Today is a big day.
Approximately once a month (okay maybe twice a month) since I gave birth I have reached into the depths of my closet and pulled out my favourite pair of Seven for All Man Kind jeans. And every month since I gave birth, this event has ended with me throwing said jeans across the room and falling in a crumpled ball of tears and agony onto my bedroom floor and then moping around the house for the rest of the day, until in utter frustration and dismay I finally reach into the freezer and polish off the tub of Chapman's Dutch Chocolate frozen yogurt that is always there "in case of emergency."
That is until today! Today I decided to try them out again and this time, not only did they not get stuck half way up my thighs as per usual, but they slid right on and zipped up with ease! And I'm talking WITHOUT the help of my Spanx. They are on RIGHT NOW and I'm never taking them off ever ever ever again. They are snug, don't get me wrong. They make my ass look like a Mack Truck. But they are on and I love them and it is the second greatest day of my entire life.
The first greatest day? Of course it was the day that my daughter was born. Mostly because it meant I wasn't pregnant any more.
Showing posts with label Workin' It. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Workin' It. Show all posts
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Singing in the Rain
"When it rains, it pours."
It's an expression that all new moms are not only aware of, they are SO aware of it that they know better than to ever leave the house without an umbrella.
Or so you would think. But guess what? Yesterday I joyfully packed up my daughter and headed out into the sunshine without mine.
Allow me for a moment to set the stage.
It had already been one of "those" weekends. The kind that starts out pretty good - a Friday night out with my husband, sans baby; she was comfortably asleep at home with Nana and Papa. A few hours spent with friends at a house party, sipping cocktails and feeling like a grown up. Lovely.
The fun night was soon followed up on Saturday morning with me feeling less than great. I initially blame the vodka only to discover later in the day that the culprit is in fact my period, which has decided to arrive with a vengeance for the first time in over a year. Well, that explains the nausea, fatigue and compulsive cleaning. Great. Now add cramps, blood and crankiness to the list and you can see that the weekend is headed downhill. Fast.
Flash ahead to Sunday. It's another beautiful day and despite the fact that I still feel like ass, I decide to make the most of it and head outside with the fam to meet up with GParty and The Suze for a quick walk around the local farmers market. It's just down the street so I assume we'll be out for an hour tops. It's morning. I think nothing of the sun since we'll be home before heading out for the afternoon, plenty of time to lather on the sunscreen at that time. Flash forward again. It's 4pm, we've been out walking all day without going home. Crown and I are burnt. To a crisp. I can handle the mild sunstroke and the sting, but the tan lines that I now have to deal with for the rest of the summer? Unacceptable.
Now it's Monday morning and I've carefully packed up the baggage from the weekend and stowed it away. We're starting fresh, it's a beautiful day and Bella and I have a date with StrollerFit. We're up early! We're both in good moods! This is where I start to slip and make the first of several mistakes.
Cocky New Mom Mistake #1:
StrollerFit is only a five minute walk from my house. There is no need to lug a bulky diaper bag with me. We'll be home in two hours anyway.
Cocky New Mom Mistake #2:
Bella doesn't usually poop until way later in the afternoon, no need to bring an extra diaper along. If anything happens, she can wait 'til we get home for a change. No biggie.
Cocky New Mom Mistake #3:
Getting so caught up in my own unfortunate weekend that I forget that Bella has, in fact, not pooped in two days.
You can already see where this is going, I know, but I assure you, it's much worse than you think.
The StrollerFit class goes of without a hitch and we make it to the discussion part of the class, where all the moms sit down and talk about something related to parenting. This is also where the moms size each other up a little, check out each others' babies, strollers, parenting skills, etc. I try not to fall into this trap, but let's face it, it's hard. We all want to be good at this very important job, we all want to look as though we are doing good by our babes and ourselves at the same time.
Today's discussion? The division of labour at home. Who does what around the house, who has help from their husbands, why you should make lists of chores and assign each one to you or him... blah blah blah...
It's my turn to share.
Cocky New Mom Mistake #4:
I tell the group that I am not only a bit obsessive compulsive about the state of my home (true) but I am also exceptionally organized and on-top things (false), thus making it possible to pretty much do it all (INCREDIBLY FALSE).
Immediately after spewing these unbelievable lies, the first few proverbial raindrops begin to fall. Bella starts to fuss a little in her stroller. I decide to take her out so she can sit at the picnic table with the rest of us and everyone can admire this beautiful, perfect baby that I am raising with skill and ease. I lift her out and place her on my hip before I feel the hot, wet, dripping mess on her back.
Oh no.
I turn her around to look at the same time that all the moms in the group notice. There is an audible gasp among us all. Bella is covered. I mean covered. From neck to ankles. In poop. It's oozing out of the back of her cute little jeans and dripping down her legs. It has smeared all over the inside of the stroller. It is now all over my hand, arm and the white t-shirt that I am wearing because, sensibly, I thought it best not to wear a tank top and expose my burnt flesh to the sun.
I have not a wipe, not a diaper, not a thing that can help me in this situation.
Thank God for the other moms in the class who quickly came to my aid, and who did so without laughing, judging or call me out for the complete and utter ass that I am. They set up a change station and offered up wipes, diapers, one lovely mom even lent me her spare onsie so I didn't have to walk home with a naked baby.
Cocky New Mom Lesson Learned #1:
Don't ever underestimate the kinship among other mothers. If you think that they are in competition with you on some level, smarten up you idiot. Other moms get it and will always come to your aid in moments of crisis.
I heart moms.
But the embarrassment doesn't quite end here.
Cocky New Mom Mistake #5:
Bella has been eating a lot lately. Back up to 7 or 8 feedings a day for some reason. As a result, my boobs have not been very full and I have not been very leaky. I decided it was OK to leave the house without my pads.
And now, the combination of vigorous exercise, heat, crying babies and overwhelming mortification is causing my boobs to not leak - spray - milk everywhere. It has soaked through my bra and t-shirt and it is running down my belly.
