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Damn you, Gwyneth!

It seems of recent, that you can’t eat kale or be a health nut without being mocked just a little bit.

There’s this weird dichotomy of it’s hipster to be healthy, but it’s also hip to make fun of  the healthy chickpea eating hipsters.

And then there’s the notion that not eating meat makes you a wimp. Or eating super healthy makes you a hipster at all. Which I am not trying to be! DO I look like a hipster in my pajama jeans? I think not.

Or that getting excited over chia seeds makes you crazy.

I’m blaming Gwyneth Paltrow.

Ever since Gwynnie consciously uncoupled from Chris it’s been cool to hate her.  And I will admit, I kinda don’t like her these days. I’m a little bit flummoxed over her ‘working on a movie set is hard’ complaints and her ‘I can’t decide which manor to live in’ divorce issues. And the fact that she doesn’t let her kids eat ice cream is criminal in my book.

But this isn’t about Gwynster. It’s about all of us.

We’re fat. A lot of us are fat. And I mean that in the nicest, most loving way possible. We have DIAHBEETUS, and heart disease up the wazoo. And it’s killing us.

Kids are fat too. We eat fast food. We like Frappuccinos. And not just a Frappuccino treat, but a frickin’ Venti Big Gulp size Frapadingo with syrup!

So we hate on Gwyn because she’s skinny, right? No. We hate on Gwyn because she makes us feel bad for our love for Big Gulp Frappy Syrupy drinks we chug each week.

But what if we had the Frappuccinos sometimes, maybe a little bit smaller, and we tried the chia seeds? And if you’re friend is eating kale, don’t make fun of her. What if we tried that, huh?

I posted on my Facebook that I made a ‘compost pile dinner’. It was a giant combination of veggies, fruits, beet juice, coconut water, chia seeds all mixed in my Vitamix. It was a crazy concoction. But you know what? I feel so good after drinking it. Folks were telling me to put vodka in it. (Uh, that defeats the purpose.)  And I was making fun of it too. Because it’s not cool to mix beets and swiss chard. It’s cool to eat bacon on a bacon cracker with bacon dressing and bacon sauce. Or whatever. Bacon.

Bacon is cool. Kale is not.

I can’t eat bacon. No. I’m not Jewish. My body doesn’t like it. It makes my tummy angry. And guess what America? It makes your arteries angry too! But don’t take my word for it.

A friend in a Facebook group confessed that she’s trying to do some clean eating but she doesn’t want to tell a whole lot of people because they might think she’s being pretentious about her food choices.

I think it’s pretentious not to poop for days because your bowels are all backed up from eating crap. So I told her, you go on with your fine self and eat the plants. Feel good! Don’t let anyone tell you differently.

I have a love / hate relationship with food. Not in an eating disorders kind of way. More like a, I love meat and cheese and it doesn’t love me back. My milkshake does not bring the boys to the yard, it brings me to the bathroom with diarrhea.

So it’s coconut sorbet for me! But if I talk quinoa and coconut, folks look at me sideways.

Hey, let’s agree to this: How about unless you’re boiling kittens for dinner, we save our judgements about our food choices to ourselves?! And if you need to eat plants because you want to be healthy and not spend all day in the bathroom, yay. I support you.

If you like pork and Velveeta and think it’s yummy and it gets you through your day, I support that too. I know there’s hardcore vegans out there that think differently. But making someone feel bad about a choice doesn’t necessarily change their thinking about that choice.

We need to form people’s thinking to be positive around the plant foods. The sustainable choices that are good for us and the earth. Not chastise them for eating the meat. That’s just my feeling. Make plants cool without trying too hard.

Like my friend Katy says, “I haven’t eaten a face in 20 years, but I’m not a dick about it.”

So if you’re friend orders a quinoa loaf with a side of chickpea and sesame salad, don’t rag on them. And if you’re friend orders a bacon double cheeseburger when you ordered the quinoa loaf, maybe don’t make them feel like a serial killer.

