The one where the impossible becomes possible

I am a runner.

It’s taken me a long time to embrace that statement because I wasn’t running more than 2-3 miles at a time. Then, last fall, I did a 10K and last winter started training for a half marathon. Still, I wasn’t a “real” runner because I wasn’t fast.

But I don’t think I can deny that statement anymore.

Last Sunday, I completed the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. – training for a 26.2 mile race, and then actually running it, pretty much officializes (yes, I know that's not a word) you as a runner. There is no more denying it.

I am proud of myself. I’m not saying that to brag, but simply because it’s the truth. Less than six months ago, when completed my half marathon, I told myself I could never, ever, EVER run a full one. Never. No way. Cannot do. Don’t even try it, sister!

And then one night I found myself registering to run the Marine Corps Marathon for the American Cancer Society and mapping out a training plan that had runs of increasing distances (15, 16, 18, 20 miles) and thinking, “Oh my God! What have I done?!?”

But each training run was completed – not always easily and not always quickly – but I did each and every one.

Over the past few weeks and months, I cannot tell you how many people have said to me, “I could never do a marathon.”

Which is funny, because that’s exactly what I said to myself and others only a few short months ago. And today I write to you as a marathoner.

Don’t ever sell yourself short. Don’t ever tell yourself you can’t. Don’t ever give up on something you believe in.

Because whether your goal is to run a marathon or start a business or learn to hang glide, you can do it. And you should. Life it too short to spend it in regret.

Skin deep

“What’s that for?” asks Loaf repeatedly as she watches me go through my morning routine – applying one cream to my under-eye area, a different one to my face and neck, adding sunscreen, slathering body lotion from the neck down, swishing mineral makeup over my face and finishing with eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss.

I am aware, as I apply a minimum of a half-dozen products, that I am shaping her thoughts about feminine beauty and acceptance. Thus, I try to screen my answers – making them less about beauty and vanity and more about feeling good in general. As I dab the thick wrinkle cream around my eyes, I say casually, “Oh, it just helps my skin feel better.” I know it’s a lie and I hate lying.

I secretly hope that she isn’t actually paying as much attention as she appears to be. I hope that she isn’t filing it away and possibly drawing upon it down the road as she stands in a drugstore wondering what lotions and potions she “needs” to feel pretty or accepted or youthful.

It is the same with exercise.

”Why do you exercise so much, Mommy?” asked Peanut a few months back.

I told her a partial truth: that I want to be healthy and strong, but I skipped right over my motivation to keep my weight down. Soon enough, she will hear about the “importance” of being skinny from her peers or the press; she does not need me to plant the seed.

I catch myself far too often telling them how pretty they are, how nice their hair or eyes are. How cute they look in their clothes. Even though I know confidence is built on many levels, I inwardly cringe a little and try to balance these comments by telling them (when warranted) that they are hard working, caring, strong, fast and smart. I don't think it's a bad thing to compliment your daughter on her looks, but I think you have to be careful not to make it *just* about appearance.

This is especially tricky with girls. You don't need me to spout about the pressure they're under to be thin. To be beautiful. To attract a partner. To have dewey skin and voluminous, shiny hair and plump lips and big breasts. I worry about it to the point where I don't keep Glamour or Cosmo or celebrity magazines like Us in the house. I don't want them to think those pictures are what women are supposed to look like.

I wish I were one of those women who can walk around confidently with no makeup and hair in a simple ponytail, but it’s not me; it never has been. I don’t know where I got it from, because my mom is a makeup minimalist. She is blessed with good genes and good sense, things I hope are passed to my girls.

Either way, I hope they know they are worthy of being loved and accepted for ALL their amazing characteristics. And I hope they'll find comfort in their own skin - with or without a little makeup.

Baby got back

I recently snapped this picture in the men's section of a major sporting goods chain:



Now, I know booties are all the rage right now, but seriously. Seriously?!?

Women's mannequins are so thin the sales people have to use safety pins to keep size zero clothing from falling off them and in the men's department we have this? Who allows this stuff? Why don't we just give him a beer gut for good measure.

::sigh::

Snowsteria

My adopted home state of New Jersey carries a lot of baggage around with it: polluted, corrupted, rude, crowded, loud, expensive.

You cannot step outside the boundaries of this state without someone making a "Joisey" joke. And the entertainment industry has not helped (The Sopranos, Real Housewives of New Jersey, or Jersey-FREAKIN'-Shore, anyone??)

Two years ago, we attended a party with a bunch of Mark's high school friends and one of them launched into a story about the time some "big Jersey girl" sucker-punched her in a New York City bar. (How, exactly, she knew this girl was from New Jersey and not, say, Brooklyn or Staten Island or upstate New York was not clear. Perhaps while the woman was punching her, Mark's friend looked up and said, "Oh hey! Nice to meet you. Where are you from?" Or perhaps after being pummeled the two shared a beer and exchanged business cards. Since it was not explained, I can really only guess.)

Regardless, I would have to add that one more NJ stereotype is "tough." We are, I'm sure you've heard, a mean state. A bit violent. The Sopranos and Jersey Shore confirm this, so of course it must be true.

