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Who cares about eyebrows?

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Remember that old Seinfeld episode wherein Jerry and Elaine are trying to set George up with Elaine’s friend Cynthia? Elaine is talking about all of Cynthia’s good points, and adds that she has great eyebrows.

Jerry: Who cares about eyebrows?

Elaine: Women KILL for eyebrows like that. Do you know that? I mean, women pluck their real eyebrows out of their head, one by ONE, until they’re BALD, Jerry, bald above the eyes, and then they paint in these eyebrows to look like that.

Later, Jerry broaches the subject of a setup to George, who is reticent because, as he puts it, being set up on a date is one step away from an escort service, or possibly a prostitute. Oh, George. To sweeten the deal, Jerry begins to list all of Cynthia’s physical attributes, adding that she has great eyebrows. Women, he says, kill for eyebrows like that.

George: Who cares about eyebrows?

 

Who indeed? Well, I do, but more on that in a moment.

Are you on Instagram? I am, but inconsistently. Days can go by and I will forget all about it. My posts aren’t terribly compelling, either, they are mainly photos of a) food, b) my dog, c) something blooming in my garden, and d) the occasional selfie thrown in on a good hair day. I particularly post selfies when I am fresh from the salon, since my beloved hair therapist always blows my hair straight, which I never do in my regular life. I suppose I like to have photographic proof of the one day every five weeks when I have shiny, perfectly straight hair.

While I was at my in-laws’ house on the May long weekend, I received notification that someone had commented on one of my Instagram posts. Hooray, comment! Since my posts are so sporadic I always get excited when someone comments. I was a little confused, though, because the comment was from someone I didn’t know and the post in question was from mid-April.

But wait! Before I get to that, I want to note something. I am a person who can take constructive criticism. I try to stay reasonable and non-defensive – it’s a work in progress, yes, but I really try to look at criticism in an objective way. This is especially true if the constructive criticism/ helpful hint comes from a person I know well and love. If a friend has a comment about makeup, or a suggestion about a wrinkle cream, or anything at all, I will look at it objectively, see if it has any merit and, if so, incorporate it into my life.

As an example, someone mentioned a miracle wrinkle reducer to me, upon looking at my forehead wrinkle. I sadly did not write it down and cannot remember for the life of me a) who mentioned it to me or b) what was the product. If it was you, please tell me, because the forehead situation is dire.

Another example: I mentioned to my hair therapist that I was thinking of going to my natural dark brown, to which she said Not on my watch, Nicole. Her reasoning was sound: every five weeks I go insane, loathing the roots that I have, and if my hair was darker my loathing would be that much greater. Well, I like being a feisty redhead anyway, so I took her advice and here I am, in mid-April, with fresh colour and straightened hair.

instagramhair

And so when I opened my Instagram to read the comment left to me by someone I do not know, I was a bit surprised. I enjoyed the part about having beautiful hair and a wonderful complexion, particularly since I did not use a filter on that photo, as you can probably tell by the forehead wrinkles and undereye circles. And yet.

Let your brows grow in. They look as abused as my poor dying plants I’m constantly forgetting to water. You’ll be amazed.

I immediately went into the bathroom and peered at my eyebrows. It’s true, I have a few eyebrow hairs that are going grey to match my startling roots, but I didn’t think that they were particularly ABUSED looking. I didn’t think they were analogous to dead, unwatered plants. In fact, I thought in that photo they were looking particularly healthy, but I found myself second-guessing everything. Are my eyebrows all wrong?

Here’s the thing, if I let my eyebrows grow in, I feel it would be disastrous. My natural eyebrows are a cross between Martin Scorcese and Bert from Sesame Street, which is not a look I want to cultivate. If someone is comparing me to Bert from Sesame Street, I would like it to be because I’m boring and I like grey, not because of my unibrow.