And so there it is. The rainstorm. My shirt is covered in poop and milk. My baby is sitting in a onsie borrowed from a stranger, already re-covered in shit because of what is left over in her stroller. And as if to add insult to injury, while I attempt to gather my last shred of dignity and finish my discussion with the other moms, a seagull flies over us and craps on my daughter's chubby thigh. As I wipe it away with my already disgusting t-shirt, it dawns on me:
When it rains, it pours. And I have been caught without my umbrella. It is a cocky new mom mistake that I will not be making again any time soon.
It's an expression that all new moms are not only aware of, they are SO aware of it that they know better than to ever leave the house without an umbrella.
Or so you would think. But guess what? Yesterday I joyfully packed up my daughter and headed out into the sunshine without mine.
Allow me for a moment to set the stage.
It had already been one of "those" weekends. The kind that starts out pretty good - a Friday night out with my husband, sans baby; she was comfortably asleep at home with Nana and Papa. A few hours spent with friends at a house party, sipping cocktails and feeling like a grown up. Lovely.
The fun night was soon followed up on Saturday morning with me feeling less than great. I initially blame the vodka only to discover later in the day that the culprit is in fact my period, which has decided to arrive with a vengeance for the first time in over a year. Well, that explains the nausea, fatigue and compulsive cleaning. Great. Now add cramps, blood and crankiness to the list and you can see that the weekend is headed downhill. Fast.
Flash ahead to Sunday. It's another beautiful day and despite the fact that I still feel like ass, I decide to make the most of it and head outside with the fam to meet up with GParty and The Suze for a quick walk around the local farmers market. It's just down the street so I assume we'll be out for an hour tops. It's morning. I think nothing of the sun since we'll be home before heading out for the afternoon, plenty of time to lather on the sunscreen at that time. Flash forward again. It's 4pm, we've been out walking all day without going home. Crown and I are burnt. To a crisp. I can handle the mild sunstroke and the sting, but the tan lines that I now have to deal with for the rest of the summer? Unacceptable.
Now it's Monday morning and I've carefully packed up the baggage from the weekend and stowed it away. We're starting fresh, it's a beautiful day and Bella and I have a date with StrollerFit. We're up early! We're both in good moods! This is where I start to slip and make the first of several mistakes.
Cocky New Mom Mistake #1:
StrollerFit is only a five minute walk from my house. There is no need to lug a bulky diaper bag with me. We'll be home in two hours anyway.
Cocky New Mom Mistake #2:
Bella doesn't usually poop until way later in the afternoon, no need to bring an extra diaper along. If anything happens, she can wait 'til we get home for a change. No biggie.
Cocky New Mom Mistake #3:
Getting so caught up in my own unfortunate weekend that I forget that Bella has, in fact, not pooped in two days.
You can already see where this is going, I know, but I assure you, it's much worse than you think.
The StrollerFit class goes of without a hitch and we make it to the discussion part of the class, where all the moms sit down and talk about something related to parenting. This is also where the moms size each other up a little, check out each others' babies, strollers, parenting skills, etc. I try not to fall into this trap, but let's face it, it's hard. We all want to be good at this very important job, we all want to look as though we are doing good by our babes and ourselves at the same time.
Today's discussion? The division of labour at home. Who does what around the house, who has help from their husbands, why you should make lists of chores and assign each one to you or him... blah blah blah...
It's my turn to share.
Cocky New Mom Mistake #4:
I tell the group that I am not only a bit obsessive compulsive about the state of my home (true) but I am also exceptionally organized and on-top things (false), thus making it possible to pretty much do it all (INCREDIBLY FALSE).
Immediately after spewing these unbelievable lies, the first few proverbial raindrops begin to fall. Bella starts to fuss a little in her stroller. I decide to take her out so she can sit at the picnic table with the rest of us and everyone can admire this beautiful, perfect baby that I am raising with skill and ease. I lift her out and place her on my hip before I feel the hot, wet, dripping mess on her back.
Oh no.
I turn her around to look at the same time that all the moms in the group notice. There is an audible gasp among us all. Bella is covered. I mean covered. From neck to ankles. In poop. It's oozing out of the back of her cute little jeans and dripping down her legs. It has smeared all over the inside of the stroller. It is now all over my hand, arm and the white t-shirt that I am wearing because, sensibly, I thought it best not to wear a tank top and expose my burnt flesh to the sun.
I have not a wipe, not a diaper, not a thing that can help me in this situation.
Thank God for the other moms in the class who quickly came to my aid, and who did so without laughing, judging or call me out for the complete and utter ass that I am. They set up a change station and offered up wipes, diapers, one lovely mom even lent me her spare onsie so I didn't have to walk home with a naked baby.
Cocky New Mom Lesson Learned #1:
Don't ever underestimate the kinship among other mothers. If you think that they are in competition with you on some level, smarten up you idiot. Other moms get it and will always come to your aid in moments of crisis.
I heart moms.
But the embarrassment doesn't quite end here.
Cocky New Mom Mistake #5:
Bella has been eating a lot lately. Back up to 7 or 8 feedings a day for some reason. As a result, my boobs have not been very full and I have not been very leaky. I decided it was OK to leave the house without my pads.
And now, the combination of vigorous exercise, heat, crying babies and overwhelming mortification is causing my boobs to not leak - spray - milk everywhere. It has soaked through my bra and t-shirt and it is running down my belly.
And so there it is. The rainstorm. My shirt is covered in poop and milk. My baby is sitting in a onsie borrowed from a stranger, already re-covered in shit because of what is left over in her stroller. And as if to add insult to injury, while I attempt to gather my last shred of dignity and finish my discussion with the other moms, a seagull flies over us and craps on my daughter's chubby thigh. As I wipe it away with my already disgusting t-shirt, it dawns on me:
When it rains, it pours. And I have been caught without my umbrella. It is a cocky new mom mistake that I will not be making again any time soon.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Happy Birthday To You: 4 Months Old
On Friday The Chicken turned four months old. I realize now that every month I'm going to want to say that I absolutely can not believe that it's been another month already, so from now on we'll just assume that to be true, suffice? I think it's also safe to assume that every month I'm going to want to say that the past month has been the best one yet. Let's from now on assume that one, too.
