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My thighs are flabby, and I’m trying to love them anyway.

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The other day on my Facebook wall I asked if people could have one wish, what would it be for. About 95% of you said you want to be skinnier, or be able to eat what you want and not gain weight.

I should also add that people wished to be richer too. I wouldn’t mind that either.

But as far as weight goes, let me try and help. Ladies listen up.

I want to tell you that you are just fine.

You want to fit in that swimsuit because online websites like E!Online post pictures like this one-

with a headline called ‘Bikini Body Wars’ and have viewers vote on which one looks better. Really? There’s mommy wars and now bikini body wars? Because I think it’s great to line up three women who look amazing all in their own way, and let the scrutinizing public pick which one ‘rocks a bikini’ the best.

Insert big eye roll. Oh wait, I just saw my brain.

The Girl made a comment to me in the car when I pointed out someone we know who has what I called, ‘a beer gut’ (he does like beer). She said, “well you have a mom gut.” Ouch.

That stung. I told her that I have a perfectly fine tummy that has squishy skin from having babies, but please don’t imply that I am fat.

I sat in the front seat facing forward and pouted a little. How am I to continue my own body love and try to encourage her to love herself, if she makes flippant remarks about my flab?

She apologized and said she was only joking. But it still hurt. Now this isn’t to get all down on Emma. She was just being a sarcastic teenager, which 90% of the time, we banter back and forth and have a good laugh afterwards.

But that particular moment, I wasn’t feeling it. I felt like crying instead. I felt like screaming, “I can’t be perfect, I can just be me!”

Later, she and I had a private exchange that ended in hugs and tears. She apologized again and told me how beautiful and chic I am. Which surprised me because I thought she thought I was a dork.

I told her that I’m always praising her wonderful body for the way it is. And it means a lot if she would do the same for me. That even though I’m older, my thighs are dimpled, my butt jiggles when I run, and my boobs look like sad, sad strawberries left in a food dehydrator too long, I still need acceptance. I work for how I look. I try to take care of myself and do things for my health, inside and out.

And then I realized, I need to stop describing myself with these words- flabby, jiggly, strawberries…

I think she saw me as a woman at that moment, and not just her mom. I’m hoping it was a breakthrough. This is when the tears came and we hugged it out.

I want us all to have these breakthroughs. To be forgiving of each other and ourselves. To know that if you are doing what you can to eat reasonably well, get in some exercise and look after yourself- you don’t have to look like Gisele Bundchen or Jennifer Aniston or Kate Beckinsale. Do I try to improve how I look? You bet. Here’s one way I’ve done it- read here.

I want to be sinewy and sleek. Toned and taut. But hey, I’m okay if I’m not those things. Remember this post about me in my bikini? Am I Fat?  I’m a little soft and squishy, but I think I look damn good.

I want you to say that about yourself too. I want you to look in a mirror and realize that you look damn good. Whatever you’re trying to change- if it’s for your health and strength- keep doing it. Great! If it’s because you think you need to because of what 3% of other gals in this world look like, then pause, and tell yourself how good looking you are right now in THIS moment. Not tomorrow. Not after your diet. Now.

And dear sweet Emma; you are beautiful now and you will be beautiful in 30 years when you have the same stretch marks and cellulite that I have. And I hope you have a child that tells you that you are the most wonderful woman who is beautiful inside and out, just like you told me that night.




Taking your kids shoe shopping is worth a diamond tennis bracelet as a reward.

I’m feeling under the weather. My throat is a little gluey. My head hurts. My body is tired and a little achy. I started on my 8 week work out plan for Hawaii this week. I got one day down, and then I already skipped working out yesterday because I didn’t feel well. Blech.

Before the kids went to school, I promised them a trip to the mall after school. Why in THEE hell did I do that??

I tried coaxing them with cookies and movies to stay home, but it was fruitless. They wanted to go to the blessed damned mall and nothing was going to change their mind.

So I pulled myself up from my bra straps and brushed the crumpet crumbs off my pajama jeans and slapped some mascara on and brushed my hair. I threw on a sweatshirt- oh this chick was pulling out all the stops- I mean, pajama jeans AND a Target sweatshirt? It’s like Kate Middleton at Ascot. PFFT. I was sick dammit.