Don’t worry; I didn’t let that comment destroy my self-esteem or anything. I’m not fishing for eyebrow-related compliments, but I did think it was a pretty strange thing to comment on. I never comment on stranger’s photos, and I would certainly never post a negative comment about something as strange as eyebrows. I was more puzzled than anything.

Then it hit me: maybe eyebrows are the new eyelashes. A while back there were a bunch of eyelash parties – analogous to Tupperware parties, but with eyelashes, I guess, I’ve never been to one myself – and now I’m wondering if the same is true for eyebrows. Are eyebrow regrowth products the newest Multi Level Marketing thing?

If my hypothesis is correct, then I have a gentle suggestion for eyebrow representatives everywhere: don’t go on Instagram and randomly tell people their eyebrows are terrible. Because really, who cares about eyebrows?

(I do. But still.)

Tea for Two (and more)

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Last week was the Volunteer Tea at the school. I go every year but I don’t really look forward to it, if you know what I mean. I don’t dread it or anything, but it has always felt like more of a duty than a great pleasure or celebration. With the exception of the year Jake was in kindergarten, my children have never been involved in the performances, and so it’s mostly just a morning of drinking bad coffee and watching other people’s children. Which is fine! I always like seeing my friends’ kids perform and I always, always enjoy the completely adorable kindergarten performance, but, well, you know.

This year was different. For one thing, I am VERY COGNIZANT of the fact that I have only one more year left at the school, which makes me enjoy things a lot more. For another, Mark was the emcee for the tea, which was the first time ever he had emceed. I was PRETTY EXCITED when he told me of his moment in the spotlight, although that excitement was slightly dimmed by the fact that he had already known for two weeks and hadn’t thought to tell me.

This is the conversation we had a few weeks ago.

Mark: Are you going to the Volunteer Tea?

Me: Of course, I go every year.

Mark: Oh good, because I’m the emcee.

Me: OMGOMGOMG THAT’S AWESOME I’M SO PROUD OF YOU AND I’M SO EXCITED! Did you just find this out today?

Mark: No, Ms. H. asked me a couple weeks ago.

Me: Why didn’t you tell me?

Mark: I AM telling you.

Mark and his emcee partner did a great job, and the highlight for me was winning a door prize and having Mark call out my name – he was so excited. The door prize, by the way, was a begonia. I had already put in all my bedding plants so I really had to squeeze it in, but it looks beautiful.

And, of course, the kindergarten performance was a delight. The three morning kindergarten classes filed in and it took way longer for them to get set up for their song-and-dance routine than the actual routine, which is quite entertaining in itself. Okay, you stand there, now we are making a circle, remember, face your partner. I just love how some kids get really into it, and others sort of stand there and mouth the occasional word.

Speaking of which, one of the Grade One/ Two classes performed a song about different Canadian coins, which is one of those tenacious earworms. I was humming along for days: the beaver, oh! The beaver! A little part of history…But I digress. I was mentally picking out my friends’ kids in the class and smiling at the enthusiasm of the hand gestures, when I noticed a boy in the back row standing stock still. I kept my eye on him as he looked side to side, and then began slowly edging back, behind the boy beside him, who was taller. It was super stealthy; he edged inch by inch until he was completely behind the other boy. I assume he thought he was hidden from view. The gig was kind of up when the other boy realized something was happening, turned around, and jumped a little to see someone right behind him. Since they were on the top row of risers I was a little nervous it would all end with someone falling off but luckily, no such incident occurred.

In addition to hosting the Volunteer Tea, later on the same day the school hosts a Senior’s Tea for the elderly in our community, of which there are many. All the morning’s performances were to be repeated in the afternoon for the seniors’ entertainment, and Mark and his partner were, of course, emceeing as well. As in most senior’s groups, there is a dearth of men; however, Mark mentioned that there was one elderly fellow who chatted with him for a bit. The festivities were about to start, and Mark asked him to take a seat. “Okay!” the old man said. “We’re a little short at home. Which one should I take?” Ah, old man humour. Who can resist it?