A little respect, compromise and open-mindedness can get us further.

And if I post on Facebook that I’m eating less junk and more greens, it’s because I like my colon to be happy. Not that I’m trying to be like Gwyneth.

Mung beans for everyone!

Just kidding. Actually, I have a really good farro recipe…..

Little Frugie on the Prairie

I would kick ass as a prairie woman! Okay, except for the outhouse part. And the working from sun up to sun down. And maybe the fact that there was no WiFi in 1888.

BUT, still, I think I would rule the homestead.

I took the children and my friend and her children to a place called Pioneer Farms. It’s in the Ohop Valley in Washington and is a good one hour drive from my house.

Of course, this involved a Starbucks stop and a potty stop on the way. Obviously we weren’t embracing the accurate means of covered wagon travel to get to this pioneering homestead.

So with our iPhones and Galaxy S4s charged up for plenty of pictures and Instagramming, oh, and not to mention lots of hand sanitizer and sunscreen, off we went to experience the life of the pioneers. (sarcasm font)

Upon arrival, of course, I had to pee. So the outhouses they have on the site, are – outhouses. Yep. No Honey Buckets especiale here. These babes haven’t been emptied in at least 50 years. I’m guessing they put some enzyme in them or something so that the waste doesn’t actually climb out and meet you on the freeway. I had been to this farm when I was 9 and the outhouse was in the same location. So if you think they dig a new hole every ten years, then you’d be wrong.

How nice that I’ve dedicated an entire paragraph to outhouses. But the point is, they’re awful. They stink. And anything down wind stinks too. So enjoy that in the middle of the night when your bison fried steak disagrees with you.

We got to see a school house where the rules were made clear that girls got more lashes than boys for having something misspelled or a math problem wrong. Too bad women’s rights would be another 30 years and then some.

The homes were pretty small in those days. I guess since you built them yourself with only your wife and 5 children under the age of 5 to help you, granite counter tops, bonus rooms, and bay windows were kind of hard to come by.

With that said, the homes were really small in those days. So apparently bedrooms and privacy were nil. Personally, I would just make the house bigger if I’m the one building it. But having 7 family members in 100 square feet of space is cozy.

Children did major chores by the time they were 4. And not just gathering eggs from the chickens or kneading bread dough. They cut wood. Can you imagine giving your 4 year old a saw?  Ha ha ha! I know, I know, I know. There was a necessity to make them work so young. I’m not stupid. But still. A saw. Owen can barely butter toast. If I was waiting for the wood for that morning’s breakfast and Owen was in charge of bringing in the wood, we’d be eating at noon.

Our tour started in the barn. We got to milk Daisy the cow and gather the eggs and the children did an excellent job of picking up the chickens to gather them in the coop. The goats and pig and sheep were super cute and friendly. Every kid got a ride on Jake the horse. I would have ridden him too, but I was wearing a skirt and flip flops so that would have been silly if I did.

We would all have been screwed in 1880 without our Zyrtec. We all started sneezing from the hay.

My question is, would I be lactose intolerant back then? Hmm… that would make things a little awkward since coconut milk was not at the General Store.

For your entertainment, here’s all the chores and farm activities I got to do in pictures:

Little Frugie on the Prairie

I’m a po’ down trodden woman. Look how pitiful I look. The bonnet is a nice touch, don’t you think?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Frugie on the Prairie

That shirt was like a piece of cardboard after drying in the sun all day. Can you imagine wearing it?

 

Frugie on the Prairie makes horse shoes

Yeah, so that’s a 2000 degree forge and Owen and I are just you know, heating up metal to hammer and shape for horse shoes. Despite my protective eye wear, I did not feel confident. A flame retardant suit and giant Ov Glove would have made me feel more safe.

Frugie on the Prairie shaving wood

This was one of the jobs a 4 year old would do. Apparently, I’m not as skilled as a 4 year old. It’s the process of shaving down a piece of wood for an ax handle or something. It was quite difficult.

Look Ma, I’m shaving wood!

