To celebrate summer fun, Redbox is asking moms, “What’s your family’s go-to movie night snack?” Plus, they are rewarding 2 lucky people with a chance to win $10,000 as part of the Redbox Summer of Fun & Games Sweepstakes.
My family’s favorite go-to movie night snack has to be popcorn. I’m sure this is typical in most households but for this Chicago girl, nothing goes better with a great movie than Garrett’s Chicago Mix popcorn.
When the weather’s rainy and cold, there’s nothing quite like cuddling up under some blankets close to those you love the most, watching a great family movie and munching on popcorn.
If the weather is miserably hot outside, at my house we call that a lounge day. We pick a movie the whole family will enjoy like Beverly Hills Chihuahua II or Grease and we have good time laughing together and munching on a fabulous mix of cheese and carmel corn ( Chicago Style).
I may not live in the Chicagoland area these days but believe me when I tell you that my girls KNOW if there’s a great movie on the screen, Chicago mix popcorn should be on the table. We’ve even learned to improvise and make our own mix. I love sharing this special treat and my love of a good movie with my girls.
I hope someday my girls will be watching a great movie, cuddled up with their little ones, eating some Chicago Mix Popcorn and think of special moments spent with their father and myself. I hope they get the same warm fuzzy feeling that I get sharing these extraordinary ordinary moments with them now.
Redbox is celebrating summer family time with a great line up of family-friendly titles, awesome savings and two chances to win $10,000 as part of the Redbox Summer of Fun & Games Sweepstakes.*
4 Easy Ways to Enter:
1. Enter your email address at www.redbox.com/summer
2. Rent a movie or game at a redbox kiosk (and provide a valid email address at checkout)
This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Redbox. The opinions and text are all mine.
*Each item rented earns one entry, regardless of how long it is rented, up to three entries per day. Limit 3 entries per day, regardless of entry method. The sweepstakes begins May 27, 2011 at 12:00 a.m. CT and ends on August 1, 2011 at 11:59 p.m. CT. No purchase necessary. See official rules at www.redbox.com/summer.
There’s a giant collective social media gasp going on about Jenny McCarthy’s tweeted pregnancy weightphoto. I think most people either love Jenny McCarthy for her outspoken and witty personality or they hate her for her annoyingly good looks. I, personally, think she has always been hilarious and I love anybody who can take themselves with a grain of salt. Sure she’s absolutely gorgeous, but hey everybody can’t be perfect. We’ve all got our burdens to bear and her’s just so happens to be that she is just too damn good looking.
So, while I’ve been visiting all of my favorite places in social media this week (Momversation, HerSay and The Stir) I’ve come across the photo of her weighing 200+ pounds multiple times and I have one thing to say …. You go girl with your bad ass self! As a fellow Mommy, how could I not love someone who is a self proclaimed Mommy Warrior and Cellulite Killer?
Let’s be honest, how many of us would disclose, little lone tweet, photos of ourselves in less than our peak physical condition? Hell, isn’t that part of why we love social media so much? We can hide behind our computers and only release what we want to the general public..after it’s been cropped above the waist ( so you don’t see our big Twitter asses), Photoshopped (so that you can’t see all the dark circles under our eyes from no sleep from crazy kids) or at the very least, we can put on our make-up and hair ( no one needs to know we are wearing our pajama bottoms with spit up on them in our vlogs).
The Weight of Imperfection
I’ve seen our “baby bump” photos we share with one another, they are normally the most flattering ones we can find. Who wants to admit they looked like they ate for four? But I think it takes guts and/or balls to be honest about your authentic self. We live in a world that is so perfect-body obsessed and body image twisted that we all run around trying to keep up with the imaginary, Photoshopped Joneses. *News Flash..This Just In…THOSE FUCKERS DON’T EXIST! During pregnancy, our body is not our own and we have to relinquish some control and accept, to a degree, that we can not be a flawless size zero while growing a human. I know it’s hard…how I know.