I knew for a fact that my sweet next door neighbour was at the tea, and so I asked Mark if he had seen her.

Me: Did you talk to Mrs. G?

Mark: I don’t know. Maybe.

Me: What do you mean, maybe?

Mark: Well, I said hi to everyone who came in the door.

Me: Well, did you SEE Mrs. G?

Mark: I’ve got to be honest with you, Mom. All those old ladies? They look alike to me. I can’t tell them apart.

Me: Oh.

Mark: Well, they all have short grey hair and glasses and they all had kind of the same clothes, so I just really didn’t know. And there were so many of them!

Well. At any rate, by all accounts the tea was a success. We followed it with one of those very busy, productive weekends that had me crossing things off the to-do list like crazy. I even helped my husband clean the eavestroughs. Every year, it’s the same. My husband briefly considers hiring someone to clean the eavestroughs. Then he says that he’s not going to pay “some asshole” $90 for something he can do himself. (Note: it’s always “some asshole.”) Then, midway through cleaning out the disgusting debris, while I hold the ladder and try not to get disgusting debris dripped on my person, he says Why didn’t I just HIRE someone to do this? By the time the job is finished, however, he says he is GLAD he never hired anyone, and it’s not so bad, while I scrub off whatever has dripped on me and track pine needles everywhere. Ah, it’s nice to know what to expect in life, sometimes, isn’t it? Just like an old man joke, it’s nice sometimes to know the punchline.

Wild Thing

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I just got back yesterday from an extra-long weekend at my in-laws’ house, and I have a question: how is it possible to have an absolute mountain of laundry when I actually DID two loads of laundry over the weekend? The answer is that there is no answer. There is only laundry.

I’m feeling a bit drained from all the driving, and then the rush to get groceries and prepare for this very short week, and…I guess I’m just feeling a bit drained in general. The weekend was nice, albeit a bit cool and a bit rainy, although it snowed quite a bit in Calgary and so I will not complain about it. Because of the cooler weather we took the kids to a movie: Angry Birds. It wasn’t the worst movie I have ever seen, but that’s about as positive as I can get about it.

Today I went to the garden centre to pick up my annual flowers, and let me tell you a secret: the Wednesday after the long weekend is PRIME plant purchasing time. I think they must get a big shipment in after the long weekend depletion (although – was anyone actually buying flowers in the snow? I don’t know.). In any case, “kid in a candy store” does not adequately describe my feelings when I’m in the garden centre. It’s all I can do to not gather up tables of plants in my arms and run out of the store. Even though I felt like I was spinning around and dancing like Maria von Trapp in the Alps, I was actually quite well behaved and kept reminding myself that I didn’t have enough room to take EVERYTHING I wanted home.

Well, technically I would have to remove the entire front lawn if I did take home everything I wanted, but that’s another story.

I love the garden centre with all my being. It feels like Christmas in there. I walk around with a huge smile on my face, talking to all the old people who shop there on weekdays. Just like with groceries, it’s me and the elderly. I love how all the old ladies dress up to go to the garden centre, in floral dresses or nice slacks, with tan nylons and open toed white sandals. Their white cardigans match their shoes and handbags, and their husbands push the cart for them, looking pained. Then there are the old men that are flying solo in the bedding plants; I always get into flirty chats with them regarding the newfangled wave petunias or those new impatiens that actually need part sun, rather than full shade. Good times. Flirting with the elderly seems to be a pastime of mine now; I feel quite youthful and a little bit wild, with my snapdragons and osteopermum that I might just plant together, I don’t know.

Anyway, enough of my depravity.