So why oh why do a few falling snow flakes turn this state into a quivering, frightened, scaredy-cat? I wish *that* had been an episode of The Sopranos. Can you see it? Tony steps outside the Bing ready to *&# % someone up, but when he gets outside - GASP! - it's snowing. Instead, he runs home screaming - stopping only once at the A&P to load up on TP and the ingredients for chicken parm.

I mean, really - it's just SNOW, for Pete's sake. And last time I checked, it was February. Which is - wait for it - WINTER. Apparently, someone forgot to tell New Jersey that in winter, snow is a regular, even expected occurrence. Sure, it's annoying and yes, it can make driving a pain in the arse. But seriously, the PANIC it produces is really confuzzling.

Last night, I went to the gym and then the grocery store because we were out of cat food. The people there loading up on milk, bread, eggs and TP was just plain amusing. It's as if they are afraid they're going to get stranded in their homes for weeks. (For the record, I know this is not a phenomena unique to NJ, but in all my years growing up, I can't remember a single time my mother made an emergency run to the grocery store before a snow storm).

For a little context, I grew up in the mountains of Western Massachusetts. We got snowstorms on a regular basis. I can remember it snowing on Halloween. We had one huge storm that "cancelled" Thanksgiving. It was not unusual to have to wear snow boots to church on Easter Sunday.

And school cancelled? Ha! Only if it was a true blizzard, meaning, snow of at least a foot.

Today's "epic, monster storm" (coined a "snow hurricane" and "February Fury" by the local news) dumped *maybe* three inches in my yard. Of course, school was cancelled.

I don't necessarily blame the schools. I know things are different now. I know everyone is afraid of getting sued. I also know the meteorologists cannot seem to predict a snowfall accurately to save their lives.

But seriously, NJ? Can we try to be a little tougher in the future? A little more Tony Soprano and a little less Olive Oil?

After all, you have a reputation to live up to.

* * *
Editor's note: I've since learned that other parts of NJ did in fact get more than 10 inches of snow today, but I will only full retract this post if any of you are stuck in your homes until at least next Thursday eating only milk and eggs and printing out pages of my blog to use for TP. Otherwise, this is my story and I'm sticking to it! :-)

A friendly reminder of why it's not nice to label people

Just over 20 years ago, (<--I know) I pledged a sorority.

Over the years, I have periodically found myself having to defend that decision to people who think sororities are outdated, or elitist, or petty, or conformist. I have heard all the labels associated with “sorority girls:” Stupid. Slutty. Snobby. Superficial.

I even once had someone snidely ask me if I could not make "my own" friends and thus had to buy them.

The stereotypes are astounding and, quite frankly, an outrage. What’s more, they often come from the same people who are horrified by the use of racial or ethnic slurs. Why they feel these types of prejudices are acceptable, when others clearly aren’t, is beyond me. As we all know, stereotypes are dangerous - and based on ignorance.

So for all of those ready to level any of the above stereotypes at me, or my sisters, consider this your education.

“Diverse” is the only generalization I can truly direct at my sisters. Some of us were brainy, others struggled in school. Some of us had steady boyfriends all through college, others played the field, others barely dated at all. Some of us played sports, others couldn’t catch a ball to save our lives. Some of us partied, others hardly ever went out past midnight. We were white, black, Indian and Hispanic.

This past weekend, some recent alumni and the current sisters planned a huge reunion during our college’s annual Homecoming.

Dozens of alumni sisters attended, spanning more than 20 years of graduating classes. The college said we were the largest group to pre-register for any event at any Homecoming weekend ever. Wow.

Catching up with my sisters – many of whom I have not seen in 10, even 15 years, was a thrill. We laughed, we reminisced, we ate, we drank, we stayed up late and we reveled in each other’s company.

What’s more, the shared experience of the sorority resulted in instant bonding with the current sisters and younger alumni. I not only caught up with old friends, I made a host of new ones as well.

One of Saturday’s receptions featured a 25-minute slide show of photos through the years. I didn’t even know some of the women in the pictures, but I could not take my eyes off it. They remain the incredible group I became a part of so many years ago. Steeped in tradition, fiercely close, I have no doubt they’ll be back in 20 years – rejoicing in each other.

Sunday came too fast and I drove away from them all with a heavy heart.

Through the years, we have been there for each other through weddings and divorces. Babies and struggles with infertility. Birthday celebrations and serious illnesses.

To boil this amazing experience that I have had down to one nasty little phrase is beyond rude. So stop it, please.

Doing so insults my friends. My confidants. My partners-in-crime. My shoulders to lean on.

My sisters.

When is zero not really zero? When it describes your food.

I’m going to just say this: I’m a bit anal when it comes to my food.

I’m not perfect, but I make a real effort to eat healthy. My husband does too. We do it for ourselves but more importantly, we do it for our children.

Mark has a relatively blemish-free family medical history (you may recall that his grandfather lived to be 103.)

Mine however, reads like the warning label on a pack of cigarettes (unfiltered ones at that):
• Cancer
• Diabetes
• High blood pressure
• Heart attack

As a result of my wonderful genetics, I have high cholesterol.

How high is it?

High. 'Nuff said.