I only think Jenny McCarthy is more awesome for losing all that weight after gaining it during pregnancy. Hell, I only gained 18 pounds with each pregnancy but I had already gained 50 with the marriage. I lost all the baby weight by the time I walked out of the hospital with my baby in my arms, but that marriage weight? That’s something entirely different, 12 years later and I’m still trying to lose that.
Forget about the Weight
I commend Jenny McCarthy for showing us all that she is human. In doing so, she’s become a super hero to me. Thank you for being one bad ass honest Mommy!
Let’s all take a cue from Jenny and release ourselves from the shackles of the myth of perfection. Be the you that makes you happy. Own it! Love yourself honestly and unconditionally; the world will follow suit. Good, bad, ugly, overweight, or under weight.[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]
Jours Apres Lunes you get a big fat Throat Punch for creating a line of “loungerie” for children. Yes, you read that correctly. A line of sexy loungerie has been created for the 3 months to pre teen set. Yes, I did say 3 months! I don’t see the point in making seduction clothing for children who haven’t even learned where babies come from yet.
Look, I’m no prude. My girls wear bikinis. I even let them wear flavored lip balm. But under no circumstances would it ever be appropriate or necessary for my 4 and 6-year-old to EVER wear sexy loungerie.
When I read the articles and saw the photos of ten-year-old French model Thylane Loubry Blondeau‘s provocative spread in Vogue Paris that created an international uproar, I thought what’s the big deal. It was not in good taste but I didn’t see what was so taboo about it.
But in response to the bad press ( no press is bad press I guess), Jours Apres Lunes has created a new French line of children lingerie and has now gone public! Balls, anyone?
You decide, has Jours Apres Lunes gone too far with child-sized loungerie?
You be the judge; is this appropriate? To say nothing of the post coital hair and triangle bra top, look at the make up brushes and aerosol cans. The implication and innuendo speak volumes.
Hey, Jours Après Lunes, you can call it “loungerie” all you want..but sexy skivvies and see through panties are LINGERIE. No matter what you think you can convince us to call it. It’s still NOT anything children should be wearing.
If you place children in sexually provocative poses and photograph them, you are a pornographer..NOT a photographer. And where the hell are these kids’ moms? These little girls don’t need to seduce anyone. There should be no baby making on their agenda because..oh yeah…THEY ARE BABIES!!!
Jours Apres Lunes You have overstepped the boundaries.
I think the creepiest part is that the photos of what looks like a 2-3-year-old sitting around with big sunglasses and lipstick next to a slightly older girl. In what world is that OK? Apart, none of it is provocative but together it is, especially when it’s a print ad for children’s lingerie. Who is this even being marketed to? Pedophiles? Perverts?Molesters? The Doug Hutchison’s of the world? Owners of sex slaves? Husbands of teen brides?
Surely, mothers in their right minds are not buying lingerie or “LOUNGERIE” for their little girls? I knew things were getting out of control when I saw high heels for babies but now lingerie for children. Why is our society so hell bent on sexualizing our children?
It seems the societal lines are very clear cut on this subject either you are a prude and you say no to bikinis, lip gloss, and finger nail polish or you are a pervert and say it’s all alright, even supporting baby lingerie and co-ed sleepovers for tweens. There has to be a middle ground where those of us who are sane can reside with our children and their innocence. What’s next? Sex toys disguised as your favorite cartoon characters and marketed to the 5 to 10 set? Mini Dora dildos? Swiper, no swiping!
The print photos alone are enough to earn Jours Apres Lunes a hefty Throat Punch, but the fact that they have went out of their way to create a line of lingerie for children and then market it to what can only be assumed some of the most unsavory and unscrupulous people in existence has cinched it for them.
Jours Apres Lunes your tactics for marketing are appalling and the product itself would be much better suited for the over 16 set. Jours Apres Lunes…Je Acuse!
Jours Apres Lunes taking Objectification to new heights
Do you thnk Jours Apres Lunes is just cashing in on a trending topic or advocating for the sexualization of our young girls?