Month four brought with it many milestones, all of them significant and fascinating in their own way. Things like holding her head up, sitting up straight with a little bit of support, smiling when asked to (most of the time). My favourite by far this month, though? Laughing. Oh that wonderful, sparkling laugh. It remains elusive, she won't give it up easily, but when she does? WHEN SHE DOES? Well, words can not describe... please see the video at the end of the post for proof.
This month "Chicken" became "Chubby" almost exclusively. I think it started because I'd call her "Chubby Chicken" and then as tends to happen with nicknames, we dropped the "Chicken" all together. So for the time being, "Chubby" it is. Sometimes it's simply "The Chubb." I realize that we'll have to cancel that name before too long, last thing we need to do is give the poor kid a complex. Fact is, she's not really all that chubby at all. 14lbs at her four month check up and 24.5" long. As my doctor put it, "She's perfectly average. Just like you." I guess I'll take that as a compliment?
Not all of her developments have been all that positive this month. One of the biggest challenges we are are facing right now is her tendency to "make strange" with just about everyone except me. That even includes, on occasion, her father, although thankfully she seems to be getting over that one.
My child is not one for crowds. She's not into being cuddled by strangers and she's not easily won over by silly baby talk. If you are not 100% cool and confident around her, she'll call you on it. And she'll call you on it loudly. Get in her face? It's over for you. Touch her when she hasn't invited it? Forget about it. She has even 180'd on me -- the lovely baby who never wanted me to put her down suddenly prefers to be left alone on her playmat, in her crib or in her chair. Holding her for too long is inviting her wrath, unless she is eating or tired.
Speaking of tired, The Chubb is not much of a napper. She sleeps pretty well at night, but daytime naps are few and far between. I've started putting her down in her crib for naps this month and though she is very happy in there and will usually drift off on her own, she almost never sleeps for more than half an hour unless we are out walking. She has maybe three 20 - 30 minute naps a day. In case you don't have children, let me tell you something, this is not enough time to do ANYTHING. You make a lot of compromises if you have a baby who doesn't nap. For example, I can decide to either empty the dishwasher or take a shower. Start a load of laundry or tidy up the bedroom. Eat lunch or check my email. You can't do it all and this month I have finally given up trying.
But enough about her. Here's what's up with me. I'm trying, as hard as I can, to get back into some kind of shape. I'm not going to lie, my body is fucked. I am still 20lbs heavier than I was pre-baby and it does not seem to be budging despite my best efforts at the gym. My boobs make up for at least 5lbs on their own, not much I can do about that, but who ever said that nursing "makes the pounds melt away" is a dirty, dirty liar and I hope that karma gives them a saggy ass and a spare tire.
I'm working out about three days a week, plus I've started my riding lessons again. SO glad to be back in the saddle, and it's even more exciting now that I'm riding with my lovely friend (and now boss!) CG. Good times. And just today I started a StrollerFit class in my local downtown park. This is so ripe for jokes that it deserves a post all onto itself. I'll take some pictures next week and give you all a laugh.
Speaking of laughing, as promised, enjoy:
Friday, January 11, 2008
My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 36
Week 36.
Weight Gain: I do not care to discuss but I will say that as of my doc's appt this past Monday, I had not yet broken the big 200.
Milestones this week: Survived an entire weekend of prenatal classes, 1980's style videos featuring several unkempt vajayjay's and all. Crown also miraculously survived. Survived hospital tour, albeit only just. Had a mild panic attack during the tour of the labour & delivery ward. Heard a baby be born, luckily only heard the baby and not the mommy. Did, however, hear another mommy sobbing for dear life. Scared the living shit out of me. Seriously, I have no more living shit. All my shit is now dead.
Other fun updates this week include the fact that I have officially outgrown all my maternity clothing and have absolutely nothing left to wear that is remotely comfortable. I may need to go to work for the next two weeks dressed only in a large cleverly tied sheet.
Physically I'm extremely tired. My extremities are swollen. And my belly, as you can see from the 36 week picture below, is pretty huge. It measures 37 cms. I don't know how the Chicken is possibly going to grow any bigger over the next three weeks, but people keep telling me that she is. Fantastic.
Luckily, health-wise, I'm in pretty good shape. Have slowed down at the gym - step classes are officially off the menu, but I'm still taking one spinning class a week and keeping up with yoga and Pilates. I also try to walk with Momes as much as possible. I hate walking, by the way. It's awkward and painful and I feel like a giant moose lumbering around. Am now seeing the doctor every week and my blood pressure is perfect, as is Chicken's heart rate.
Special Treat for Self: Today Dings and I hit the Elmwood Spa for some much deserved pampering. It was just what the doctor ordered. Okay, not so, the doctor ordered that I lay off the salt. None-the-less it was the best Christmas gift that we could have given each other. Some girl-bonding time, complete with massages, facials, mani-pedis and some time in the pool. Total bliss.
Days 'Til Due Date: 23
Weight Gain: I do not care to discuss but I will say that as of my doc's appt this past Monday, I had not yet broken the big 200.
Milestones this week: Survived an entire weekend of prenatal classes, 1980's style videos featuring several unkempt vajayjay's and all. Crown also miraculously survived. Survived hospital tour, albeit only just. Had a mild panic attack during the tour of the labour & delivery ward. Heard a baby be born, luckily only heard the baby and not the mommy. Did, however, hear another mommy sobbing for dear life. Scared the living shit out of me. Seriously, I have no more living shit. All my shit is now dead.
Other fun updates this week include the fact that I have officially outgrown all my maternity clothing and have absolutely nothing left to wear that is remotely comfortable. I may need to go to work for the next two weeks dressed only in a large cleverly tied sheet.
Physically I'm extremely tired. My extremities are swollen. And my belly, as you can see from the 36 week picture below, is pretty huge. It measures 37 cms. I don't know how the Chicken is possibly going to grow any bigger over the next three weeks, but people keep telling me that she is. Fantastic.