I caught this chicken and then made it into soup. Just kidding. I didn’t make it into soup. Actually, I didn’t catch it either. Emma did. Notice the photo bomb?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Blog U recap, ovaries, and soy lattes

There’s two things you should know by now; I was part of the faculty for a blogging conference called BlogU in Maryland last week, and, Emma had surgery.

The surgery happened first. Emma has been suffering from ovarian cysts and some of the worst pain imaginable. After rounds and rounds with doctors, it was determined she would need surgery. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling of when you bring your child in to surgery and the anesthesiologist is going over risk factors with you. Blerg. But she was a trooper.

She told me that she had the nurses and doctors in giggles when she was ready to go under and asked if her ‘lady bits’ were showing. Classic Emma.

Basically they removed a cyst and some awful endometriosis tissue that was causing her pain and we found out she has a banana shaped ovary pretty much under her rib cage. It’s all so weird and well, weird. I will probably blog more about it. Because it’s kind of a big fucking deal. And also I think women problems need attention so stay tuned.

With that said- I had a lot on my mind these last few days.

So with Emma’s blessing, I hopped on a plane as planned, to Maryland for BlogU to meet up with the ladies of the Internet that live in my computer.

A couple things that I feel I need to elaborate on; 1) people look a lot different in real life than their thumbnails on a computer screen. I spent the majority of my time saying things like, “who are you? oh, you are shorter/taller than I thought you’d be”. 2) Friendships on the Internet are real.

BlogU faculty

The awesome in this picture makes me explode. From L to R, Naps Happen, Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms, HouseTalkN and Underachievers Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess.

 

We converged on the  lovely campus of Notre Dame of Maryland University, near downtown Baltimore. The weather was uncharacteristically NOT humid and pit sweaty for the East Coast this time of year.

I continued to get texts from Emma of the nature, “I feel so bloated, I want to fart.”

And me replying, “Are you taking your stool softeners and your pain meds?”

I owe the world to my mom and my friend Kristi who stopped by to check on Emma, make her food and basically check to see that the house was still standing and not piled high with dishes in the sink.

Arriving on campus that Friday was, let me tell you, SO MUCH FUN!

I got to see and hug my roomie Kathy from the blog Kissing the Frog.

Frugie and Kissing the Frog at #BlogU

She is just as sweet in person as she is in her words on the screen.

Then there’s getting to meet Janel of the blog, 649.133, Girls, the Care and Raising of.

She scoured the campus for a ‘pop’. (She’s from Michigan.) Soda, cola, soft drink. She couldn’t find any ‘pop’. Not sure why there wasn’t a vending machine handy. But with her efforts only slightly more successful than Geraldo revealing Al Capone’s vault, I was on the hunt for a soy latte. Well, folks, we’re not in Kansas anymore. And  espresso isn’t on every corner like at home in Seattle.

What the what? This was difficult for me. It rendered me less capable of being any help at all really. When I put the resident helper campus student on a hunt for lattes, it was clear I had a problem. I didn’t actually make her physically walk to find me a latte. I just had her make a few phone calls.

Frugie, Kissing the Frog and 649.133 Care and Keeping of Girls at #BlogU

Look how awesome we are as greeters. “Welcome to BlogU. We can’t find pop or lattes and we’re grumpy.”

Let’s take a moment for an incoming text from Emma, “Mom. I still haven’t pooped. This is awful. I need to poop.”

Me, “Have some prunes. Are you drinking the Miralax?”

Emma, “I’m not eating prunes, gross.”

Me, “…”

(a few hours later)

Emma, “Oh wait! I had a poop baby, it’s a boy!” (I will spare you the picture of the smallest turd that she sent me.)

Me, “That baby needs to be bigger. I’m hoping for triplets next time.”

Back to BlogU—-

Friday night the faculty arranged a book signing and an Open Mic session for bloggers to read their works. I have to say, seeing so many fine ladies I love in one room, was a SQUEE-worthy moment.