Play Dates please! I can’t believe it’s been six years since the birth of my first child, that means I have been doing this play date thing for about the last 5 years and 3 months ( give or take). I know, we were late to the scene. What can I say I was a newbie and had no idea what I was doing. Three moves later and I am still the new girl, ergo so are my girls. When they were smaller, I felt it was my duty to find prospective dates for my girls. I signed us up for a couple of the “it” classes that are imperative for childhood development at that age. It’s hard work but if I want them to be any kind of anybody when they grow up, I needed to put myself out there. I’d hate for them to grow up to be hermits or serial killers because I was too lazy to enroll in a damn Gymboree class. It really is the little things, folks.
Play Dates are not for the Weak
It basically worked like this, I’d go to our classes and cast my potential friend net far and wide. I’d try and gauge from the brief encounters with the other mothers and the public interactions of those Mommies with their children, who just might be worthy of our friendship, or at the very least, which other Mommies were on “my” level. I know, it sounds horrible when you say it out loud but let’s be honest, nobody want to be friends with the one eyed, mean mom whose kid barks like a dog and bites everyone. This casting the friend net scenario is very akin to freshman year in college. We all did it.Some of us cast the net, some of us were caught and all of us threw some back. You are scared, alone, new to the area and willing to befriend and accept just about anyone into your “clique”. Let’s be clear, you’ve got to start a clique so that you can be a part of something. We have a need to belong to the best clique (for our children’s sake) but we end up so desperate that we’ll have a play date with just about anyone who’ll have us; provided they walk upright,have two eyes and their kid doesn’t bark and bite everyone. That is until we get our bearings and regain our senses.
Play Dates the hard TRUTH
In most cases, the original play date relationship dynamic falls apart and ends in a tortured long death…much like a Kevin Bacon movie ( or this post..I knew you were thinking it). You see, the original net we cast to catch that elusive play date friend usually has a lot of throw backs. Just like freshman year, we find ourselves floundering to unmake the original friendships because we find that we have absolutely nothing in common, except for our one common denominator, said children. Common sense rears its ugly head to smack us upside our fantasy, a warm body is not enough to sustain a real friendship but it can foster a false sense of belonging. The things we’ll subject ourselves to in order to feel accepted. I don’t know why we do this, especially as Mommies, we are dragging our poor children into this pit under the guise that “this is what’s best for my baby”. In our hearts, we mean only good and can never, at its inception, perceive or fathom what twilight zone like situations we may soon find ourselves in!That’s right, I even cast my net and caught that mean one-eyed mommy and my kid may or may not have been barked at and bitten.Don’t judge. Its hard being a Mommy. It’s damn lonely at the top.
Of course, I’ve been doing this for years now.I’m a play date pro but my babies are not babies anymore. It’s turning from a situation in which my girls and I go over and hang out with another Mommy and her little ones into a situation where I’m the babysitter for some kid who wants to come over and play. Which I have absolutley no problem with, no way I’m sending my kid over to the kid’s house who thinks he’s a dog without my supervision. But, as I said, we are the new girls again. Where’s that leave me? I need friends too. Oh well, I guess it’s time for Mama to start trolling the coffee houses for my own friends. Zumba class? The library? The grocery store? Church? PTA? What can I say, deperate times, desperate measures. You better keep an eye out, you just might see me trolling the local farmers market trying to chat up some new mommy. What do you do to make friends once Play Dates are no longer an option? How do you get Mommy Play Dates when your kids no linger need a fix up and you are home all day?
Last Friday, I kept Bella home from school so that we could watch the Royal Wedding together. I know it may sound absurd to some and it did, even to me, a few days before. But as the week was heading towards the wedding day, all of the sudden it hit me that when I was 8, I watched the wedding of Princes Diana and Prince Charles. I distinctly remember being up at 3 in the morning with my Mom and absolutely exhausted, sitting on the couch in our living room waiting excitedly to see my first ever real life Princes marry her prince. It truly was a magical moment for me. I vividly remember the dress and the ridiculously long train.But more than that, I remember the feeling of witnessing something that was historical and in that moment I felt like I was a part of history. A part of a fairytale. It was exhilarating and magical.