Despite the snow, the gardens and yard look so wonderful right now. For one thing, the lilacs all bloomed last week, which must be a new record:

lilac

The little yellow leopard’s bane, which my neighbour gave me years ago and which did not bloom at all last year, are in bloom:

buddha

And it’s almost Barkley’s birthday! He’s going to be eight on Monday.

barkley

I have much to tell you, mostly about weird comments regarding my eyebrows and also weird comments regarding my makeup, but that shall have to wait for another day. Those flowers aren’t going to plant themselves! xo

Shameless Name-Dropping Post

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I don’t pay too much attention to celebrities, it’s true, but I have to admit even I have a tendency to get star struck sometimes. If I very much admire someone, or if I think someone is incredibly talented, then all bets are off. I saw Colin Mochrie in Las Vegas in 2000 and I actually went up to him, introduced myself, and told him that “all of Canada was proud of him.” I once sat at a table with David Pelletier; I admired him greatly. I watched the whole gold medal debacle in a bar in Houston, and all the kind Texans assured me that Canada was robbed. I didn’t say this to David Pelletier, but then again, I didn’t get to say too much to him as he spent the dinner texting Jamie Sale about babysitting arrangements and, possibly, how lame his tablemates were.

David Pelletier

I met Jim Cuddy at the same function, in 2008, and I still refer to him as “my boyfriend.”

JimCuddy

My friend and I once specifically took our kids to the zoo just because Will and Kate were going to be there, and we took photos of their motorcade from the gorilla viewing area, which made it look like we were creeping in the bushes (we weren’t).

willandkate2

So when my friend and fellow YMC’er Ashley asked if I wanted to meet Catriona Lemay Doan, I pounced on it.

Well, to be totally honest, I was a wee bit more excited about seeing Ashley than I was to meet the three-time Olympic medalist and “fastest woman on ice.” You see, there are many, many benefits to working digitally from home with people all across the country, but there is a huge drawback: I rarely get to see those wonderful people in the flesh. So when Ashley – who lives in Halifax – said she was going to be in Calgary, and I was ALSO going to see her the following week in Toronto, well. I was pretty excited, is all I’m saying.

ashley

But there is something very cool about meeting an Olympian. For one thing, I am probably the farthest thing ever from being an Olympic athlete, i.e., I am terrible at all sports. So I very much admire people who devote their lives to sport and become elite athletes: a) they are incredibly gifted, and b) they are incredibly hard-working.

Catriona Lemay Doan is both of these things. She is also suffering from osteoarthritis in her toes – all those years on the ice! – as well as shoulder issues. She had partnered with Ashley’s company, InnoviCares, to talk about chronic pain management.

As an aside, I only just found out what Ashley’s company does, even though she’s been working there a while. It provides a free card for customers to get discounts on certain pharmaceuticals. Now, as any good economist knows, there is no such thing as a free lunch, so I questioned Ashley extensively about this. I mean, if it’s free to the consumers, and the consumers are getting free savings, someone has to be footing the bill. Who is it? It turns out that the pharmaceutical companies fund this, so if you already need these medications, this card would be a good idea. I do not have any specific prescriptions, but Ashley told me that they are starting to get into the vitamin and supplement market, and I do love a good supplement. It works with your existing drug plan, and I know that some of my relatives are on some of the covered medications, so I’m going to suggest it to them.

Anyway, I was pretty excited to meet Catriona, who is absolutely gorgeous in person – both physically and on the inside too. She is a warm, lovely person who immediately made me feel like a friend. We chatted for a long time, and although we started talking health care and how athletes usually have such a short term goal in mind that they often discount long-term effects of their sport on their physical well being, conversations turned to kids, schools, and food.

Things Catriona Lemay Doan and I Have In Common


1) We were both born in the 70s, although she’s a few years older than I am.

2) We are the same height.

3) We have kids who are similar age.

4) Her kids go to school with my friend’s kids; in fact, her daughter is in the same class as Mark’s preschool buddy. That’s like two degrees of separation!

5) She used to live in the next neighbourhood over from mine.

6) We both grew up on the Prairies.

Ways In Which Catriona Lemay Doan and I Differ

1)  She is an Olympic athlete.