Here’s my pictures to prove it:

 

Snarkfest and Frugie #BlogU

The ‘riotous’ Teri from Snarkfest. She’s such a huge supporter of my blog and I couldn’t wait to meet her. Plus she’s damn funny and was in the Pee Alone book with me.

 

Frugie, Real Life Parenting and Dried on Milk #BlogU

It’s my friend Jen from Real Life Parenting. And that’s Stacia from Dried on Milk photo bombing us. Photo bombing is all over BlogU. Like, epidemic.

HouseTalkN, Mom of the Year and Frugie #BlogU

See what I mean? More photo bombing. That’s Kerry from HouseTalkN and look- it’s Meredith from Mom of the Year! She’s my boo for sure!

649.133, Frugie and Domestic Goddess #BlogU

Who are these people and how did they get in my picture? Just kidding! That’s Janel and Andrea! Aww.

I never slept in a dorm in college. I only had my own apartment with a real bed and box spring. I had never slept on a dorm mattress before. Not bad for the two nights I was there. Not great either. Although, I was so tired, I probably would have slept on the lawn.

 

This is me Saturday morning with the fabulous Kerry of HouseTalkN. I’m pretending to smile since I’ve not had a real cup of tea, or a soy latte. Life is hard people. The struggle is real.

HouseTalkN and Frugie #BlogU

Look how ‘fake’ happy we look.

The day was filled with fabulous sessions, smart people, funny and phenomenal women. But no soy lattes. No really. It’s okay. I’m fine.

I had to save all my strength for the NickMom Retro Prom. I knew I would be wearing acetate, scrunched hair and frosty eyeshadow while busting some serious moves to Milli Vanilli, Bananarama and Madonna.

Imagine your prom (mine was in the 80s, well make that 1990, but kinda sorta the 80s) and take away all the adolescent hang-ups and self conscious social barriers (at least for me anyway) and you have the best dance party of all time. I mean it. Retro dresses, big poofy lace and neon fingerless gloves, tiaras and suntan hose, ass bows and crimped hair. It was pure gold.

I will tell this part of the story in pictures.

 

Frugie ready for NickMomProm #BlogU

Here I am in all my scrunched, frosty 80s glory.

 

 

 

BlogU NickMomProm

Oh my goodness. How does this picture not be more awesome? Julianna from Rants from Mommyland. I was so proud to put in her Bump It for her. Nicole Leigh Shaw and Kim Bongiorno. Oh, look, who is that little photo bomber? It’s Jen from People I Want to Punch in the Throat!

 

BlogU faculty at NickMomProm

Almost all of the awesome BlogU faculty

 

Yeah that’s me shaking my thang with Suburban Snapshots in pink. I did not hold back with my dance moves.

That’s Tara from You Know It Happens At Your House and look at HouseTalkN next to us. Goodness knows what song this was. Clearly we aren’t having any fun.

I have fifty bajillion more photos from the dance floor that are grainy and of lots of sweaty shiny ladies having a ball. And for the record, I was stone cold sober. I was drinking tea! Yes, tea.

OH, wait. This text just in on Saturday night from Emma, “I POOOOOPED! Oh my GOD make it stop, now I have diarrhea.”

I learned so much at BlogU. From meeting friends, making new friends, getting a shit-ton of information for my blog, meeting Huffington Post and NickMom people. Oh boy.

If you missed it this year, don’t worry. A little birdy told me there’s already a date set for BlogU 15. See y’all in Maryland next June!

Meet SAM, your new best friend

Once upon a time I was able to jump on a trampoline and keep my bladder from completely giving up.

And once upon a time I was able to sneeze freely without clenching into a vice grip kegel. Ahem.

But once upon a time my boobs didn’t droop past my belly button. Okay, enough with the ‘once upon a time’, this isn’t a fairy tale. Instead, it’s a public service announcement of sorts to inform you of SAM. Super Absorbent Material.

Poise Microliners with SAM by Frugalista Blog #poise #LBL #SAM

SAM is a new product within the Poise brand of Microliners.