So on Friday, I woke Bella up and we put on our tiaras and snuggled on the couch. We drank some tea and I had a cup ( or 3 ) of coffee, and there may or may not have been some sugary pastry of some sort that found its way into the house. As we sat there waiting to see Kate’s dress, I held my breath and watched carefully the face of my 6 year old, studying it for any sign of significant reaction. I didn’t know if she really got it. Maybe she was too young.Maybe I was a real douche bag for waking my 6 year old up at 4:30 am. Maybe? Then we saw the soon to be Princess and Bella’s eyes brightened and I could see in her face all the awe that I had felt all those years ago.I hope that when her children read about this wedding in school someday, she can look back fondly on it and remember wearing tiaras and snuggling on the couch with her Mommy watching a princess marry her prince. And I hope it makes her smile.
Bella’s two top front teeth have been swaying back and forth , barely hanging on for almost a week now. Bella was determined to get at least one of those teeth out on the day of the wedding. She said it would be henceforth be known as her “Royal tooth”. Poor thing, she really tried to wiggle that sucker completely loose. Friday night came and went and that tooth still hung on. In fact, it hung in there all weekend long, until finally last night it twisted right out followed tonight by it’s companion. We promised her, under duress and tears, that we would still allow the tooth to be known henceforth as her “Royal Tooth” and it is. She said the tooth she lost tonight, she would like ti to be known as her “Love Tooth” because today is her Daddy’s birthday and she loves him. Why yes, yes she did make me cry a little bit.
Which brings us to our last, but certainly not least, wrap up of the last few days…today is the Big Guys birthday. He is turning 36.I have had him for 13 of those birthdays, almost a third of his life and I am a very lucky girl. Today’s birthday was a little hard to handle because we couldn’t celebrate it together. But soon that will be over and we will all be in the same household together like a normal family and that is definitely something to look forward to. But for now, I just wanted to say…Big Guy, I love you and we miss you. This is the last birthday any of us will have to send apart. And I leave you with the lyrics to the song that I think sums up our feelings about the Big Guy on his birthday:
I know why I did it. I did it because I wanted to peer down into the face of awesome and feel my throat close itself with a giant lump of love. I wanted my heart to walk around outside of my body. I wanted to cry tears of awe and inspiration. I wanted to make the world a better place. I wanted to love something so completely that time and space could not measure it. I wanted to experience selflessness beyond measure. I wanted to have a physical piece of myself and the Big Guy joined forever. I did it because, since I can remember, I always wanted to be someone’s Mommy. I wanted someone to curl into that space between my neck and my shoulder and fill my heart completely. I wanted little fingers to wrap around mine and hold on for dear life. I wanted to experience hiccups in my belly. I wanted to experience the evolution of myself into a better version than I ever could have imagined. I wanted to feel small in the universe but mighty in my own life. I wanted to provide the change that I wanted to see in the world. I wanted to create a little person who I could call my very own. I wanted to hold the future in my arms and quietly sing her a lullaby. I did it for a purpose. I did it because my heart wanted to grow three times it original size. The love and joy quota that is met by having a child is addictive. At the moment of birth, I felt so small next to my little one who had come into the world and humbled me into wanting to make the world better for her sake.
[/fusion_builder_column][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”]Our hearts were wide open after Ella and Begging for Abbi.So, we had #2!