It is why I don’t’ “just “ exercise: I do triathlons. It is why I watch what I eat. It is why, most especially, I avoid trans fat like the plague.

You see, trans fat is the worst kind of fat to eat because it:
• Increases “bad” LDL cholesterol
• Decreases “good” HDL cholesterol
• Causes heart disease and stroke
• Contributes to diabetes and obesity

It negatively impacts your health even when eaten in small amounts. According to the Harvard School of Public Health, adding just 4 grams of trans fat to your diet each day—which represents just 2% of your daily calories in a 2,000-calorie diet—increases your risk of heart disease by 23%!

As a result, the American Heart Association recommends that the average person eat less than 2 grams of trans fat each day. However, it goes on to note that there is enough naturally occurring trans fat in some meat and dairy products that most people reach the maximum 2 grams without the additional consumption of the man-made trans fat found in many popular foods.

There’s no question about it: Trans fats are horrible for you. Even if your cholesterol is 78, like my husbands (OK, maybe it isn’t that low, but it is LOW), you still shouldn’t be eating them.

Avoiding trans fat should be easy, right? Just look at the handy-dandy nutrition panel on the packaging of any food product and find the row devoted to trans fats. If it reads “0g” then you’re good to go, right?

WRONG.

A few years ago the FDA, that fantastic government agency put in place to cater to food industry lobbyists protect consumers, established some guidelines for food companies to follow when listing the trans fat content of their food on the nutrition panel.

Are you ready for this?

So long as a food has less than 0.5 grams of trans fat per serving, it can list the trans fat content as ZERO on the nutrition panel.

Huh?

The problem with this is clear:

First, companies identify unreasonably small serving sizes for their products. The serving size for Fruit Loops is one cup, but the average bowl easily holds more than that.

Second, there are tons and tons of foods on the market with ‘trace amounts’ (under 0.5 grams per serving) of trans fats. Just look at these pictures. The nutrition panel on ALL of these foods claim zero trans fat, but they all have trans fat in them*:












So, let’s say you have a bowl of Fruit Loops for breakfast. At lunch, maybe you have a handful of Baked Doritos. Later in the day, you’re hungry, so you grab a Quaker granola bar. After dinner, you have a couple of Whole Wheat Fig Newtons (because hey! Whole wheat is healthy, right?) Later watching TV, you have a couple of crackers (Ritz, Saltines, or maybe even Wheatsworth) with a little Skippy peanut butter slathered on them.

Since all of those products have trans fat, you’ve just EASILY exceeded the 2 daily grams that the AHA recommends. In fact, you’ve probably consumed at least six, and maybe more, grams of trans fat.

And you didn’t even know it.

So how can you tell if a product has trans fat? You have to look beyond the nutrition panel and study the list of ingredients.

If anywhere in the ingredient list you see the words “partially hydrogenated,” “hydrogenated vegetable oil,” and/or “shortening,” then the product has trans fat.



The thing that particularly galls me about this is that many foods print “0g Trans Fat!” right on the front of their packaging in big, bold letters:





And we wonder why American's are 1. so confused about food and 2. so unhealthy.

These labels are there to deceive you by saying, “WOW! Aren’t we just the best? We are so healthy and responsible,” when in reality, they’ve probably tweaked their serving size just enough so it contains under 0.5 grams. It’s sneaky. And it sucks. And our government allows it, probably because enough food industry lobbyists greased the pockets of enough people in the FDA.

But you know who pays the ultimate price? People who eat this garbage, thinking they’re doing the right thing when in reality they are seriously damaging their health.


*This food is not from our pantry. Rather, Mark purchased it to use as a prop for a Toastmasters speech he recently delivered on this very topic. All of it was returned, unopened, to the supermarket following the speech.

Exploring the ruins

They were young. Not like, 18 young, but definitely early 30s young.

“How have you been?” exclaimed Girl A, embracing Girl B as she emerged from the ladies room stall.

I was at an informal college reunion at a bar in New York City. I stood at the sink washing my hands and reapplying lipstick, watching them both out of the corner of my eye.

“I’m great! I’m married,” Girl B exclaimed, extending her left hand for inspection.

“Me too!” said Girl A, repeating the gesture.

“Do you have kids?” asked Girl A.

“Noooo!” affirmed Girl B with a tone that implied Girl A had just asked her if she had herpes or some other equally nasty venereal disease.

“Me neither,” said Girl A assuredly. “They’re just too much work.”

“Yes. And besides,” added Girl B, “they ruin your body.”

At the time, I gave little thought to the remark. In fact, I probably even glanced at their lithe frames accented by Scarlett O’Hara-sized waists and silently agreed. In fact, I could even empathize with them on a certain level. After all, I was one of them not all that long ago.

But since that night, I’ve turned the conversation over in my head and I realize now that it really irritates me.

These last few months and weeks I have put my body through the paces. I learned to swim and have spent hours and hours in the pool. I have run with blisters on my feet and aching knees. I have cycled up never ending hills and in freezing cold rain and wind.

Yes, my body has flaws. A thicker waist. Certain parts aren’t as perky as they once were. I have wrinkles and crinkles and creases where there once was smooth skin. But in 11 days, I will complete my first sprint triathlon.