2) She is not vegetarian.

3) I’ve never been a commentator at any Olympics, although I did get to attend a couple of events during the 1988 Olympics.

See? More similarities than differences! It’s a small world after all, we are all sisters under the skin, etc.

Also, medals are really heavy.

Catriona

 

Tiny Handprints On Furniture And Walls

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How was your weekend? I know that Mother’s Day can be fraught with all sorts of emotions and mixed feelings for some people, and if you are one of those, I hope you had some peace over the weekend.

I had some nostalgic, emotional moments when I realized, late Saturday night, that I had not been disallowed from unpacking any backpacks this week. Steph had commented on my Throwing It Back post last week that she remembered when her son no longer brought home Mother’s Day crafts from school, and that comment resurfaced in my brain after I realized that no one had panicked when I opened up backpacks this whole past week. Now, rationally, I know that all things eventually come to an end, and just like it would be very weird to get one of those “Tiny Handprints” poems from a nine-year-old, so too would it be strange to get a Mom-related acrostic poem written on a doily from a teenager. I knew such crafts would no longer come one day, I just didn’t realize that this Mother’s Day would be that day.

Landslide.

It was apparent that my hunch was correct on Sunday morning. Every year for Mother’s Day, my mom and I get pedicures and I go to the garden centre and buy whatever I like and call it my “Mother’s Day gift.” In actuality, I do not want a physical gift on Mother’s Day, just this nice little pedicure-and-plant-buying ritual. But I’ve always had some kind of craft to look at and admire on Mother’s Day, so it did feel a bit strange. I realized that I would never again receive a Mother’s Day craft. Never again is a very powerful concept.

I went to yoga and while I ujjayi breathed, I thought of all the moms in Fort Mac, and how the boys helped me plant the garden the day before, and how everything is wonderful and I really don’t even have room on my dressers for more crafts anyway, since I’ve been displaying most of them since I was given them and things are a little crowded with construction paper. I left the Shala smiling and with renewed perspective.

People, I came home and the boys and my husband had cleaned the entire house. They even scrubbed the baseboards, mopped the downstairs bathroom, and vacuumed the stairs.

Fuck the doily crafts, this was the best Mother’s Day gift ever.

I was completely surprised and frankly, elated. It came to me that motherhood is just one long string of eras, and I am out of the crafting era and into the “acts of service” era and this era is awesome. Not that I didn’t love the preschool teas…

tea

They were adorable. I enjoyed the “spa day” that Jake’s kindergarten teacher had devised, and I wore my bright-pink nail polish with pride, or something…

nailskindy nailskindy2

What I’m saying is I love this new era, I really do. The boys helped my husband make dinner and they all cleaned up and it was kind of a Mother’s Day fantasy come true, to be honest. I used to long for moments by myself, to have a cup of coffee without someone needing help in the bathroom and to make dinner without someone crying in the kitchen, I used to just long for moments where no one was touching me or needing something or talking to me.

And now I have it. I have whole pots of coffee in peace, unless someone desperately needs to know what Reverend Lovejoy’s wife’s name is, or someone wants to expound on their theory that Star Wars could be real, we really don’t know, the universe is so big. No one ever cries when I am trying to get dinner on the table and when the kids get home from school they just hang out and don’t need a thing from me. I’m going to Toronto for YMC-related things tomorrow and it’s really not a big deal. Things will keep on ticking without me; they might be more slightly more complicated, but our little world will keep on turning while I’m gone. I’ll be missed, but not in a oh my god, the universe just imploded kind of way.

I didn’t mean to get all maudlin, but suddenly I understand those irritating old people who would say things like “Enjoy them, it goes so fast” in the grocery store when one kid would be crying in the cart and the other would be pulling things off the shelf. I mean, I’m not going to turn into one of those people because comments like that are in the Top Ten Least Helpful Things To Say To A Mother, but I understand them. And if I went back in time I’d still long for a cup of coffee in peace, I’m sure.