Warning: Pregnancy Can be addictive
Then I did it again! But now, I am at a point where I am far enough away from the beginning of my babies and heading head first into big girl territory that my retrospective 20/20 vision is kicking in. The fog of baby bliss is giving way to the reality of sibling rivalry, no peeing in peace, no showering alone, no time to myself, temper tantrums, “You’re the meanest mother in the world”, changing outfits 75 times a day and picky eating habits with an even more discerning entertainment palate. I still love my girls with all that I am and for all that they are but now, sometimes…I need a moment or two to hit refresh. I have been spying small glimpses break through here and there of what the future holds…quiet time, me time and time alone with my husband. I hate the letting go and growing up part. It hurts to love someone so much that you can’t imagine a time when they will not be snuggled firmly in your lap or resting their sweet head on your shoulder but there is comfort in finding yourself again, with a renewed perspective and more bold take on life. I am looking forward to that. I frequently say that I am done, half true and I believe, half to convince myself. Either way, my heart is full and I have learned from experience to never say never.
Where are you on the pregnancy spectrum? Are you expecting? Anticipating? Unsure if you are ready to embark on the momentous occasion ? On the fence as to whether or not you want to go through it all again? Or contemplating being fulfilled with what you have now? Or have you decided that it is not for you at all? How did you come to where you are? Why? I’d love to hear your stories.
Birth and pregnancy happen, especially when you least expect it. It seems that it is universally applicable that trying too hard at anything puts too much pressure on ourselves and we end up with performance anxiety. This is why on my first pregnancy, I conceived while still in the “planing to plan to have a baby stage”. There was no pressure, we were just sexing it up and having a good time…maybe too good of a time. When I found out that I was pregnant, I was ecstatic. I had waited for this moment since I had gotten married, maybe since my husband proposed. There is just something so liberating about intentionally making a baby ( *or planning to plan to have a baby) with the man that you love, aside from all the baby making, birth control free nookie. And I don’t just mean the fact that I took it as a license to eat carbs without guilt for 10 months. Heck to the yeah, I could finally eat and exhale! I was overjoyed, to say the least. Do you know how awesome it is to NOT worry that someone is going to mistake your baby doll dress and burrito belly for a baby bump? It was glorious!
Oh Sh*t, Pregnancy!
Then I made the mistake of reading all of those nightmare inducing, statistic laced pregnancy books. All the good times I had planned for gave way to worry and anxiety. Thank God, I hadn’t tried to educate myself before conceiving or I would have been scared to death, maybe even chalked up the whole idea. I’m pretty squeamish about pain, blood and body fluids and let’s face it..that’s all giving birth is aside from the miracle it all results in. Before getting pregnant, no one told me about gestational diabetes, the disfigurement of stretch marks, outtie belly buttons, linea negrias, noses spreading, feet growing, acne, bacne and spider veins. Nobody told me that the “glow” was code for ugly, exhausted and fat. Worse, nobody told me about what happens when you give birth. NOBODY told me how excruciatingly painful it would be. No one gave me a heads up that there was NO modesty or dignity in giving birth. My friends never told me that transition labor would feel like a cracked out, ninja ghoulie was trying to chew it’s way out of my lower abdomen. Nobody told me that trying to birth a baby would take as long as a transatlantic flight. NO.BODY.TOLD.ME!! Not even my Mama! Why?Why did no one tell me????
Pregnancy, Nobody Told Me
I had no idea that I’d be put into a gown that couldn’t possibly cover my protruding belly without completely exposing my pasty white derriere complete with assne. No one told me that I’d have 27 doctors, nurses and passersby sticking there hand in my woohoo to check “how far along” I was. I wasn’t told that I’d be bored out of my brain, watching Jerry Springer, when I’d be struck mute by pain and only be able to whisper the words, “Oh Sh*t” and “Oh God” alternately and on repeat. Most importantly, NO ONE told me that I might have a bowel movement on the birthing table. Between you and me, that’s a deal breaker. I would have opted for a surrogate or adopted a little brown baby from Mexico (then maybe I would have had a chance that the baby would look like it was actually related to me).