So we check out a couple stores the kids wanted to look at. Got some frozen yogurt. Do you know they have cake batter flavored frozen yogurt? I didn’t get any because of the no-dairy thing, but I had a taste of theirs. Holy crap, it tastes like CAKE BATTER! Minus the risk of salmonella.

We head to Nordstrom to see if there’s any shoes for them. Owen is in desperate need of some. He’s gone through the bottoms of his Nikes he wears every day and the cheapo Payless Shoes have already started to tear at the rubber parts, even though he got them 3 weeks ago.

It took over an hour to sit there and have them pick out what style and size they needed. Both kids are uber foot sensitive when it comes to shoes and socks. Only certain socks will do. Only certain shoes will do. So the sales gal brought a half dozen pairs out at a time and they took turns running around the shoe department. You know, to really test them out. Honestly, I didn’t even care at this point how much they cost. It’s not like we were in Burberry or Gucci, or something, I wasn’t too worried. The goal was to get shoes they could wear every day and not complain. Or end up with bunions in their teen years.

So I’m sitting there on the couch and I look over at these two adorable kids. No, not mine. These OTHER two adorable kids. I’m guessing around ages 3 and 6. The little girl was older, long blond hair, glittery TOMS flats, and a cowlneck, sweater tunic (Oh, it’s 50 degrees here and raining, we’re all freezing while the rest of the world is enjoying summer, so that wasn’t strange to me at all.) Her little brother was also in TOMS and some little denim jacket and twill pants and little shirt- we are talking styling. Not the ripped jeans and Old Navy t-shirts my kids were wearing. And then the mom. She was tall, about 5’10” or so, THIN, size 2 maybe, heels, skinny jeans, cute little top, perfectly coiffed hair, make up, nice hand bag. I was staring. Yeah, me in my pajama jeans and sweatshirt. I’m just staring at this mom and her two kids browse the shoe department. How the fuck do they look so perfect? This woman better have some secret addiction to eating her toenail clippings or drinking nail polish. Because just looking at her was irritating as hell.

There I sat, like a lumpy, dumpy ass. Ugh, then I saw my reflection in the mirrored column and THAT didn’t help. Cuz that’s when I remembered I didn’t put on any makeup, minus the mascara I slapped on. I look at Emma and raise my eyebrows in a signal like, ‘look over there’. She does and picks up on my cues. She mouths to me, ‘YOU LOOK FINE’.

GOOD LORD– she knew what I was thinking! Clearly she saw it too. Not feeling well didn’t help either.

And this isn’t about always knowing that I need to look red carpet worthy. I KNOW it’s what’s on the inside that counts. And that I can whip my way through party conversation and reenact skits of Saturday Night Live that has my girlfriend’s peeing in their yoga pants. That my worth is more than my jean’s size.  But this woman’s appearance on that day and that time caught me at a weak point. And I hated it.

We wrapped up our shopping excursion. And I was exhausted and starving. So we did what any self deprecating mom does. Ordered Mexican for take out and went home to stuff my face with guacamole. I only ate half, just so you know.

In the car, Owen says, “Thanks mom for the shoes and taking us shopping. And thanks for being our mom.” Then Emma says, “yeah, thanks for the shoes, and for birthing us. You know- out your butt and all.” Then they laugh and high-five each other. And I start laughing too.

Take that, Skinny Jeans Nordstrom Size 2 Mom.


How I felt I looked like at the mall.

How the other mom looked at the mall.

Skinny guys rule.

*And just let me say, I don’t mean fat people don’t rule, or regular, average size people don’t rule. It’s just for the sake of my skinnier than normal husband- okay?

In defense of skinny people that wish they weren’t so thin- this post is for you. (Seriously, not many have sympathy for you.)

Also, this is a chance for me to complain needlessly about the skinny people I live with. My husband and two children. I’m a size 6/8 and I’m the fat one. Please don’t take this the wrong way- I don’t want anyone griping at me for my gripes. You try living with Jack Sprat.

This will also be categorized under posts that my husband will roll his eyes at.