Luckily, health-wise, I'm in pretty good shape. Have slowed down at the gym - step classes are officially off the menu, but I'm still taking one spinning class a week and keeping up with yoga and Pilates. I also try to walk with Momes as much as possible. I hate walking, by the way. It's awkward and painful and I feel like a giant moose lumbering around. Am now seeing the doctor every week and my blood pressure is perfect, as is Chicken's heart rate.
Special Treat for Self: Today Dings and I hit the Elmwood Spa for some much deserved pampering. It was just what the doctor ordered. Okay, not so, the doctor ordered that I lay off the salt. None-the-less it was the best Christmas gift that we could have given each other. Some girl-bonding time, complete with massages, facials, mani-pedis and some time in the pool. Total bliss.
Days 'Til Due Date: 23
Monday, September 10, 2007
My Lovely Lady Lump: Week 18
(Sorry so late - I'm a week behind due to the worst week in recent history. Week 19 to follow shortly.)
Week 18.
15 lbs heavier than b.b.b., according to the scale at the gym last Friday. Hate the gym scale but don't have one at home so it will have to do. I swear it is a lying biotch.
Milestones this week: Survived a serious family crisis over the long weekend and everyone (The Momes included, thank God!) came out alive and kicking. In fact, the little chicken is really kicking! So much so that on Saturday night Crown was able to feel the first little punts right through my lower belly. This week the movements have definitely changed from a swooshing, rollercoaster-like flipflop feeling to real, defined little kicks and punches. I love it! It's fast becoming the best part of my day.
Also attended, participated in and finished my first step class since discovering the chicken. It was SO fun! I've been doing this same Friday afternoon step class for almost six years now and had really missed it. Was great to be back and feeling strong enough to work up a good, pre-preggy sweat. That's right, ya'll. Still got it.
Finally, me and Dings (did I mention she's preggers too? Due three weeks after me!) signed up for a prenatal Pilates class. Psyched. Can't wait to start it! Am love, love, loving the second trimester.
Sorry about picture quality. Because of the Moet Ordeal we weren't able to find the time to take a proper picture, so I took this self portrait using the MAC's Photo Booth feature. I feel like the bump has stopped growing out front this week and instead all the growth is happening out back in the "love handle" region. Not cute. Note strategically placed hands. Thank me, I'm sparing your eyes.
Week 18.
15 lbs heavier than b.b.b., according to the scale at the gym last Friday. Hate the gym scale but don't have one at home so it will have to do. I swear it is a lying biotch.
Milestones this week: Survived a serious family crisis over the long weekend and everyone (The Momes included, thank God!) came out alive and kicking. In fact, the little chicken is really kicking! So much so that on Saturday night Crown was able to feel the first little punts right through my lower belly. This week the movements have definitely changed from a swooshing, rollercoaster-like flipflop feeling to real, defined little kicks and punches. I love it! It's fast becoming the best part of my day.
Also attended, participated in and finished my first step class since discovering the chicken. It was SO fun! I've been doing this same Friday afternoon step class for almost six years now and had really missed it. Was great to be back and feeling strong enough to work up a good, pre-preggy sweat. That's right, ya'll. Still got it.
Finally, me and Dings (did I mention she's preggers too? Due three weeks after me!) signed up for a prenatal Pilates class. Psyched. Can't wait to start it! Am love, love, loving the second trimester.
Sorry about picture quality. Because of the Moet Ordeal we weren't able to find the time to take a proper picture, so I took this self portrait using the MAC's Photo Booth feature. I feel like the bump has stopped growing out front this week and instead all the growth is happening out back in the "love handle" region. Not cute. Note strategically placed hands. Thank me, I'm sparing your eyes.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Ridin' Dirty
I know a while back I posted about my lack of New Year's resolutions for 2007. Not exactly, 100% true. In fact, I did kind of have one, but like I said in my recent post, I prefer not to set my self up for failure by admitting to it. To tell people about it and then never do it is just embarrassing. Much safer to keep it in my head, that way, if I fail, at least I'm the only one who knows what a lazy ass I've been.
My point?
I did have a little resolution stored in the depths of my brain this year. It was to resurrect an old hobby, to get back in the saddle, quite literally, and pursue a lifelong dream. Yep, I wanted to take horseback riding lessons.
I rode English style for a while as a kid and developed a life-long addiction to all things horse. I love their smell, the feel of their velvety lips as they rub against the palm of your hand, searching for a carrot or a bunch of hay. I love the sound they make when they try to blow flies away from their glorious eyes. The clop, clop, clop of a giant police horse when it rides past my street on it's way back to the stables at the CNE is enough to make my heart well-up with urge to run over and touch it, smell it, but most of all, ride it.
Year after year I drag Crown with me to the Royal Winter Fair, just so I can spend some time wandering the stables, smelling the horses and watching the show riders trot around the ring. I could sit there for hours, but with Crown in tow a few minutes is more common.
Don't even get me started on the number of times I've begged Crown to go riding with me when we go down south. Ever the good sport, he's climbed up on more than his fair share of flea-bitten, sway-backed animals and suffered through a hot mountain ride just to make me happy. Will have to try to scan a picture soon so you can all see what he looks like, feet barely off the ground, pained look on his face as he bounces in the no-so-ergonomically correct saddles of the south.
Is the love of horses really a girl thing? There is the obvious sexual innuendos involved, but that doesn't really explain little girls and their desire to get a pony for Christmas. Or does it? What would Freud say?
There's the cowboy thing, and yes, I love them, too. I'll dream up a good ol' fashioned cowboy fantasy over the more trendy movie-star or rags-to-riches-big-city-business-man thing any day. Something about a darkly tanned man with a few strands of sun bleached hair peeking out of his Stetson, brushing off a dusty pair of jeans well-worked-in jeans, as he dismounts from a big sweaty horse. Mmmm....
But I digress. Not too many cowboys when you ride English-style. Think Prince Charles. Essentially the opposite of hot cowboy, right? This is definitely NOT what's drawing me back into the saddle.
Maybe I come by it naturally. Moms is also an avid horse lover, and rode for years in her teens/early 20s. Sadly, she was thrown while jumping and destroyed her leg so badly that she never went back to her lessons. It's been her dream (and secretly mine as well) to own a little hobby farm one day with a few horses, spending time each day training, grooming and riding. Heaven.