Like a thin undetectable panty liner, this will catch the leaks that tinkle, I mean trickle, when you laugh or sneeze.

1 in 3 women experience LBL (light bladder leakage) and I’m guessing that 99% of those women have had children! It doesn’t matter if you are young or old, it can happen to any of us.

What you don’t want is it to happen when you’re wearing the wrong outfit, or if you are sitting on your neighbor’s couch. Say what?

Yeah.

It happened to me once at a party. And it wasn’t a couch, but a chair to be honest with you. I laughed so hard I peed my pants. Well, I leaked on my pants. I was so afraid that I might have seeped through my pants and onto the seat! I didn’t move for hours. Well, maybe an hour. It was miserable, embarrassing and downright tragic.

I was thinking,’does this happen to everyone?’ Well, it happens to 33.3% of us! But I bet it happens more and those statistics are skewed because there are women out there not revealing their LBL!

Okay. As if you need ANOTHER testimony from me as to why I could use the SAM from Poise, here is a short tale of female super powers if I ever had them.

The other day I was driving. And I sneezed. And I almost peed my pants. But I was able to flex in to a kegel. (Look it up if you don’t know what a kegel is. And if you don’t, where have you been hiding?) Do you realize what the potential dangers are of all these events WHILE DRIVING that I just described?

Handling three simultaneous acts of heroism is hard. And I couldn’t prevent the sneeze, nor could I really prevent the fact that I was about to pee my pants. But had I been wearing a Poise Microliner, I wouldn’t have had to worry about the kegel.

And last but not least- the trampoline. If you have every been to one of those trampoline birthday party places with your kids, you know what I’m talking about.

You really want to jump. I MEAN, come on! It looks like so much fun. There’s that really uber fit mom over there in her Lulu Lemon running capris and she looks like she is having fun. So you go for it. Hey, what’s some jumping on the trampoline when you’re 41?

WHOA! What just happened? Does gravity really do that where you bladder hits your knees and you need to tuck and roll to prevent serious puddling beneath you?

ZOMG! Need I say more?

Listen, if any of this sounds at all familiar, then go get yourself the free sample here, of Poise Micro liners with the SAM!

You don’t have to tell anyone you did. OR, you can be a dear and tell all your friends. Go on, YOU get a free Micro liner, and YOU get a free Micro liner, And YOU….

Okay, you get the idea.

And just so you know, Poise paid me to talk about peeing my pants. They’re special that way.

Meet Sam, Your New Best Friend by Frugalista Blog #LBL #SAM #Poise

How to get your children to listen to you in public

How to get your children to listent to you in public by Frugalista Blog

My friends. This is easy. If no one has taught you the value of how to humiliate your children in public, then you’re doing it wrong. **

You see, I have a very high tolerance for my own humiliation. I’m pretty much fair game. Have you seen my Spanx post? Right.

Once upon a time, my children and I were at the mall.

We went to the Lego store to look around.

We spent a lot of time looking, putting together some pieces, sitting on those tiny stools they put at those tables, checking out the million dollar Millennium Falcon. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Legos are cool and Star Wars Legos are even cooler, but I was thirsty. And hungry.

Honestly being hungry and thirsty in a Lego store isn’t fun. There’s not even any lip gloss or shoes to distract me. So when it’s lunch time and mom is ready to go, it’s go time.

The children did that thing where when I say, “Okay kids, let’s go get lunch!” and I’m super positive and all happy parent on them, they are like, “Just a sec mom.”

Uh huh. I know ‘Just a sec’. It’s the classic stall. My husband does the ‘Just a sec’ when I tell him to take out the garbage. And now the children have mastered the ‘Just a sec’ as well.

Tick tock. Seconds are going by and my stomach is rumbling.

“Okay my little kidlets, this mama hen is hungry and it’s time to feed the chicks. Let’s go.”

“Wait mom, this is so cool, did you see this?”