My “ruined” body—probably stronger than it’s ever been—will be tested and pushed. And it will cross the finish line.

It is not the thinnest it’s ever been. It is not perfect (but was it ever? No.), but it grew two babies—gave life to two little miracles—and continues to perform in ways I didn’t think possible when I was in my early 30s.

If that is what ruined means, I'm OK with that.

I hope you dance

In my opinion, one of the best things about children is their utter lack of inhibition.

I so respect the way they run – wildly and sometimes with little regard to control or destination. I admire the way they sing – loudly and with no concern about whether or not the words are right, never mind things like key or pitch. And while I’m overall quite grateful that adults aren’t apt to strip down to their underwear just for the heck of it, there is something to be said for being totally, 100% comfortable with your own naked body.

I also love the way they dance – so different than most adults. They move whichever way their bodies take them. They don’t think – they do. They twist, bounce, whirl, twirl and jump. They throw their arms around, kick their legs wildly in all directions and shake their bums on – or off – beat. It doesn’t matter because it’s all about living and loving the moment.

Nowhere was this more evident than at the ballet class we got to watch last week. Peanut’s been taking the class since September with 11 other little girls. Class is held in a closed room with no windows, so this is the first time we were able to see what they do.

The girls in their black leotards and pink tights moved about the dance floor – following the instructor’s direction– but putting their own personal interpretation on the movement.





I don’t see any latent talent in Peanut. No hint of raw potential or future accolades. But she moves with freedom and pleasure. She smiles and laughs and spins and claps for herself. She is having the time of her life. I hope she always enjoys dancing the way she does now.





Of course, we were enthralled – how could we not be watching such a sight – joy in its purest and most natural form.



* * *
At a wedding we went to recently, only a few dozen guests danced. The rest sat on the sidelines. I firmly believe that whenever there is music, you should get up on the dance floor for at least one song. I guarantee if you do, you’ll have a much better time overall.

And maybe, just maybe, try to let go a little. Lose your inhibitions. Spin. Wiggle. Lose yourself in the music, even if only for a beat or two.

And then take a bow – even if only in your own head.

Keep your bias to yourself, please

It must be really hard to be a racist here in America right now.

Think about it. To have to sit around watching large numbers of people rejoice over the first black president when you think people like him should still be picking cotton in chains. Tough times, right?

To see a black man become president and the country - hell, the whole world rejoice. You must feel pretty dejected and out of sorts right about now, hey?

Just to be clear, I don’t feel even an ounce of sympathy for America’s racists. It’s their own problem that they’ve opted to cocoon themselves in hate and bigotry while the rest of the world inches toward acceptance and equality (not that we’re there yet - I realize that - but any progress is good progress).

It’s just that lately I’ve seen some really malicious, racist stuff shuttled around the net and I have to assume it stems from all those disappointed racists trying to find a way to cope. Some examples:

- An image of the “new” dollar featuring a smiling man in black face in the center and “fitty cent” written in the corner.
- The Obama trap – again – this time from someone else.
- An e-mail pondering if it can still legitimately be called the White House and if legalizing marijuana and/or making fried chicken America’s official food will be among Obama’s first acts.

I have to scratch my head when I get stuff like this, especially when it comes from otherwise smart, respectable people that I know. People, who I’m pretty sure aren’t racist, but still seem unable to avoid hitting the “forward” button on their e-mail when this type of bigotry lands in their inbox.

I have to ask: Do you really find this stuff funny? Amusing? Entertaining?

Because honestly, I don’t.

And if you think I think like that, you’re really very, very mistaken. It’s not just about Obama for me. I was raised in a home where I learned, in the famous words of Martin Luther King Jr., people are to be judged, “not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”

So please – PLEASE – stop sending me your hate. I don’t like it, I don’t want it. It doesn’t make me smile or laugh for even one fraction of a second, in fact, it makes me nauseous. Furthermore, it makes you look like an asshole.

If you do send it to me, you can be pretty sure I’m going to, 1. Respond to you with some choice words, and 2. Delete it immediately. The buck bias stops here.

And besides? I’m sure there are plenty of dejected racists in this country looking for something to laugh about right now. Go find them and you can console each other.

Don't expect any sympathy from me.

I do declare, tomorrow is Election Day

For well over a year, the nation has anxiously watched. Waiting. Waiting for the opportunity to choose new leadership.

Waiting for Election Day 2008.

Waiting for tomorrow.

On the eve of what will be an historic day either way, my heart pounds, my head swirls, my nerves twitch, and my stomach does flip-flops. I put my stake in the ground early on. I declared my preference. Tomorrow, I will make it official.

I hope you will do the same – no matter what side of the fence you sit on. Voting is a right - a privilege - that people have died to give you. All around the globe, others still fight and die for the right so many of us take for granted, or worse, ignore.

Tomorrow, please vote. Let your voice be heard. Declare yourself:



Oh, and incase you haven't noticed, I'm doing this again this year. (It was probably obvious, because I think the last time I posted three days in a row was during NaBloPoMo last November. Eeep.)

The ugly side of politics and people

Twenty-five years ago (← Yes, I know, I’m old) I stood in the record aisle (← I’ve already said I’m old, I might as well hammer it home by admitting I once bought *gasp!* records) of the local Kmart with a friend from school, pointed to Michael Jackson’s Thriller album and told her that I thought he was hot.