How ever it is that I came by my passion, the point is, it is a passion. And it is time to stop sitting around with a tiny dream in the back of my head and to do something about it. Until now it's not been an easy dream to pursue. Most riding stables are located a considerable distance outside of the city. To get there every week would be a major challenge. Plus, it is not the cheapest hobby in the world.
Luckily, a few years ago, a riding school opened mere minutes away from me, The Riding Academy at the Horse Palace. It's still a pretty-penny, but I'm justifying the extravagance by telling myself that you really should not put a price on your dreams. I'm in a pretty good place financially and I figure, if I can afford to pay for gym memberships, yoga classes, random shopping sprees, movies, nights out at the bar, well, then I can afford to pursue this dream.
Other justifications include the superb work-out riding provides. You should be able to bounce a quarter off my ass in no time, and we all know how I love a big strong ass. Heh. Also, while the men may not be much to write home about, the women in full formal dress, with the jodhpurs and the tall leather boots? Hot. And who doesn't love a hobby that comes paired with a great outfit?
So I'm doing it. I have registered for the 8-week Adult Introductory course, it's a prerequisite to the regular group classes because in order to take those you have to pass a riding exam and be able to tack and groom the horse yourself. Considering I have not ridden English or tacked a horse since I was about 12, I'm pretty sure I'm going to require the refresher.
My first lesson was supposed to be happening right now; unfortunately, due to a last minute cancellation there were not enough students to keep the Sunday course on the schedule. Instead I've transferred to Thursday evenings and my first class will be February 8th. I'm hoping that there will be enough riders interested to keep that class on the board. If you are out there and share my dream? Call today and sign up! There is no time like the present.
I'll keep you posted on my lessons and the condition of my ass (which I'm sure will be so sore for the first while that I'll be spending a lot of time standing up).
Giddy up!
My point?
I did have a little resolution stored in the depths of my brain this year. It was to resurrect an old hobby, to get back in the saddle, quite literally, and pursue a lifelong dream. Yep, I wanted to take horseback riding lessons.
I rode English style for a while as a kid and developed a life-long addiction to all things horse. I love their smell, the feel of their velvety lips as they rub against the palm of your hand, searching for a carrot or a bunch of hay. I love the sound they make when they try to blow flies away from their glorious eyes. The clop, clop, clop of a giant police horse when it rides past my street on it's way back to the stables at the CNE is enough to make my heart well-up with urge to run over and touch it, smell it, but most of all, ride it.
Year after year I drag Crown with me to the Royal Winter Fair, just so I can spend some time wandering the stables, smelling the horses and watching the show riders trot around the ring. I could sit there for hours, but with Crown in tow a few minutes is more common.
Don't even get me started on the number of times I've begged Crown to go riding with me when we go down south. Ever the good sport, he's climbed up on more than his fair share of flea-bitten, sway-backed animals and suffered through a hot mountain ride just to make me happy. Will have to try to scan a picture soon so you can all see what he looks like, feet barely off the ground, pained look on his face as he bounces in the no-so-ergonomically correct saddles of the south.
Is the love of horses really a girl thing? There is the obvious sexual innuendos involved, but that doesn't really explain little girls and their desire to get a pony for Christmas. Or does it? What would Freud say?
There's the cowboy thing, and yes, I love them, too. I'll dream up a good ol' fashioned cowboy fantasy over the more trendy movie-star or rags-to-riches-big-city-business-man thing any day. Something about a darkly tanned man with a few strands of sun bleached hair peeking out of his Stetson, brushing off a dusty pair of jeans well-worked-in jeans, as he dismounts from a big sweaty horse. Mmmm....
But I digress. Not too many cowboys when you ride English-style. Think Prince Charles. Essentially the opposite of hot cowboy, right? This is definitely NOT what's drawing me back into the saddle.
Maybe I come by it naturally. Moms is also an avid horse lover, and rode for years in her teens/early 20s. Sadly, she was thrown while jumping and destroyed her leg so badly that she never went back to her lessons. It's been her dream (and secretly mine as well) to own a little hobby farm one day with a few horses, spending time each day training, grooming and riding. Heaven.
How ever it is that I came by my passion, the point is, it is a passion. And it is time to stop sitting around with a tiny dream in the back of my head and to do something about it. Until now it's not been an easy dream to pursue. Most riding stables are located a considerable distance outside of the city. To get there every week would be a major challenge. Plus, it is not the cheapest hobby in the world.
Luckily, a few years ago, a riding school opened mere minutes away from me, The Riding Academy at the Horse Palace. It's still a pretty-penny, but I'm justifying the extravagance by telling myself that you really should not put a price on your dreams. I'm in a pretty good place financially and I figure, if I can afford to pay for gym memberships, yoga classes, random shopping sprees, movies, nights out at the bar, well, then I can afford to pursue this dream.
Other justifications include the superb work-out riding provides. You should be able to bounce a quarter off my ass in no time, and we all know how I love a big strong ass. Heh. Also, while the men may not be much to write home about, the women in full formal dress, with the jodhpurs and the tall leather boots? Hot. And who doesn't love a hobby that comes paired with a great outfit?
So I'm doing it. I have registered for the 8-week Adult Introductory course, it's a prerequisite to the regular group classes because in order to take those you have to pass a riding exam and be able to tack and groom the horse yourself. Considering I have not ridden English or tacked a horse since I was about 12, I'm pretty sure I'm going to require the refresher.
My first lesson was supposed to be happening right now; unfortunately, due to a last minute cancellation there were not enough students to keep the Sunday course on the schedule. Instead I've transferred to Thursday evenings and my first class will be February 8th. I'm hoping that there will be enough riders interested to keep that class on the board. If you are out there and share my dream? Call today and sign up! There is no time like the present.
I'll keep you posted on my lessons and the condition of my ass (which I'm sure will be so sore for the first while that I'll be spending a lot of time standing up).