But no one tells you these things. To be clear, I intentionally starved myself for the two days before I was induced. When the time came, I gave it my all. I got 25 stitches for my trouble and a gorgeous baby girl. My husband assures me that I did not poop on the birthing table and the only thing I pushed into the world that afternoon was our firstborn. Did he tell me the truth? Or was he trying to restore some of the dignity I had lost from the hourly dipstick checks? I’ll probably never really know. I’m just hoping in the throes of a heated discussion I never hear “ Oh yeah, well you did sh*t on the birthing table! It was real and it was spectacular!” For now, I choose to believe in a world where there are unicorns, fairies and no one poops the table while giving birth. If there’s a next time, I may just be done with it and have Indian food the night before induction. I say go big or go home. Sh*t happens!
The List~ This is a post that I first wrote for my good friend, Kit at blogging dangerously, but I can feel the weight of the list breathing me in and breathing me out. It is time to share the list here—–P.S. It’s my birthday today and I will write a post about it later but I would love to cross some things off the list. Reach my goal of 1000 GFC followers on here, 3000 Twitter followers and 500 FB fans! If you love the TRUTH about Motherhood please consider following! XO Debi
Racheal Ashe
The List
Seems more and more often lately, I’ve been finding myself in the most advanced stages of sleep deprivation. I wish I could blame it on late nights of steamy sex with my Big Guy in the conjugalorium or I wish I could blame it on a colicky newborn, no who am I kidding, no way in hell do I wish I could blame it on a colicky newborn. I can’t even blame it on a baby that needs to be breastfed on the regular. No feverish child. No worrisome thought or situation that needs my immediate attention. No, it’s much worse than that. My near-fatal case of sleep deprivation is caused by my incessant need to make list of all the things that I perpetually need to not forget to do. The moment my head hits the pillow, every single thought of the day comes rushing to the surface and I lie there with my eyes wide open as the lists appear in every direction I look. Apparently, in my house, the hours between 11 pm and 1 am are the time period in which I get my one and only reprieve from Mommy brain. It is the time of the list; unending, unforgiving, unrelenting…the list.
These are not the list of wishes that I want to attain; the list of groceries I need to buy or even the list , the endless list of work that I need to complete at any given time. No, they are the list of my life. You know the list of all the shit that any mother has to do the next day, compounded by all the things I don’t want to forget, mix in some groceries, a laundry list of paperwork to be returned to schools, drop-offs and pickups, baths, errands, classes, obligations, playdates, fruit market, work, envelopes for church to be filled, parent-teacher meetings, auditions, uniforms to be pressed, lunches to be made, bills to schedule, cards to mail, birthdays, anniversaries, funerals and weddings and oh yeah, all the things that I must remember not to forget to make sure that my kids don’t end up in ten years worth of therapy because I forgot to put dress down day on the fucking LIST!
The List: Must Remember to:
Buy organic milk. Reach 3000 Twitter followers.Get shoes out of trunk. Bobby pins. Sign up to volunteer. Talk to teacher. Wash jeans sparkly jeans and peace sign shirt (long sleeve not short sleeve) for dress down day. Dress down day. Girl Scouts. Pick up tickets for the ballet. Pick up deodorant for husband. Buy birthday gift for Suzy. Take dog to vet. Call sister to wish happy birthday. Buy shampoo. And conditioner. Oh yeah, Dress down day. Tell husband car is making funny noise. Call the mechanic. Confirm lunch date with friend. Find a new gynecologist. Call the insurance company about bill for unknown service. Refill blood pressure medicine. Dress down day. Make healthy lunch for girls.Reach 500 FB fans. Go to the grocery store to buy healthy food, everything in pantry is crap. Call my mom. Ask doctor for Xanax. Put gas in the car. Do homework with Ella. Make cookies for bake sale. Milk the cows. Go to bakery. Buy cookies. Feed the chickens. Ballet. Iron shirts for husband. Shit! Show up for work. Shave legs. Wax lip. Breathe. Buy wine. Answer emails. Drink wine. Meet husband for intimate time in spare room. Teach Abbi the alphabet. Get girls to sleep in their own beds. Dress down day. Return field trip permission slip. Play date with neighbor. Piano. Student of the week. Zoo. Write a book. Take a nap. Take a shower. Eat. Rinse. Repeat. Hug the kids. Chicago. Halloween costumes. Birthday. Reach 1000 GFC followers on my blog. Dress. Down. Day!