You would have thought I told her that I wanted to go out in the parking lot and look for a piece of dog poo to snack on, because she gave me a look of utter horror. Because, you know? We were two white girls from western Massachusetts and he was (at the time) *gasp!* black.

And apparently, nice, white eighth-grade girls were not supposed to think black men were hot. Such a disgrace to my race I was.

And apparently, I still am, at least in some circles.

Lately, I’ve been alarmed at the undercurrent of racism that still courses through our society even on this hallowed northeast, Blue State soil. It slaps me in the face via an email I received labeled, “The Obama Trap,” that shows a photo of a crate with a watermelon inside it. It assaults me in the form of a whisper from a woman in my town asserting that she simply “cannot vote for a black man.” It smacks me with the gravely voice of a relative telling me that “dirty Muslim” is going to ruin this country.

Then, we have this horrifying video where you can hear a woman shouting a vicious racial slur about Obama during a Palin speech and even worse, Palin doesn't bother to stop speaking to tell that person that type of "support" isn't wanted. Or acceptable. Which leads me to wonder if maybe she thinks it is?

Shocking.

Finally, we have a segment of the male population who are throwing their votes to Sarah Palin because they think she’s hot.

::insert sound of crickets::

***
Last week, for fun, I asked my daughters who they would vote for in the upcoming election: John McCain or Barack Obama.

“John McCain!” came Peanut’s enthusiastic reply.

Why, I prodded?

“I don’t like that other guy’s name, Mommy. It sounds funny.”

So then of course we had to have a serious discussion about people and diversity and while she listened carefully, she still proudly declared her support for McCain when I was done. (Probably simply for the shock value it renders in our household. She is going to make an awesome teenager; I can’t wait.)

***
I don’t care if you don’t want to vote for Obama because you don’t like his policies, or because you think he’s too inexperienced. But just because he’s a black man with a “funny” name? Come on, people.

Let’s please try to elevate our level of thinking at the polls next week beyond that of the average five-year-old.

I'll tell two friends, and they'll tell two friends, and so on, and so on

One of my favorite bloggers reposted something from one of her favorite bloggers that is so incredible I have to repost it here.

And if you also think it's incredible, maybe you can repost it on your blog? One by one, bit by bit, we can be heard. We can make a difference.
_ _ _ _



Every day I wake up and I want to write about the election.

Every day I want to post you tube videos of Sarah Palin scaring the hell out of me.

Every day I want to give homage to Jon Stewart or post drafts of my hate mail to Karl Rove.

But I know for sure it’s no longer enough.

I want to do more than add my voice to the millions of Americans crying out for change.

I want to be an agent of that change. I want to make a difference.

Talking about it is no longer enough!

Writing about it is no longer enough!

Leaving it to others is no longer enough!

In 2000, when we elected ‘experience’, my vote wasn’t enough.

In 2004, when we elected ‘experience’, my vote wasn’t enough.

This time I’m not just voting for intelligence.

This time I’m not just voting for integrity.

This time I’m not just voting for bold initiative.

This time I’m working for the campaign. I’m a member of my local volunteer team.

BECAUSE ONE VOTE IS NO LONGER ENOUGH!

We do not have enough volunteers. We need more people to register voters, to persuade, to get out the vote.

It’s actually a lot of fun and I’ve met some amazing people.

Just two hours a week can make a difference.

You can sign up to volunteer here.

You can find your local volunteer coordinator here. Even better, go here.

Or e-mail me at meg[at]simplynutmeg[dot]com and I’ll get you connected with the right person.

Please join me in spreading this No Longer Enough campaign:

Please publish this post or write your own post and link to it on your blog and spread the word to your readers, even if you can’t volunteer. Many of us just need a little push (someone approached me at the grocery store) to get in the game.

Just think; if every Blogger recruited just one volunteer…

Maybe we’re what we’ve been waiting for.

And here’s where I put my money where my mouth is:

If you join in spreading the word, publish this post, or write your own post with a link, sign the Mr. Linky below. If I get 200 links or more before October 10th, I’ll use a random number generator to choose a winner, and I’ll give away one brand new Dyson.

Because my one vote is no longer enough.

Last I checked, Palin was not Hillary. Let's accept that and move on.

I have to admit, I wasn’t a Hillary supporter. I voted in the primary for Obama even declaring myself a Democrat to do so.

However, I knew when I cast my vote for Obama - knew with all my heart and soul – that if the Democratic nod went to Hillary, I would vote for her without hesitation in November. Which is why I am so friggen confused about what’s happening and what I’m hearing about right now.

Are disgruntled Hillary voters – mostly women – really, honestly, truly considering voting for the McCain ticket just because he chose a woman as VP? Really?

To those who are in that camp I really have to ask: what the fuck? (And I don’t throw that word around lightly).

But seriously: What the fuck?

Yeah, OK. Palin has a vagina and apparently there is a whole crowd of people (mostly women) who desperately want to see a vagina-owner in the White House come January 2009.

But Palin? Really? Palin?

