOTES MATTER. If you don't vote, I don't get to win- AND I WANT TO WIN!!!!

So read 'em! And vote! AND VOTE FOR ME!!!!

Thanksgivukkuh 2013- Time to Get Excited (And a Giveaway!)

Alright people, it's time to get excited.

We are on the cusp of a once in a lifetime event. No- a once in an eon event. No- a once in the entire course of human history excuse for an epic food based party.

Do I have your attention?

You see, Jews love to eat. (That's not fair, humans love to eat, Jews just have an awful lot of holidays dedicated to it.) And Americans love to eat. (Perhaps more than any other humans on the planet.)

America has one epic holiday dedicated to eating. Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is essentially a two day long stuff-yourself-until-you-explode cornucopia of awesomess. First, you snack as you cook while watching an epic parade. Then there's the Thanksgiving Dinner, which you eat mid-afternoon to maximize the amount you can cram in your gullet. Then you sit back on the couch and either watch football until you've digested enough to head back for more, or play board games with your family until somebody marches off in a huff to get to the rest of the stuffing and eat it all out of spite.

Then you somehow manage to stay awake, despite the food induced sweating, long enough to have a last slice of pie for your midnight snack before passing with a radio that suddenly plays Christmas Carols around the clock.

When you wake up you have leftovers for breakfast, which is amazing, and then you have leftover turkey as sandwiches for lunch (or not turkey, if you're vegetarians, but still).

Want one of these? Donate to the kickstarter!

Then you have pie for dinner, because somehow you managed to "forget" that whole emergency back-up pumpkin pie, and now that your family has headed their separate ways, you can sit in front of the television and watch Home Alone and eat the whole thing with a fork and a can of Reddi Whip that you squirt directly into your mouth.

...or maybe that last part is just me.

But this year, there is a twist.

This year, Channukah starts on the same day as Thanksgiving.

...for the non chosen-people among my lovely readers, Channukah is ALSO a foodie holiday. Of epic proportions. You see, the thing that makes a food "traditional" for Channukah is that it's cooked in oil. It's that whole miracle of the lights thing- enough oil for one day burned for eight, so we use enough oil for six months in eight days.

That's right, if you want "traditional for Channukah" food, all you have to do is deep fry it. It's the Jewish version of the Texas State Fair.

The two most common "traditional" Channukah foods are deep fried potatoes and deep fried jelly doughnuts.

And this delicious heart-attack-waiting-to-happen corresponds with Thanksgiving, for the one and only time in all of human existence.

You see, the Jewish year runs on a lunar calendar. That means that our holidays don't match up with the same days each year on the standard solar calendar. But the lunar calendar, frankly, isn't as good. Rather than have a once every four years leap day (and a very slow conglomeration of seconds that shifts our time zones over the millennia) we have a whole leap month.

Basically, the Jewish calendar repeats on a nineteen year cycle. That means that the earliest possible day that Channukah can begin is November 28th. Channukah will never, ever, start earlier than that. That's also the day it starts this year.

Now, Thanksgiving is the third Thursday of November, no matter what day that happens to be. The latest that day can possibly be is November 28th, which is what it is this year.

So, I imagine you're all getting out your calculators, trying to figure out when the next time this is going to happen would be. Put them away now, because there's one last factor you haven't considered.

Remember when I said the Jewish lunar calendar wasn't as good as the Gregorian calendar we all use? Well,
every thousand years the lunar calendar moves another four days out of sync with the solar calendar.

And what does that mean?

It means that, unless the powers of be decide that the Jewish calendar ought to be modified, the very last time that Channukah will EVER fall on the 28th of November will be in 2146... and it will be a Monday. The Monday AFTER Thanksgiving.

So why hasn't it ever happened before?
Because we've only been celebrating Thanksgiving in this country since 1863.

...the last time Channukah started on November 28th was in 1861.

So what does this mean?

It means this is the time to DEEP FRY ALL THE THINGS! For America! And for defeating the Greeks so Jews could keep being Jewish (and eventually Jesus could be born, etc. etc. etc. for all you gentiles)!

Ever wanted to deep fry a turkey? This is the year to do it.

Ever wondered what happens when you stuff cookie dough with cranberry sauce and deep fry that? Try it out!

Deep fry your corn bread! Make sweet potato latkes!

Seriously, folks, the possibilities are both endless and delicious!

So why am I writing about this?

I am DELIGHTED to be teaming up with Modern Tribe to give away an incredible Thanksgivukkah t-shirt. This design is AWESOME, and one lucky reader is going to be getting one- in the size of their choice! There's both unisex and ladies' cut, produced on American Apparel shirts.