“Yes, I did honey. Diagon Alley is awesome when it’s made from 15,000 pieces. But there’s a burrito in the food court calling my name. Let’s GO.”

“Sure mom…”

And then it’s like they turned into turtles. The Slowskies are now my son and daughter. Seriously? Like how cool can bricks of plastic be?!

“Hey kids, if you don’t come when I count to 5, I won’t let you have ice cream later.”

Them- “….”

“Hey kids, if you don’t come in the next two seconds I’m just going to start dancing right here in the mall.”

“MO’OM, Right. You’re just kidding. Just a sec.”

You did not ‘Just a sec’ me a second time.

“Okay here goes. OOOh, I love this song. Reminds me of high school. How do you do the Running Man again?”

I proceed to do some version of the Running Man. I’m outside the Lego store and the kids can see me through the glass wall.

“Hey kids, I’ll stop as soon as you join me.”

Kids come running.

“Mom that was SO EMBARRASSING!! How could you do that? Oh my gosh, like people were watching!”

“And from now on, you come when I call and I won’t break out the Cabbage Patch. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Seriously. It’s worked ever since. Which is good, because my Cabbage Patch is worse than my Running Man.

 

**No children were harmed in the sharing of this blog

 

“It’s Not Fair!” a guest post over at In The Powder Room

I’m featured over at In The Powder Room today.

It’s funny. It’s about penises.

Go over and read it. http://www.inthepowderroom.com/parenting-penis-envy/

It's Not Fair- A post about penis envy by Frugalista Blog

Why I would be a terrible performance artist

Why I'd be a terrible performance artist by Frugalista Blog

Particularly performance art that involves my vagina. Yeah. What is up with the performance artists lately so focused on their vag’s?

First there was the woman who gave birth in a museum. Why not? When I gave birth in the hospital I probably would have had the janitor and the cafeteria lady come through and could have given a rat’s ass who saw my hoo ha.

Then there’s the woman who knit with yarn that she stuffed up her lady canal and used it as a spindle of sorts. She did this for 28 days so she was sure to coat the wool yarn with her menses blood because you know, vaginas are cool and we should celebrate womanhood. Have a happy period. A wooly, happy period.

And THEN, there’s this woman, who squeezed paint filled eggs from her snatchorooni to drop on a canvas all in the name of art. In public. Right in the middle of the city square. Beware these videos are probably not suitable for work. But you knew that anyway.

So I decided to come up with a list of reasons why I would suck at performance art that involved my privates. Here goes.

  1. My privates are private.
  2. My vagina has been used for babies’ heads with a circumference of  35 centimeters, a 5 centimeter paint egg would rattle around in there and fall out before I got to the canvas.
  3. I haven’t been practicing my kegels lately.
  4. There’s lots of things I think about my vagina, art isn’t one of them.
  5. I would probably fart.
  6. I might pee a little.
  7. What if the fart was more than a fart?
  8. I get nervous gas when I perform. Hence, see above.
  9. I throw out finger paint  artwork from my kids, why in the hell would I want a vagina painting?
  10. People might laugh and then I’d feel awkward which might inhibit the performance.
  11. I have abnormally large labia that would get in the way. (Totally kidding!)
  12. The lady garden is a little over grown, it might be hard to see the art. (Hmm, not kidding.)

 

 

My (hypothetical) Memoirs

If I were to write my story, my memoirs, what would the title be?

Not as profound as someone that climbed Mt. Everest or moving as a survivor of something horrific.

But I think it would still be relatable.

Possibilities are:

 

Potential Memoir Titles by Frugalista Blog

 

 

 

Join me in Baltimore for Blog University. If you’re a writer or blogger, you need this conference. Find your niche. Find your tribe. Get your tickets for an awesome weekend with me and several other faculty. You’ll get schooled in a good way.

He loves me just the way I am

Recently over at Bonbon Break I wrote about some lingerie I was sent to review and I guess this got McSweetie a little bit excited. Whoa. Hold on there. Not THAT excited.