Not only is her experience level questionable, but more importantly, she is the diametric opposite of Hillary on just about every single issue. She’s staunchly pro-life, pro-gun, pro-captial punishment, wants a Constitutional amendment banning gay marriage, thinks creationism should be taught in schools alongside evolution, and is an environmentalist’s worst nightmare.

And let’s not forget who her main man is: John McCain.

Don't get me wrong. If you agree with what the McCain/Palin ticket stands for - then of course, obviously vote your conscience. That's the American way. But voting for this ticket simply because it now includes a woman is no different than a white man refusing to vote for Obama simply because he's black.

But for Democrats and uncommitted voters who supported Hillary during the primary, voting for McCain/Palin is exactly the opposite of what Hillary would want. She said so herself in what I thought was one of the most fantastic speeches she’s ever given.

The GOP is counting on the fact that desperate Hillary supporters are going to look past Palin’s beliefs and see only her motherhood, her womanhood – put bluntly – her vagina - and blindly cast their votes based solely on these traits.

The GOP thinks we’re all a bunch of mindless, brainless, incapable, emotionally driven ninnies who are going to get caught up in Palin’s biology without really examining her politics.

It thinks we can all be manipulated into abandoning the principles we believe in – that Hillary believes in – with no serious thought because, after all, women do what men tell them to do - either directly or subtly.

Quite frankly, I have to agree with Tree on this one.

I’m insulted. Infuriated.

Is that really who we are? Is the GOP right? Are we really just a bunch of nail-biting sheep who will fall into line and overlook – or not think about at all – our principles simply to get “one of our own” in power?

I hope not. Because this woman is no Hillary Clinton. Anyone with a brain (or a vagina) should be able to see that.

Across an ocean and over a day: good thoughts for an Olympian

As I wrote in June, my brother has been involved in judo since age 5 and is ranked 3rd in the nation in his weight class. He tried out for the Olympics twice. He missed having a spot on the U.S. team both this year and in 2004 by the skin of his teeth. He was crushed, but he’s a trooper and is handling it well.

However, his long-time girlfriend Sayaka Matsumoto made the Olympic team this year! She’s been in Beijing for a week and has been sending daily e-mails with all kinds of fascinating, behind-the-scenes commentary.

Judo is not a very popular or well known sport here in the USA, but it’s huge in most other parts of the world. If you’ve been following any of the Olympic coverage, you may know that there is a woman from Japan named Ryoko Tani, who is possibly the most famous and decorated woman judoka in history.

Well, Sayaka just learned that she will compete against Ryoko in her first match tonight at midnight eastern time. Her division (48 kg women’s ultra lightweight) is one of the first to compete in the games. The match will be broadcast here live tonight at midnight. The medal rounds will be broadcast on the same site at 6 a.m. on Saturday.

Because Ryoko is so famous, the match also may be rebroadcast on television on Saturday. Judo rarely gets television coverage during the Olympics, so if you happen to see it, give Sayaka a little wave through the TV. She is an absolute doll – exactly the type of woman I'd like to see my daughters grow into: sweet, smart, hard-working, honest, dedicated and tough.

And if you think of it, send a little good karma her way today. She’s going to need it. In her own words from her most recent e-mail message, "I'm very, very excited about the tournament tomorrow, especially since I am fighting Tani first round. What a great way to enjoy my Olympic experience. Ronda told me today, "Tomorrow if the first day of the rest of your life," and its true. Please send me positive thoughts!!"

You've got it, Sayaka. A thousand good thoughts and endless admiration.

Just say NO to plastic

We've been bringing our own canvas bags to the supermarket for several years now and I'm glad to see more and more people picking up on this. It seems everywhere I go now - from Whole Foods to Target - there are at least a few people toting their own bags.

If you haven't started doing this yet, here's why it's so important to make a better effort to bring your own bags. And if you do end up with plastic bags, don't just throw them in the trash. Some stores take them back for recycling.

If you don't have a store in your area that does that, there are lots of things you can do to reuse them right in your very own house including:

1. Save money by using them to line wastebaskets and diaper pails.

2. If you have a dog - poop bag.

3. Use them as filler when you mail packages.

4. Bring them with you when you travel and put soiled or wet clothing into them.

5. Keep them in your car for trash disposal or (if you have kids) emergency barf bags.

6. Use them to put items in when you donate goods to charity.

7. Donate them to local stores or businesses (the food pantry, the library, etc.)

8. If you don't want to spend money on canvas bags, reuse them when you go to the store.

Your kids will thank you someday for helping make the world a cleaner, better place.

Happy Loving Day!

Did you know that today is Loving Day?

Loving Day marks the anniversary of the 1967 U.S. Supreme Court decision in the case of Loving vs. Virginia, which officially legalized interracial marriage throughout the United States. Up until that historic decision, it was illegal for people of different races to marry in 16 states.

Isn't that crazy? Just 41 years ago, a number of states, stating that it was immoral and denigrated the sanctity of marriage, forbade consenting adults to enjoy the same rights and privileges others had simply because of the way they were born. Sound familiar?

::looking up and whistling::

Sexless and the city

Note, this my "review" of the Sex and the City movie, but I've been careful to reveal no major plot points for those who haven't seen it yet.