So you know they're freakin' comfy, which matters when you stuff your gut so much your plan ahead for your best elastic banded pants.

(Or in my case, skip the pants, just own it and wear a muumuu.)

So how can you win this amazing shirt?

a Rafflecopter giveaway



A randomly chosen winner to be announced on Sunday at midnight!

Ridiculously Awesome

I know we haven't, but I like to imagine that we've all been at that same special point in our lives.

You know, the one where your old fat jeans became your regular jeans, and you didn't really mind because they were your fat jeans when you were 22 and you hade made two babies with your body since then...

And then your new fat jeans became your regular jeans, and that wasn't such a big deal, because you were kind of busy making another baby anyway, so you could deal with that.

...and then one day, your latest fat jeans are so tight that as you sit in the driver's seat you can feel the horrific sensation of your back fat being squeezed up behind your shoulder blades and smooshed into the seat.

We also all know that moment when
you realize that some days  "lunch"
is five twizzlers, a third of a  banana,
and twelve blueberries... right?

And then, you cry. Oh, how you cry. And you go out and get a new HIGH IMPACT SPORTS BRA OF DOOM and you relegate an hour every morning to getting yourself in shape.

But, it's easier said than done when you have three very very little people leaving half eaten bowls of goldfish crackers all over your house, and any attempt at a workout routine becomes "jump on mommy or howl in misery" time.

And then, you come up with the brilliant idea to DANCE!

So, you dance and dance and dance with your kids, hoping that this will magically whittle your waistline and you can give those fat jeans that made you cry the finger.

But it doesn't work so well, because while dancing with mommy starts out as being a good hour of cardio a day, it becomes mommy dead lifting thirty five pounds and then spinning in circles with a weight on her shoulder for half an hour, followed by another half hour of vaguely nauseated tottering to a beat.

Yes, we've all been there.

And so I began wondering, what do we do now? When we're still angry at our not-fat-day-but-regular-day jeans, when our workout routine has fizzled, and when we have just as little freedom to leave our homes and go to gyms or zumba classes as ever before?

That's right, folks, workout videos.

I began my hunt for the perfect workout video. It had to be dance based, to fool the kids. They would think we were still having dance parties, but we would just be having them with the movie.

I picked out the one I wanted. It was the P90X guy, so I figured it would work.

But I kept not buying it.

I kept going to the website, and hovering my cursor over the "checkout" button, and just not clicking, and I couldn't figure out why.

I asked M, "Do you think this is a good idea?" and he said, "I dunno... looks kind of sleazy..."

No. Just... no.

And that was it. He had hit the nail on the head. I couldn't bring myself to buy a video to watch with my kids with the goal being "sexiness," filled with testimonies of girls who finally felt "hot" in bikinis, with the never-ending rhetoric around looking like... well... the the people on the video.

I didn't want to send that message to my daughters. I didn't want to let them think that I was losing weight to look sexy, to look like somebody else's ideal. I didn't want them to think that there was a right way to look, and that was it.

Let's face it, they're my kids. They're going to have hips, and breasts, cuves everywhere. And if they're lucky and they've got some of Mike's shape to them as well, they'll also have AWESOME butts and maybe broad shoulders.

They certainly won't look like Jillian Michaels.

I wanted to lose some weight so I could feel good. So I could feel happy in my clothes, in my skin. So I could take a walk without feeling the telltale jiggle of having made three children in the lumps over my butt.

Gross, right? Exactly.

I wanted to feel good, and I know if I feel good about myself, I feel pretty much perfectly happy with the way I look. No matter what number is on the scale.

So, none of those "hot body" workout videos.

A few friends suggested specific dance workouts. Belly dancing, for example. I decided that we had to stick with something that my kids would recognize as dance- and keep in mind, they have learned from me that "dance" means "pseudo-rhythmic flailing, the occasionally hopping or kicking, and the intermittent jazz hands."

You know, this:



So no, it couldn't be African Dance for Beginners.

No, I needed a workout video that just kind of looked like dancing, with music that the kids could just distract themselves with and dance to without paying attention. Something with people who aren't all gussied up in greasepaint makeup and exposed, rock hard tummies. Something a little bit ridiculous.

And then... it hit me. Like a bolt of lightning. The perfect workout routine.

That's right... we're Sweatin' to the Oldies.

It took me ten seconds to find a GREAT deal on a box set of DVDs, and less than two days to have it in my hands. (Thanks, Amazon Prime!) But it took me more than a month of staring at it to put it on. Why?