Still.

So to all you mamas of little ones out there, you are doing a great job. Keep on keeping on. And to all you mamas of older kids out there, well, I get it now. It actually does go fast and we can’t stop time, so we better enjoy the ride while we are on it. In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy my very clean house, and pack for my trip tomorrow, and plan to talk about Star Wars and The Simpsons nonstop at the dinner table tonight. xo

Watch out for the carnies.

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Do you ever look at the contents of other people’s grocery carts and wonder what they are going to do with those particular ingredients? I do, all the time. Not in a judgy way, obviously; I don’t care if someone has a cart filled with fruit chews and pork rinds. To each her own, I say. But I do often wonder if someone’s having a party or a barbeque, or if those frozen Dr. Oetker pizzas are actually good. Sometimes it’s obvious: tortilla chips, salsa, sour cream, onions, peppers, and cheddar, for example, means that all signs are pointing towards Nacho Night. I once saw my neighbour with an entire cart – and I mean THE ENTIRE CART – filled with store brand bacon. I could only imagine that it was either on sale or he really likes bacon, or both. Hopefully he has a chest freezer.

But the other day the fellow in front of me had dozens of cucumbers, 3 bags of green apples, at least ten bunches of kale, and some lemons. I wondered if he was on some kind of juice cleanse because really, who is going to chew their way through that many cucumbers? But then I saw that he also had stacks and stacks of Centsibles brand bologna and a few jars of Cheez Whiz. I was actually dying of curiosity because it was such study in opposites. Maybe he runs a lunch program AND he also really likes green juice? Maybe it’s nothing to do with green juice and he really likes kale salads along with this bologna and Cheez Whiz sandwiches? Well, we will never know now but I will always wonder.

People are so interesting, aren’t they? Everyone has a story. I was at Walmart buying my hayfever-ridden son some allergy medication, and there was a fellow standing in the aisle near the family planning section. He was wearing cut-off shorts and a tank top, despite the chilly day, and he was picking up and reading the back of every single lubricant on the shelf. Now, it’s been some time since I’ve bought lube, so I really don’t know what attributes make for the different brands, but this fellow was determined to make an educated decision. I picked up my packages of Reactine, did a little more shopping, and then I remembered I also needed some Motrin. Back I went to the pharmacy and he was still there, reading labels.

Well, if you’re going to spend money you may as well do your research, I suppose.

This week has flown by; in fact, this month has flown by. Sunday is May, which frankly seems ridiculous. This whole week has been a whirlwind of work and yoga and to-do lists, and here it is Friday and I’m feeling DONE. We have some friends coming over for dinner tonight, which I’m very excited about. One is a vegan and let me tell you, it is VERY fun to cook for someone who is going to be as excited as I am about a cauliflower taco dish. I’m also making this dessert, which I haven’t made in so long I had to do some calculations to find out what eight ounces of chocolate is in cups (it’s about 1 1/4 cups, give or take).

ChocolateMousse

Yum!

It’s also my dear, dear friend Hannah’s birthday today. As a gift to her, I am re-posting this amazing photo of us with the third in our trio, Allison, at Blissdom in 2014.

Carny

Aw, this photo brings back so many wonderful memories. And is a little creepy. Where did the carny come from? Well, it was a lentil-themed carnival, and we shall leave it at that.

Hannah sent me this post, which happens to sum up all my feelings about moths. “Just shudder until I died.” I laughed until I cried and my stomach hurt. I tried to read it to my husband, but I was laughing so hard that he just looked at me in a concerned and pitying sort of way that I stopped reading, and he went off to work, probably wondering about my mental stability.

Happy Friday to everyone, I hope you all have a wonderful weekend! xoxo

Practicing non-attachment, except when it comes to clothes.