You can read the post here if you want.

He has never really complained about my lounge and sleep attire. Sure it’s mismatched, saggy, and stained with a myriad of substances, human and food related. But I’m a comfy gal. Always have been. Even in our early courting days when weekends would be spent at each other’s apartment. There we’d be over morning coffee and he would make fun of my giant ribbed orange socks. I loved those orange socks. I bought them at the Gap in 1991 with a matching orange and white striped top. Because you always bought a pair of socks to match your shirt at the Gap in the ’90s.

Those socks lasted at least until 2005 when I finally put them in the Goodwill pile. They were my favorite bedtime orange socks. But it was time they go.

Apparently, it’s also time that my pajama bottoms with ice skating penguins take a hike as well. Maybe the underwear with one too many period stains should get the heave ho. It’s hard. I get attached to my things. Even old, ragged gross things.

I have been quite content with my ‘comfortable self’ these last couple years. In fact, I think blogging has gotten me more ‘comfortable’. Because I spend a lot of time writing, I’m sitting. A lot. Let’s face it. Writing is not cardio. And eating while writing is devastating to one’s waist.

But this is not a fitness post. Nope. I can preach and preach from the mountain tops and bell towers how I am learning to love my body ‘as-is’ and you should too. I am not talking about that so much.

I’m talking about when my husband bought me a bunch of trashy lingerie lately and it made me cry.

I am not sure if I will understand how my husband’s brain works. And that’s okay. He sure as heck is not going to figure mine out either. But I’m trying to at least put myself in the lobe of his noggin that thinks, “I’m going to buy Rebecca lingerie that looks awesome on a model that is a size zero with double D boobs and it’s going to look just as fabulous on her as it does the model chick.”

It’s no secret that I don’t have double D boobs and I’m not a size zero. I like to hover around a size 6 and lately it’s been more of an 8. AND THAT’S OKAY.

BUT- trying on anything that is too small, let alone with holes strategically placed along the waist line, or see through lace in other areas, is enough to put one over the edge of a Xanax needing cliff.

McSweetie- “I got you some things.”

Me- “You did? Oh boy! What?” (this is where I hope it’s shoes, lipstick or a handbag)

Mc- “Some lingerie. Here, try it on and you can wear it tonight.”

Me- “Uhm, there’s nothing flannel or over-sized here. Where’s the fuzzy comfy stuff?”

Mc- “You have fuzzy comfy. Let’s try sexy and shiny.”

Me- “You know this won’t fit me right? It’s like tacky city here of poor quality and even worse fit. You know this right?”

Mc- “Well, I think I bought it in your size, so give it try.”  Eyes hopeful.

Later, I shaved my legs and pits, applied bronzer lotion everywhere I could and gave the garments a go.

Not one fit me. Not. One.

I was devastated. Sure, one of them looked like a banana hammock Borat wore but only in red lace. That one actually did fit better than the others. But let’s not go there.

After some time of pouting and stomping around the house obviously with a huge chip on my shoulder, he asked what was wrong.

“Nothing fits, that’s what’s wrong! You think it’s fair to make me try stuff on that is clearly made for a 22 year old who has never had children?!” I wail.

What a selfish pig! What a misogynistic asshole to think I can just conform to the rigors of what society thinks is pretty! How dare he?I am going to burn all of Frederick’s of Hollywood down to the ground for leading men on to think us women can wear this shit! Who does he think he is?

Him- “Well, I just thought you would look awesome in it. I wanted to see you in something sexy just the way you are. But if you aren’t comfortable with it, I’ll just return it.”

Me- “You will? Really? Because, maybe I can get something sexy but that fits me better and is better quality so I feel comfortable in it and want to wear it, you know?”

Him- “Sure. I would love that. I’ll just send this stuff back.”

Me- <wipes tears away> “Oh okay. Thanks babe. I love you.”

Him- “I love you too.”

AWWWWW!