I loved Sex and the City.

Each episode served up a delicious little cocktail of men, drama, laughs, fashion and the Big Apple that I drank down heartily, always eager for the next installment. Above all, the show was about friends. Four smart, stylish women friends who stuck together through thick and thin, cried on each other's shoulders, stood by each other and celebrated milestones together. Through sickness and health, good times and bad, for better and worse, as long as they had each other, nothing else mattered.

Of course, the show was about sex and relationships too and each character had her ups and downs in her quest for love. When the series ended four years ago, each character had found love and happiness in her own way.

I had high hopes for the film version of this and while it was entertaining enough, something was missing. The Fab Four continued to hold each other up through some pretty tough times, which is what ultimately saved the movie in my eyes. But still, I couldn't help leaving the theater feeling a little void. It didn't quite fire on all cylinders and I've been trying to figure out why.

Some of the jokes felt a little forced. Charlotte poops her pants (really) and Samantha gains weight and gets a gut. Meanwhile, Big stomps on Carrie's heart yet AGAIN and Miranda is still working on opening up and embracing her emotional side.

Despite the title, the person having the most sex in the film is Samantha's male neighbor, who she watches through the window every night. Prudish Charlotte comes in second, but otherwise, the film could almost have been called Sexless in the City. The resident vamp, Samantha is reduced to a voyeur, she herself garnering only one sex scene in the entire two-and-a-half hour film (which quite frankly, was a bit too long).

There were happy moments for sure, but much of the movie is as depressing and dark as the hair color Carrie dons to hideout during a particularly tough spell. Fortunately, alls well that ends well and most people will find the ending - in which the major characters are shown sharing a meal, laughing and enjoying life - very satisfying.

Scorecard:
Sex - C
Love - B
Fashion - A++
New York - A
Cocktail drinking - B
Fun moments - B
Hot men - A-
Friendships - A
Overall - B+

An eye for an eye (or a hoof for a flower)

When I was five-years-old, my parents took me to the movies to see the theatrical re-release of Bambi. Ten minutes into the movie, when the hunter’s fatal shot ended the life of Bambi’s mother, I burst into hysterics and had to be removed from the theater.

I’m sure there are people scattered all over the Berkshires who to this day remember the screaming child from that night. (And of course, we were seated in the front so it was a undoubtedly a loooonngg walk for my mom and dad).

Many years later, I find myself living in a part of New Jersey that is overrun with deer. They decimate gardens. They run out in front of cars on a regular basis. I myself have almost collided with a deer on two separate occasions and have resigned myself to the fact that if I live in this part of the world long enough, eventually I will hit one.

Deer are a huge problem here. It’s not really the deer’s fault. Only a couple of decades ago, this part of N.J. was mostly woods, field and horse pasture. Those natural spaces have given way to one subdivision and housing project after another as suburban sprawl has radiated further and further from the nucleus of New York City. Where else are the deer – who were here first – supposed to go besides backyards and roadways?

But still, it’s a problem. Anyone who lives out here and wants any type of landscaping is left with two choices: Plant a limited amount of boring plants (think boxwoods and evergreens) or put up an eight-foot-high deer fence.

My first year here, I planted a number of “deer resistant” plants only to wake one morning to learn the hard way that a herd of deer will eat almost anything when hungry enough. The tears shed that morning were not quite as severe as the ones in the theater in 1975, but it was close.

After that I tried a number of deer repellents including noxious smelling sprays (including coyote urine – I don’t even want to think about how that was collected), human hair and clanking cans tied to bushes. Nothing worked, so four years ago we installed a deer fence and I’ve been a happy gardening fool ever since.

Well, almost ever since. It seems that we have a breach in our security. Two weeks ago, while strolling through the yard I noticed that all nine huge, mature hostas planted around the trees on the far side of the yard were eaten down to two-inch stems. Every lovely leaf was gone.

Could rabbits have done that?I wondered. I already knew the answer, but I didn’t want to believe it. Then three mornings later, I opened up my curtains to see six deer standing in my backyard.

I yelled out a few really choice swear words that I save only for times when I am most supremely pissed off and it’s like they KNEW there was one mad gardening mama in the vicinity – off they bolted toward the woods. Since then, we’ve been trying to figure out how they are getting in. There are two suspicious spots where trees fell on the fence. We repaired them, but huge logs remain giving the deer a nature-made step stool into our yard.

Every morning I open the blinds, hold my breath and carefully scan the garden for damage. While we were in Massachusetts this weekend, they got in and ate the tops off every single phlox plant in my yard. About two dozen of them. All. Gone.

I hate when I see them dead on the side of the road, because I feel that’s just a waste of life. But as for hunting? Yeah, I’m not really so much opposed to that anymore.

If I ever let my girls watch Bambi, I don’t think I’ll have the same tears to shed. Venison anyone?

Maybe not twice as easy, but certainly twice as nice

I'm participating in a virtual baby shower for three fine ladies of the blogosphere who are about to have their second babies: Her Bad Mother, Chicky Chicky Baby and Mrs. Chicken.



For their shower, the organizers have asked moms to share their best advice about going from one child to two.