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Have you ever had one of those weekends where you are just so super-productive and motivated that you find you are marvelling at yourself? That was me, this weekend. I don’t know if it’s a Spring Cleaning Urge or a Nesting Without The Pregnancy thing, but I just had that feeling that I needed to Do All The Things. I probably would have accomplished even more, had it not been for the necessity of meal preparation and sleep. I had one of those wash the windows, scrub down the kitchen cupboards, clean every possible surface kind of weekends, and I’m still riding the wave a little bit.

The boys and I cleaned out their drawers and donated everything that they didn’t like or didn’t fit, and then Jake and I cleaned out his bookshelves and toys. Let me tell you, that kid is a good purger. Maybe he was just in the same mood as I was, but we have bags and bags of donations, with a sparkling clean room to boot. I have started to do the same for Mark’s room, which is much more difficult as he has slight pack rat tendencies.

Well, I can’t fault him too much. I was at a gathering with friends over the weekend, and we were talking about the Kondo Tidying-Up Method. One of my girlfriends (HI JO) cleaned out and donated three-quarters of her wardrobe. She told me she has something like four t-shirts and five tank tops now, and upon hearing this my face looked exactly like this:

I mean, I tried the Kondo method for my wardrobe and it turns out that everything I have “sparks joy.” YES I DO NEED TWENTY-FIVE BLACK SWEATERS WHAT OF IT? When I did go through the process again recently, I ended up getting rid of a couple of pairs of shoes and two workout t-shirts that I SWEAR gave me body odour. I am not kidding – they were made of some kind of “sweat-wicking” bamboo, and every time I wore them I actually smelled like some teenage kid’s gym locker. Right now you’re probably thinking Sure, blame the t-shirts, but it’s true! Any other t-shirt I wear just smells like deodorant after a workout, but these smelled like actual body odour. Not wanting to smell like some kind of feral hippie, I gave up and donated them.

I just had a thought – what if that’s bad karma? What if someone else now has those shirts and is wondering why they suddenly have BO? What if this is a monkey paw situation?

Well, it’s too late to do anything about it at this point.

The point is, I love my wardrobe. I feel like I’ve been cultivating it for years and I love every garment in it. This was the entire motivation for my twelve pound weight loss since August. I know I haven’t been talking about it much, but last summer I had put on a “few pounds,” and that was in addition to a “few pounds” that had been slowly creeping on with time. It’s funny; if you saw me every day you might not have even noticed, but my clothes  were gradually getting tighter. My right hip was bothering me a lot, and that was affecting my yoga practice, which in turn was probably negatively affecting my weight. My energy levels were lower, but it was gradual so I didn’t really realize it. It wasn’t until after I came home from my in-laws’ house after consuming way too many Palm Bay coolers, and snacking mindlessly, that I really noticed. I had been wearing stretchy skirts for most of the summer, so it was a bit of a shock when I put on my jeans and…well, they buttoned up, but the button was a potentially deadly weapon, if you know what I mean.

Then I got on the scale and I saw a number that I hadn’t seen since Jake was a baby. That was a bit of a wake-up call; it’s so easy to slowly put on pounds, and there are obvious health implications to it. I thought, if I gained five (or more) pounds every year, things would start to add up and none of my clothes would fit. Also, as we all know, with weight gain health, energy, etc., suffers but MY CLOTHES.

I’m happy to say that those “few pounds” and more (TWELVE!) are now gone; it was a combination of much more mindful eating and also adding in three cardio exercise workouts a week. I have dessert only once or twice a week, I don’t snack after supper, and I have a spinach smoothie every day. I have so much more energy now – even on weekends that I don’t decide that I need to clean the whole house top to bottom. I still have wine on the weekends, because life isn’t worth living without a glass of Cabernet, in my humble opinion. I mean, I have to draw the line somewhere.

The important thing? My clothes fit again. I don’t have to re-buy my wardrobe and my favourites are still my favourites. Which is good, because if you don’t want to part with any of your clothes, you need to be sure those clothes fit.

Bikini2016