Giddy up!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
When I'm Sixty-Four
I have been spending an exorbitant amount of money on personal maintenance. Seriously my friends. Between the waxing, facials and mani-pedis, I’m headed for the poor house.
Here’s my theory. The more you start to indulge in these quick aesthetic tune-ups, the more you start to need them. I’m serious. When I was only getting one mani-pedi every two months or so, my feet were soft, toes lovely, hands like butter. Now? Scaly chipped, peeling and cracked after like five days. Sure, summer plays a role, but I think there’s a greater evil lurking in the shadows.
Age. There, I said it.
I get it now.
The older you get, the fatter, dryer, pastier, frizzier and wrinklier you get. It’s all true. Holy fuck.
Anyway, my point. With the pending nuptials bearing down on me, I’ve been feeling some added pressure to get the car into the shop, so to speak. Through out the summer I’ve been going for monthly facials, I’ve had purifying back treatments, hair cuts and colours. I’ve been springing for the “good” shampoo.
Naturally, summer requires waxing. I’ve been upping the ante and going full burn on the bikini in prep for poolside in Sin City. Also, have added eyebrows to the list, something that until this year, I’ve always tended to myself. Now there’s no going back! The brows need a professional! That arch, that perfectly “natural shape” that is SO NOT NATURAL AT ALL. I can’t do that. No way.
Then there's the ever present gym-membership. Plus I’ve been religious about weekly yoga. And this week I added a tanning package to the list. Tan lines won’t do, will they? NO THEY WILL NOT.
Add up all these services and it feels like springing for the full detailing at the car wash, you don’t really want to pay someone to shake out your mats, but do it yourself? As if.
So this fall, when I’m wearing last year’s boot cut jeans, instead of this year’s drainpipes; and if you see me in pointy-toed kitten heels, instead of round toed platforms; just know, underneath those out-of-date fashions lies smoothly waxed skin, soft, supple heels and a bloody expensive tan.
My one saving grace? Am off food. Saving a few bucks there. But trust me, once I’ve actually fit into my dress, I’ll be back on the burgers, and those few extra dollars will be flying out the window as well.
Will I give up my other services then, too? Somehow, I don’t see it happening. Like prune juice and comfortable shoes, looks like they are just an inevitable part of my future.
Here’s my theory. The more you start to indulge in these quick aesthetic tune-ups, the more you start to need them. I’m serious. When I was only getting one mani-pedi every two months or so, my feet were soft, toes lovely, hands like butter. Now? Scaly chipped, peeling and cracked after like five days. Sure, summer plays a role, but I think there’s a greater evil lurking in the shadows.
Age. There, I said it.
I get it now.
The older you get, the fatter, dryer, pastier, frizzier and wrinklier you get. It’s all true. Holy fuck.
Anyway, my point. With the pending nuptials bearing down on me, I’ve been feeling some added pressure to get the car into the shop, so to speak. Through out the summer I’ve been going for monthly facials, I’ve had purifying back treatments, hair cuts and colours. I’ve been springing for the “good” shampoo.
Naturally, summer requires waxing. I’ve been upping the ante and going full burn on the bikini in prep for poolside in Sin City. Also, have added eyebrows to the list, something that until this year, I’ve always tended to myself. Now there’s no going back! The brows need a professional! That arch, that perfectly “natural shape” that is SO NOT NATURAL AT ALL. I can’t do that. No way.
Then there's the ever present gym-membership. Plus I’ve been religious about weekly yoga. And this week I added a tanning package to the list. Tan lines won’t do, will they? NO THEY WILL NOT.
Add up all these services and it feels like springing for the full detailing at the car wash, you don’t really want to pay someone to shake out your mats, but do it yourself? As if.
So this fall, when I’m wearing last year’s boot cut jeans, instead of this year’s drainpipes; and if you see me in pointy-toed kitten heels, instead of round toed platforms; just know, underneath those out-of-date fashions lies smoothly waxed skin, soft, supple heels and a bloody expensive tan.
My one saving grace? Am off food. Saving a few bucks there. But trust me, once I’ve actually fit into my dress, I’ll be back on the burgers, and those few extra dollars will be flying out the window as well.
Will I give up my other services then, too? Somehow, I don’t see it happening. Like prune juice and comfortable shoes, looks like they are just an inevitable part of my future.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
People Are Strange
The Doors got it right, folks, people are strange.
I for one really like strange people and for the most part find them entirely entertaining, if on occasion rather annoying. I'm the first to admit that I get annoyed by people quickly, but don't want anyone to mistake that for the fact that I'm not appreciating their utter bizarreness.
So to keep this short, I just had to get something down about this weirdo from my spinning class.
Just came back from class -- and there are a lot of odd fitness-weirdos at the gym, I could go on forever -- and this cycle-geek guy who is often in class with me was there.
He's always slightly annoying with his talk of bike races and off-roading and time trials and whole lot of other crap that I could care less about. This guy doesn't look like Lance Armstrong, either. Maybe I could let the super-cycle talk slide a bit if that were the case, but no.
Here's the weirdest part about Supercycle. He likes to SHOUT the name of the song that comes on (we spin to very loud music, which I assume is supposed to make you forget the fact that you are actually not doing something fun like dancing at a club with your friends) within 5 beats. I'm not just observing this fact, he has actually said to me, "I can name any song in the first five seconds that it plays."
So just imagine for a moment. You're tired, you're hot, you're sweaty and wondering why this damn class doesn't hurry up and end already. Now imagine that every time the song changes, lunatic bike-guy screams the name of the song out at the top of his lungs before it even starts.
"CRAZY IN LOVE - BEYONCE! HA!" he exclaims, clearly very proud of himself.
"LIKE A PRAYER - MADONNA! I love this one!" (He smiles and nods at you and hopes that you'll smile back and acknowledge that, yes, this is a great song.)
I love that song too. And often I'm compelled to sing along as I push myself through the class. Sure. But do I yell out in excitment in the first three seconds that it plays? Um. No.
So that's weird. But today his wacko behaviour really reached a new level. Today, not only did he yell out the song names. Not only did he nod and smile for approval. But he also decided to do the entire class... backwards.