That’s the list for a Monday. If I could just forget all of the things that I need to remember, I could have an 87% chance of surviving my stage 4 sleep deprivation. As it stands, just when I think I’ve forgotten the list and I’ve resigned myself over to the peaceful bliss of Mommy brain, I remember every thought, errand and conversation of the day…the list can’t be killed. Once again, I find myself wide-awake at the wee hours of the night. How can I be expected to raise proper little people with all the list running through my head and holding my sleep hostage? Tonight, I’ll have a glass of wine (or two) and pray for the list to get lost on its journey. Mommy brain, don’t fail me now.
Obesity~ The epidemic that is causing broken hearts and leaving dead bodies in it’s wake all across the world but more specifically in my own home country of the United States. It’s no wonder either. We are a people that live fast paced, on the go and high stress existences. We are always running to and fro and we are overworked and overwhelmed. We are a land of overachievers. In our quest for trying to be the best, we are dropping the ball in one particular area of our life, the most important area..our health. We are mindlessly stress eating too often, everything is super-sized while saturated in grease and we are so busy behind our computers or at our desks that we never get enough exercise. Even when we have the good intentions to work out, we have to beg, borrow and steal to find the time, energy and a babysitter. Sounds to me like obesity is the logical evolution of our current collective lifestyle. But I say NO more!
Just Say No to Obesity
Recently, the answer has been to make fat acceptable. That’s right, I just used the word FAT. Overweight. Obese. However you spin it. If your BMI is over 30 you are a victim, willing participant or whatever the case may be of the epidemic of obesity. Just because we are afraid to hurt one another’s feelings, feel the need to be politically correct and keep changing the size of clothing to pretend we are smaller than we actually are does not mean that we are healthy.It just means that we are packaging obesity in a different way, a prettier package. The only way to be healthy is to put down the fork, get up and get moving and make healthier choices all around. But first, we need to be honest with ourselves! Obesity is no joke. Just because we all pretend it’s cute,package it in fancy clothes and commiserate does not make it any less damaging to our health. That is the point, I am making. That is why the obesity epidemic gets my throat punch. I am fully aware that there are medical conditions that cause some people to be heavy and it’s beyond their control but I’d suspect that only accounts for about 1% of obesity cases. I know most of us don’t do it on purpose, though there are those rare cases of those who do. Most of us got fat the good old fashioned way…we ate too much.
What got me so fired up, you ask? This piece was posted on Facebook, apparently it is spreading like a grassroots fire. I have provided it here…
A while back, at the entrance of a gym, there was a picture of a very thin and beautiful woman. The caption was “This summer, do you want to be a mermaid or a whale?”
The story goes, a woman (of clothing size unknown) answered the following way:
“Dear people, whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, seals, curious humans), they are sexually active and raise their children with great tenderness. They entertain like crazy with dolphins and eat lots of prawns. They swim all day and travel to fantastic places like Patagonia, the Barents Sea or the coral reefs of Polynesia. They sing incredibly well and sometimes even are on cds. They are impressive and dearly loved animals, which everyone defends and admires.
Is this how Obesity is protected by vilifying the Alternative?
Mermaids do not exist.
But if they existed, they would line up to see a psychologist because of a problem of split personality: woman or fish? They would have no sex life and could not bear children. Yes, they would be lovely, but lonely and sad. And, who wants a girl that smells like fish by his side?
Without a doubt, I’d rather be a whale.
At a time when the media tells us that only thin is beautiful, I prefer to eat ice cream with my kids, to have dinner with my husband, to eat and drink and have fun with my friends.