My husband is 6’2″ and about 150 pounds or so.  He’s 41 and has weighed the same since 1988. It’s really a freak of nature how he stays so thin. That, or he has a tapeworm.

Try being around a guy that is skinnier than you after you’ve passed week 16 of a pregnancy. I outweighed him most of the last 12 years. It’s a bitch.

I’m sorry James.

I’m always complaining about how I would like to lose 10 pounds. I USED to have a fast metabolism. And it’s not slow as a sloth slow, but it isn’t what it used to be. Pregnancy changed all that. I could put away a Mexican dinner at one setting. I barely exercised and you could see my ribs. I wore a size 2 easily. Now I fight for every pound to NOT gain. I have practically eliminated alcohol intake, have become a ‘sort of vegan’(The Reluctant Vegan). Work out. A few times a week. I definitely can do better. I love carbs. I love bread and corn. Popcorn, corn chips, tortilla chips. Corn is the bane of my muffin top. Bread is too. White bread sometimes with butter, but not since giving up dairy. Avocados are my new vice. With chips of course.  Curse them. My metabolism has predictably slowed. I’m almost 40. It’s bound to happen.

I remember in my 20s feeling upset over zits I had. Not serious acne, just troublesome, gross white heads on my chin. Ugh. It drove me nuts. I would make deals with God to clear up my skin. I would ask him if I could be 10 pounds heavier if I just had clear skin. My skin is clear now. What is the statute of limitations on deals with God?

Then there’s tapeworm boy (I’ll explain this later.): James will have a bowl of ice cream EVERY night. He can eat a bag of chips while he watches a football game. He never eats breakfast and he rarely exercises- hello? Two of Dr. Oz’s rules for losing weight- he breaks! He puts sour cream and cheese on everything. He can eat a box of Kraft mac and cheese. But then on the flip side- he’ll ‘forget’ to eat. Yeah, that’s such bull shit! He’ll work from home, have a latte in the morning, forget to eat, then at about 2 in the afternoon realize he’s famished. See? Total bull shit. Who does that? I am starved by 11 am and need 2nd breakfast like a Hobbit or something.

There was a time about 20 years ago he tried to bulk up. He protein loaded and worked out all the time. I think he put on about 5 pounds of muscle in about 4 months. Waaa, waa, waa. (That’s me fake-crying.)

I hate when his side of the family makes a big deal about his thinness. As if it’s something new. When was he ever chubby? Never!

It seems like Owen is following in James’ skinny footsteps. He’s a bean pole with no meat on him. A Jack Sprat type like his dad. He doesn’t like being asked about why he’s so skinny. James doesn’t really like it either. It’s not fun to poke fun at anyone’s appearance regardless if they’re skinny or fat. (“Real” women have curves- Really …?)

Recently, James is embracing his skinniness. Especially since his peers are starting that tire around the middle.  His brother jokes that he has a tapeworm. This makes total sense. He can only eat this much and NOT gain weight, if he was feeding a creature in his abdomen like Alien. Not to worry, he doesn’t exhibit any other signs of having a parasite. His cholesterol is safe, especially for his age (40s), and he’s otherwise healthy. So when we go out to dinner and he orders his Fettucini Alfredo with a side of garlic bread and a ceasar salad with extra cheese, he pats his tummy and says, “gotta feed the tapeworm”. Oh geez.

Well alright then. Hey, skinny guys rule. (James’ motto)

Plus, in 20 years when he’s 60, I think it will catch up with him. Now we just need to figure out his Mcdreamy head of hair. He’s had the same hair since high school too. Like I said- the guy is a freak of nature. In a nice way though. And I wouldn’t change a thing. Love you babe!

Some cute and skinny famous guys:

Andrew Garfield- cute, skinny, and English (oh and hair like James too!)

David Beckham- I'm not crazy for tats, but again- cute, skinny, English

Team Edward. Twilight haters hush up. Cute, skinny, English. Hmmm, I'm sensing a pattern here.

Adrien Brody. I'm not a huge fan. But of this picture I am. Oh, and not English. Skinny but ripped.

Cute. Skinny. not English or famous- but my favorite for sure. Gorgeous.