That's right. No explanation. Just backwards cycling for an hour straight, all the while yelling and singing and nodding and smiling.
WEIRD. People are strange. But imagine for a moment how boring life would be without them?
I for one really like strange people and for the most part find them entirely entertaining, if on occasion rather annoying. I'm the first to admit that I get annoyed by people quickly, but don't want anyone to mistake that for the fact that I'm not appreciating their utter bizarreness.
So to keep this short, I just had to get something down about this weirdo from my spinning class.
Just came back from class -- and there are a lot of odd fitness-weirdos at the gym, I could go on forever -- and this cycle-geek guy who is often in class with me was there.
He's always slightly annoying with his talk of bike races and off-roading and time trials and whole lot of other crap that I could care less about. This guy doesn't look like Lance Armstrong, either. Maybe I could let the super-cycle talk slide a bit if that were the case, but no.
Here's the weirdest part about Supercycle. He likes to SHOUT the name of the song that comes on (we spin to very loud music, which I assume is supposed to make you forget the fact that you are actually not doing something fun like dancing at a club with your friends) within 5 beats. I'm not just observing this fact, he has actually said to me, "I can name any song in the first five seconds that it plays."
So just imagine for a moment. You're tired, you're hot, you're sweaty and wondering why this damn class doesn't hurry up and end already. Now imagine that every time the song changes, lunatic bike-guy screams the name of the song out at the top of his lungs before it even starts.
"CRAZY IN LOVE - BEYONCE! HA!" he exclaims, clearly very proud of himself.
"LIKE A PRAYER - MADONNA! I love this one!" (He smiles and nods at you and hopes that you'll smile back and acknowledge that, yes, this is a great song.)
I love that song too. And often I'm compelled to sing along as I push myself through the class. Sure. But do I yell out in excitment in the first three seconds that it plays? Um. No.
So that's weird. But today his wacko behaviour really reached a new level. Today, not only did he yell out the song names. Not only did he nod and smile for approval. But he also decided to do the entire class... backwards.
That's right. No explanation. Just backwards cycling for an hour straight, all the while yelling and singing and nodding and smiling.
WEIRD. People are strange. But imagine for a moment how boring life would be without them?
Friday, November 26, 2004
Spin, Spin, Sugar
So, I've been doing the South Beach Diet.
Before you laugh or cough or huff... let me explain that my decision to try it came from two specific reasons.
1. I'd been experiencing some very troubling and uncomforable digestion problems.
2. I was getting fat.
Honest to Christ, reason number one was initially the most important factor, and I truly told myself over and over again, "No reason to really lose weight, but let's find out what foods are making you sick. Let's just try this out, do the cleanse, and see if we can't get to the bottom of this problem. And if we drop a couple pounds, super!"
So I did PHASE ONE. For those of you who don't already know, PHASE ONE is a grueling 14 days that involves cutting out all starches, fruits and sugars (natural or not). That means no pasta, bread of any kind, rice, alcohol (that's right NONE), candy, chocolate... you get the point. Don't eat anything that makes you happy.
Unless broccoli makes you happy -- then you're laughing on this phase. You're also a filthy, dirty liar.
PHASE ONE was hard. But not as hard as I thought. CrowN and I went at each other pretty hard on occasion. Apparently lack of carbs and sugar makes you grouchy. But I lasted 14 days and cheated very rarely (a glass of red wine here, a bag of popcorn there) and guess what? My stomach problems were completely GONE. I was a little tired and grouchy the first week, but felt like a million bucks during week two.
And, I lost 10 lbs.
10 lbs in two weeks you ask? That's right. And suddenly, my reasons for doing the diet and sticking to the diet kinda changed. "Holy crap," I thought, "I'm thinner. My belly isn't bulging over pants. My belts are too big. Old clothes I've given up for good suddenly FIT AGAIN. A MIRACLE HAS HAPPENED!"
That's right. Now I'm obsessed.
I should have prefaced all this by saying that I'm not a heifer or anything. I'm 5'9" tall and BSBD (before South Beach Diet) weighed 153 lbs. That was heavier than I'd ever been in my life, but clearly in the perfectly healthy, safe weight range for a woman of my height and age. But seriously ya'll, who doesn't want to shed a couple pounds? What's that... you don't? You lie.
After PHASE ONE you're meant to move onto PHASE TWO. PHASE TWO seems like a dream world after PHASE ONE. I could have cereal (bran flakes, but still) for breakfast, fruit for snacks. The occasional slice of multi-grain bread or whole wheat pita. These things used to seem boring to me, suddenly they were HEAVEN! You're supposed to introduce one starch and one fruit a day and slowly work your way up to three of each per day. I lasted maybe a week like that, and then pretty much dove head first into PHASE THREE.
In a nutshell, PHASE THREE = normal healthy eating. Stay away from sugar. Go easy on the booze (beer is out, red wine is in). Always avoid white stuff (bread, rice, pasta). Compared to my life BSBD, it's a diet pure and simple. But I'm easily keeping off the weight I lost, and I don't feel like I'm suffering that much. More importantly (politically correct thing to say) my digestion troubles are gone. Until, that is, I slip and eat something really sugary.
Seems sugar - my old best buddy, my confident, my drug of choice - was in fact what was making me sick. Just like any drug, I guess. Only this one is so sweet... so simple to get... so... so... I need chocolate right now.
That's my story. I'm sticking to the SBD in it's simplest phase for now. Considering another round of PHASE ONE after the holidays. I really enjoy it to be honest. It's not just a challenge but I also really feel better about myself... and about my ass.
Let's talk about my ass, or asses in general, next time. Check back in for Bootylicious, coming soon.
Before you laugh or cough or huff... let me explain that my decision to try it came from two specific reasons.
1. I'd been experiencing some very troubling and uncomforable digestion problems.
2. I was getting fat.
Honest to Christ, reason number one was initially the most important factor, and I truly told myself over and over again, "No reason to really lose weight, but let's find out what foods are making you sick. Let's just try this out, do the cleanse, and see if we can't get to the bottom of this problem. And if we drop a couple pounds, super!"