Peanut was 19-months-old when Loaf was born, still a baby herself in so many ways, and I have to be honest and say it wasn't always easy at first. But in 100% honesty, I found motherhood much easier overall the second time around. I knew the drill so to speak, having a better sense of what was required to keep a baby happy throughout the day, but more importantly, I was more confident.

I struggled, horribly, with breastfeeding Peanut. It is nothing short of a miracle that I nursed her a full year because I endured eight weeks of toe-curling pain each and every time she latched on in the beginning. With Loaf? I had no issues at all.

Of course, there were other challenges: Loaf crying inconsolably while Peanut pulled at my leg. Peanut's jealousy and first tantrums. Having no time to shower, eat or rest. But despite it all, we made it through and are all doing well today. So here's my advice for the mommies-to-be. I hope something here helps ease the transition for you:

1. Take it moment by moment—The first days/weeks will be hard, but only in bursts. When those difficult times strike, take a deep breath, stay calm and remind yourself "this too shall pass." Take a few seconds to assess the situation (whose need is most pressing?) and then address it accordingly. And most of all remember you can handle everything: you're a mom!

2. Don't try to be Supermom—Your house will likely be a mess. You will realize it's 3:30 p.m. and you haven't brushed your teeth yet. You'll still be in your PJs when your husband comes home from work. And you know what? It's all OK. You can clean up the house another day. You can all eat cereal for dinner. You can take a quick shower when the kids go to bed (if you have the energy; if you don't, that's OK too). In other words, eventually it all gets a lot easier, but in the beginning, don't stress out about things that don't matter in the short-term.

3. If you are going to nurse, learn how to do it lying down—This saved me. I nursed Loaf at night, in my own bed, lying down on my side so that I could doze a little. It made a huge difference with handling sleep deprivation.

4. Get a Bjorn or a sling and use it—The sling and Bjorn saved my life. Seriously. Loaf never wanted to be put down and cried the minute her backside hit any surface that wasn't human. So I just wore her All. The. Time. Was it perfect? Nope. But it at least allowed me to fix myself and Peanut a sandwich or fold laundry or do whatever needed to be done with both of my hands free.

5. The kids are important, but so are you—Finally, listen to your own body and its needs. You will need to rest and recover. You'll need a break. You'll need to leave the house sometimes - even for 30 minutes - with no kids and no guilt. Put a video on for your older child, and ask for and accept help from others (including your husband). You can't look after the wee ones if you aren't taking care of yourself.

OK one more thing: Enjoy every moment. I'm shocked by quickly time has flown. Yesterday I had a toddler and a newborn and today I looked up and they were both preschoolers - 4.5 and 3, bounding around my living room pretending to be horses. Every day is a gift. You are very, very blessed.

Thanks to Kristen, Julie and Liz and the Playdate posse for making this shower possible.

Unfair and unbalanced and that's just the beginning

Last night we watched the O’Reilly Factor on Fox (a.k.a. “Faux”) News.

Now, to be clear, I hate both Bill O’Reilly and Faux, (and I'm not the only one), but O’Reilly was interviewing Hillary Rodham Clinton and, well, how can you not be curious about that? It’s the political equivalent of watching a caged fight between the Montagues and Capulets.

Must see TV, indeed.

I’m not her biggest fan, but I will say that Senator Clinton handled herself well. She stated her positions clearly and eloquently and appeared calm and good-natured throughout the interview. (I have to give her huge props for that alone because I don’t think I could sit with the very rude and arrogant Bill O’Reilly for more than two minutes without smacking him in the head).

Now comes the problem. Faux News’ “analysis” of the Clinton interview has been running non-stop since it aired.

And by analysis I mean, “A right-wing commentator squashes Clinton’s opinions and ‘sets the record straight’ by explaining just how very wrong she is.” Lather, rinse, repeat throughout the day.

When I first heard about Clinton’s interview on Faux, I was trying to decide if it was a good campaign move or not. On one hand, it would expose her to a new audience. Maybe some of Faux's more moderate viewers would be won over.

On the other, O’Reilly’s style of interviewing often includes interrupting, correcting, and shouting down anyone he disagrees with. And appearing on the show gives it credibility and weight that it does not deserve.

With the interview over (to O’Reilly’s credit, he didn’t shout, though he did interrupt her numerous times), I’m left with a bad feeling. Clinton has handed Faux the gift of her positions tied up in a pretty bow and from here on out they plan to repackage them over and over to suit their own agenda.

With rights to all that footage, Faux can replay it ad nauseum and have one Faux-sanctioned commentator after another critique Clinton’s viewpoints, appearance, demeanor, style and intelligence all under the pretext of “analysis,” from now until November.

With no one there to represent the Democrat’s viewpoints, Faux is sure to make mincemeat of – regardless of what you think of her – this very smart woman’s statements, watering them down, tearing them apart and spinning them all in the name of “protecting” the conservative way of life in America.

Fair and balanced? Clinton joked about the news organization’s infamous slogan, but as a former journalist, I can’t do it. Faux is a propaganda machine, and a good one that. And Clinton just played right into its hands. I’m really quite surprised she couldn’t see this coming.

Or maybe she just thought they’d take the high road for once. Hope you’re not too disappointed, Senator, because I am.