And just like that I felt dumb for feeling so mad. If it was a pair of shoes that didn’t fit, or a sweater, I would have shrugged, put it back in the bag with the receipt and went about my day. But the fact that it was lingerie made this whole thing in my mind about body image that was just dumb.

HE has no problem with my body and probably wishes he could see more of it more often.

Now that the weather is warming up, he just might get his wish. Which is kind of getting me to get moving so the certain parts of me jiggle less and less as the flannel turns to cotton and the sweatshirts turn to tank tops.

I’m feeling kinda sassy like I can get it a little higher and tighter, locked and loaded. And who’s to say I might be shopping a little bit for some tasteful yet alluring intimate wear? Hmm?

After all, McSweetie is a sweetie and a very deserving one.

But let’s leave the trashy cheap satin and lace to the 22 year old’s, shall we?

 

 

He loves me just the way I am by Frugalista Blog

Sorry (not sorry) about my cellulite

Here we go again. It’s ‘bikini season’. Otherwise known as, let’s shave all our nether areas and expose them to strangers while romping at the pool or beach with our kids wearing a strip of fabric to cover our butts.

I know it’s occurred to some that wearing a bikini is pretty much like wearing a bra and panties, but in public. I think I would prefer the 1920′s swim fashion of bloomers and long shirts, but that’s just me. I don’t want to feel like I’m wearing a bra and panties in public. I like coverage. Is this because I jiggle and have pooches? I don’t know. Maybe.

All winter long as I stuff myself with scones and donuts, I think of how I should be drinking green tea and sipping watercress soup if I want to look good in a swimsuit come June. And let’s be honest, I’m stuffing myself with scones and donuts, not just in the winter, but all year around. The fact that I’m NOT a size 1X is pretty much due to genetics. I have my father’s side to thank for that. Although, back to the watercress, who the hell eats watercress?

So then here comes June. Actually, here comes spring break. April. And I put the swimsuit on for the first time in months but I don’t look at myself in the mirror. I just put it on and head out to the pool with my swim cover on and sit in my chaise.  I am thinking, why didn’t I work out more? Why is there so much cellulite this year than last year? What is that weird looking vein cluster? Was that there before?

But then I look around. And not to get too uppity, but there’s a few of some other moms with cellulite too. And I start to feel better. I relax a little as I’m shoving Pop chips in my face. What’s pool time without snacks? If you don’t bring chips to a pool, you’re dead to me.

Okay, then there’s one mom. There’s always THAT mom. The really fit one with like, 4 kids, to make us feel bad. If she works out, why don’t I work out? And she’s wearing a two piece she bought from Athleta. Heck, she’s probably one of their models. And I put the Pop chips away.

I take stock in the fact that I try. I do. And even though I keep seeing magazine cover after magazine cover (Us Weekly, I’m looking at you) of “Kim’s Wedding Workout” and I’m sick of seeing it. But I have to admit that even though she’s got curves, she’s looking fine. OH WAIT! She spends thousands upon thousands of dollars zapping her cellulite in some plastic surgeon’s office.

Ha! So there you go. If I spent thousands of dollars zapping my cellulite, I’d look like Kim too. But I don’t. I put that money in a college fund. Or family vacation. Or a woman I sponsor in Rwanda. (I’m not bragging or anything.)

My point is- WE ALL HAVE CELLULITE! (Except Athleta mom. You just go back to your paddle board, lady, I’ll deal with you later.)

You have cellulite. And you have cellulite- and YOU and YOU and YOU!

If we surround ourselves with real women, moms and grandmoms, sisters and friends, NOT magazines, we will appreciate what we have and not worry about the extra.

And don’t get me wrong. I’m planning on working off those winter scones and donuts. But it’s not because I want to fit in a bikini. It’s because I need to climb the ladder to my son’s loft bed each night. It’s the case of wine from Costco I want to be able heave into my minivan without throwing out my back. Use it or lose it baby. And I plan on using my quads and arms for good. Not just at the pool.

Sorry, not sorry about my celllulite by Frugalista Blog