So I did PHASE ONE. For those of you who don't already know, PHASE ONE is a grueling 14 days that involves cutting out all starches, fruits and sugars (natural or not). That means no pasta, bread of any kind, rice, alcohol (that's right NONE), candy, chocolate... you get the point. Don't eat anything that makes you happy.
Unless broccoli makes you happy -- then you're laughing on this phase. You're also a filthy, dirty liar.
PHASE ONE was hard. But not as hard as I thought. CrowN and I went at each other pretty hard on occasion. Apparently lack of carbs and sugar makes you grouchy. But I lasted 14 days and cheated very rarely (a glass of red wine here, a bag of popcorn there) and guess what? My stomach problems were completely GONE. I was a little tired and grouchy the first week, but felt like a million bucks during week two.
And, I lost 10 lbs.
10 lbs in two weeks you ask? That's right. And suddenly, my reasons for doing the diet and sticking to the diet kinda changed. "Holy crap," I thought, "I'm thinner. My belly isn't bulging over pants. My belts are too big. Old clothes I've given up for good suddenly FIT AGAIN. A MIRACLE HAS HAPPENED!"
That's right. Now I'm obsessed.
I should have prefaced all this by saying that I'm not a heifer or anything. I'm 5'9" tall and BSBD (before South Beach Diet) weighed 153 lbs. That was heavier than I'd ever been in my life, but clearly in the perfectly healthy, safe weight range for a woman of my height and age. But seriously ya'll, who doesn't want to shed a couple pounds? What's that... you don't? You lie.
After PHASE ONE you're meant to move onto PHASE TWO. PHASE TWO seems like a dream world after PHASE ONE. I could have cereal (bran flakes, but still) for breakfast, fruit for snacks. The occasional slice of multi-grain bread or whole wheat pita. These things used to seem boring to me, suddenly they were HEAVEN! You're supposed to introduce one starch and one fruit a day and slowly work your way up to three of each per day. I lasted maybe a week like that, and then pretty much dove head first into PHASE THREE.
In a nutshell, PHASE THREE = normal healthy eating. Stay away from sugar. Go easy on the booze (beer is out, red wine is in). Always avoid white stuff (bread, rice, pasta). Compared to my life BSBD, it's a diet pure and simple. But I'm easily keeping off the weight I lost, and I don't feel like I'm suffering that much. More importantly (politically correct thing to say) my digestion troubles are gone. Until, that is, I slip and eat something really sugary.
Seems sugar - my old best buddy, my confident, my drug of choice - was in fact what was making me sick. Just like any drug, I guess. Only this one is so sweet... so simple to get... so... so... I need chocolate right now.
That's my story. I'm sticking to the SBD in it's simplest phase for now. Considering another round of PHASE ONE after the holidays. I really enjoy it to be honest. It's not just a challenge but I also really feel better about myself... and about my ass.
Let's talk about my ass, or asses in general, next time. Check back in for Bootylicious, coming soon.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Cold November Rain
Today is ass.
And I swear, I had every intention of keeping these speeches positive and funny. But you know what? Fuck it. Grouchy and funny is going to have to do.
It's pouring rain outside, which was inevitable considering today is the first day in about four weeks that I left the house without an umbrella. Super. It's also cold, windy and dark. All my very favourite weather features.
It is so very November out there today that every time I catch a glimpse of outside (not easy from my vantage point of the hallway where I sit here at work - but if I strain to look out of the corner office in front of me, I can get a semi-glimpse at what appears to be outside)I'm immediately reminded of that screaming, dramatic guitar rift from the GnR song. They felt the cold November rain, man. They really felt it.
NO THEY DIDN'T. They live in LA. There is no cold freakin' rain in LA.
Anyhoo, other than right now, November's been ok. Kinda mild. Kinda fun with all of CrowN's b-day celebrations - 31nderful! But today is just ass, plain and simple. Ass enough that I had to break my diet and chow down on a warm, vegetable quiche and I ate the flakey, carb-filled crust and all! Ooooh what a rebel I can be when Mother Nature pushes my buttons.
[I can hear Mother Nature now: "Beaches, you're only hurting yourself, you silly crust-eating weakling."]
Speaking of diets: have ya'll ever been on one? Man, no wonder everyone always fails, they totally suck ass. I swore many times over to myself that I'd never diet. "Oh, I'll never diet," I said, "I'll just work out regularly so that I can eat whatever I want." Then my metabolism figured out my age. Damn that smart metabolism.
Anyway this is a whole other rant -- I'll give it to you in full next time in "Spin, Spin, Sugar."
And I swear, I had every intention of keeping these speeches positive and funny. But you know what? Fuck it. Grouchy and funny is going to have to do.
It's pouring rain outside, which was inevitable considering today is the first day in about four weeks that I left the house without an umbrella. Super. It's also cold, windy and dark. All my very favourite weather features.
It is so very November out there today that every time I catch a glimpse of outside (not easy from my vantage point of the hallway where I sit here at work - but if I strain to look out of the corner office in front of me, I can get a semi-glimpse at what appears to be outside)I'm immediately reminded of that screaming, dramatic guitar rift from the GnR song. They felt the cold November rain, man. They really felt it.
NO THEY DIDN'T. They live in LA. There is no cold freakin' rain in LA.
Anyhoo, other than right now, November's been ok. Kinda mild. Kinda fun with all of CrowN's b-day celebrations - 31nderful! But today is just ass, plain and simple. Ass enough that I had to break my diet and chow down on a warm, vegetable quiche and I ate the flakey, carb-filled crust and all! Ooooh what a rebel I can be when Mother Nature pushes my buttons.
[I can hear Mother Nature now: "Beaches, you're only hurting yourself, you silly crust-eating weakling."]
Speaking of diets: have ya'll ever been on one? Man, no wonder everyone always fails, they totally suck ass. I swore many times over to myself that I'd never diet. "Oh, I'll never diet," I said, "I'll just work out regularly so that I can eat whatever I want." Then my metabolism figured out my age. Damn that smart metabolism.
Anyway this is a whole other rant -- I'll give it to you in full next time in "Spin, Spin, Sugar."
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