Because it was utterly humiliating. I mean, Richard Simmons? REALLY? Could I look at myself in the mirror without shame? I mean, the man is the biggest running joke in... almost anything.

Really.

And then I told myself to suck it up and go sweat to some oldies with Richard Simmons, because if I just laughed through feeling ridiculous and dated and weird, then the kids would laugh too, and they would think that exercise was something fun and goofy that we all did together.

And really, that was the whole point.

And so, lovely readers, the kids and I have been doin' the pony with Richard Simmons for several weeks now.

And you know what?

It's kind of awesome.

First of all, the music is totally perfect. I mean, perfect.

Second of all, by the end of it the sweat is pouring off of me. Which feels pretty awesome.

I'm sore all the time. I also shower more regularly.

But the best part is, I have no choice but to keep going. Because now every morning begins with SI putting her nose in my face and saying, "Wake up, mommy! It's time for exercise!"

She doesn't care if I was up until after midnight watching roving hordes of Chicagoans take to the streets to celebrate winning the Stanley Cup.

She doesn't care if I was up until two in the morning reading all of "Bossypants" in one sitting and had idiotically started after she went to bed.

She doesn't care if I just ache all over and don't want to do it just this one morning please please please?

Photo from Nina Falcone

Best personal trainer ever. Instead of shouting at me that I'm fat and lazy and that I need to PUSH or
STRETCH or COMMIT- she just cries that she wants to do exercises with me. Please oh please oh please.

And so yeah, I drag myself out of bed, put on my HIGH IMPACT SPORTS BRA OF DOOM (of which there are now two), and do a million freakin' knee lifts.

And after about five minutes, the girls lose interest in exercising and instead sit on the couch, watch me, and quiz me on the weight lost by the rainbow of people, in an amazing variety of shapes and sizes, sweating along with Richard Simmons.

They squeal in delight whenever the fattest fat lady is standing next to him. "She has a plump tummy! She has a plump tummy!" they yell, and I say, "Yes! And she's exercising to be healthy!"

And they list all the people they know with plump tummies. The list always includes Poppa. "When we see Poppa in Greenbush, we will tell him he needs to exercise to make his tummy smaller!"

"Good idea! We can bring our movie, and you and me and Poppa can all exercise TOGETHER!"

"Yeah! And SI!" contributes DD.

"And SI," I huff through my unceasing kicks and the tune of "Mr. Personality."

Thanks, guy.

"And Grandmommy!" she adds again.

"Yeah," I wheeze out, remembering to breathe slowly despite my impulses to gasp for every particle of oxygen in the room, marveling at how hard it can be to balance on one foot with your arms straight out to the sides, despite being in motion.

DD always jumps in when it's "It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To." SI always does the cool down. We always smile and laugh and they constantly show me "new exercises" they've invented. Usually, it's some sort of bridge.

The hour that we're exercising together flies by. Every morning.

But the best part, the absolute icing on the cake, is this...

We've recently acquired a teenager. She's staying with us for a chunk of the summer, a friend of a friend of sorts.

Anyway, she's started joining me in Sweatin' to the Oldies.

And that kid? She can't keep up.

Every day I am outclassing a fifteen year old in my workout routine.

And that feels more amazing than looking at my reflection and not being grossed out by it.

Lunch: cherries, toast with goat cheese and a fried egg,
and cucumber/cantaloupe/parsley juice. That's better.

I also pulled my old juicer out, and began replacing meals (or those seven hour windows where I skipped meals) with fresh juice. My go-to breakfast these days is a beet, three carrots, and two grapefruit. In liquid form. I cut out most of the sugar, carbs, and cow-dairy in my diet. I switched to almond milk and goat cheese, and spent a few weeks taking pictures of every single thing I ate, that shamed me into making way better choices, and the habit of looking at something and thinking, "Do I REALLY want a picture of me eating this?" made a pretty big difference.

That said, I still took the kids out to Kilwin's for ice cream cones yesterday, and totally had a scoop of toasted coconut in a waffle cone. The whole point is to enjoy life, right?

In less than a month, I've lost about ten pounds, and I feel great. I'm trying to lose another twenty (I keep upping my goal) before I move forward on a breast reduction. I am definitely looking to go down to something in the first half of the alphabet in the cup size.

And the kids know it's not about how I look. To them, I'll always look the same. Like mommy.

It's about how I feel.

And I feel pretty damn great.

"Hey everybody! Come see how good I look!"