We women, we gain weight because we accumulate so much wisdom and knowledge that there isn’t enough space in our heads, and it spreads all over our bodies. We are not fat, we are greatly cultivated. Every time I see my curves in the mirror, I tell myself: “How amazing am I ?! “
People can say that it is awesome that Tara Lynn is on the cover of a magazine. She is beautiful. Kudos can be given because they see a woman who may look a bit more like who they see in the mirror versus a Adriana Lima. I get that. But I also get that it is NOT healthy. To be honest, if I wanted to see chunky on display, I’d look in the mirror. There has to be healthy sizes in between, maybe something in the 8-14 spectrum. What I would consider to be the average sizes, or what I have been lead to believe is average by what I see around me. Pretending that heavy is healthy is a white lie that may seem innocuous when being said to your best friend, your sister or yourself but think of the ripple effect. One person tells another person who tells another person that unhealthy is acceptable. We spare hurting feelings but we are literally killing one another with kindness. Obesity is an epidemic…like the plague the only difference is that we pretend that it’s not deadly. We treat it as a social disease rather than an honest to goodness medical threat. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to be a damn whale or a mermaid, I want to be a healthy human. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be healthy. Why do we have to accept obesity as the status quo? What are your thoughts on the obesity epidemic?
Pumpkin ~You know that Autumn has arrived when the sky above the pumpkin patch lingers and soaks up all the colors of the leaves, fields and pumpkins below holding the color like a mother cradling her child, smiling upon the world for all to bask in her radiant glow. Autumn has arrived officially at the pumpkin patch. Pumpkins can be harvested through the utilization of tractors. Those tractors must be at their peak condition. If not, it probably needs some fixing or some new parts which may be found from the number one source for compact tractor parts and foreign tractor parts.
Pumpkin Sky
Friday, we took our girls to the pumpkin patch. We’ve just recently relocated here, so this is the first of many traditions that we are forced to replace in our new surroundings. This is, by far, one of those holiday season traditions that our family most eagerly awaits every year. Expectations were high. Luckily, the Indian summer did not disappoint. As we arrived at the pumpkin patch, we were greeted by an autumn sky that illuminated the entire patch as if it were saying putting a spotlight on all of nature’s gifts; the grass so green, an amber sky and an array of warm colors on the trees. Enjoy and bask in all the pulchritudinous that the world has to offer you. With the sun shining on my face and my daughter’s smile beaming in my direction, I was thankful. Life was good.
Seriously, isn’t this kid the cutest?
My girls were so excited to be at the pumpkin patch; to be together. We took a hay ride, the girls took a barrel train ride as it started to sprinkle but they didn’t care, they claimed queen of the mountain as they took the straw hill. There were cut out boards where I photographed the girls giggling as they pretended to be the farmer and his wife and the infectious laughter that exuded from within when they pretended to be the farmer and his cow was contagious. In those moments, my soul was full. The girls fawned over the animals at the petting zoo; a Shetland pony with a crooked grin, a donkey who stunk to high heaven but wanted nothing more than to have my sweet girl’s attention, a goat with a tangled horn, the wooliest sheep that I’ve ever seen and a couple of kid face licking cow. The girls were in pure heaven.
Innocuous Pumpkin, you say?
Then we headed out to the pumpkin patch. The Big Guy and I told the girls that they could pick any pumpkin they wanted. They choose, he carves, I carry pumpkins to and from and remove pumpkin guts, as they are too squeamish to do so. I’m only appropriated the most glamorous jobs of the household. Unfortunately, herein lies the problem. Between paparazzi duties and carrying one of the great pumpkins, let’s just call him the Greatest Pumpkin because he weighed a solid 30 pounds if he weighed ten, I did some damage to my person. That’s right, I fought that pumpkin all the way to the car and he attacked me. This is why this post may not make a lot of sense, as my back went out and I am heavily medicated to be able to walk upright.
They say most crimes are perpetrated by someone close to you; someone you know and trust. Well, Great pumpkin, sir, you are no gentleman. I have been accosted by your rotundness, afflicted by your obesity and damaged by your girth. Happiest of holiday seasons to you and yours. Beware those jolly, happy bright orange vegetables, their looks are deceiving. What is your family’s favorite holiday tradition? Do you do the pumpkin patch?
