Last evening I found that I had the entire house to myself. Somewhat of a rare occurrence. So, after dining on a particularly delicious salad from a local Italian take-out restaurant while watching an episode of Celebrity Rehab, I decided to do something that I rarely ever do ... take a luxuriously long bubble bath.
My home was built in 1929 ... and while the master bath is equipped with both a shower stall and a separate bathtub ... the bathtub is not currently operational due to the condition of very old pipes. And the cost to repair the ancient plumbing attached to the tub has never been what I would consider to be a good use of our time and money. Maybe someday ... but not today. My children's bathroom, however, has a particularly lovely bathtub. So, I gathered up my scented bubbles, warm pjs, bathrobe, book and Ipod and padded down the hallway to enter their domain.
I am not a stranger to the bubble bath. One of the best features of the first house my husband and I purchased was the spacious tiled bathroom outfitted with an extra-large bathtub. I spent many evening hours when my children were younger relaxing in a steaming hot bath, reading a book and enjoying a little "me" time while my husband watched after the kids. I even had a special bath pillow that rested along the edge of the tub which allowed me to rest my head upon it while reading and relaxing.
Since moving to our current home five years ago, baths have been very few and far between. For one, as I mentioned, the bathtub in the master bath is non-operational. For another, my children are not what you might consider to be the "neatest" children on the planet and I try to avoid their bathroom like the plague. I have ventured into their space on a few occasions when a bath just seemed like too good of an idea to pass up. But I usually only consider it on a day the housekeeper has been in residence ... assuring me that their bathroom has been properly cleaned and sanitized. Last night was one of those nights.
As I had not taken a bath in my own home for a little over a year, I was really looking forward to lighting some scented candles, stepping into the hot foamy bubbles, listening to a selection of my favorite music, resting my head against my now dusted-off bath pillow and reading a few chapters of my new book. And that's exactly what I was preparing to do. Until ...
I noticed that the bathtub had shrunk. It had to have. Because as I lowered my size W self down into the hot, steamy, welcoming bubbles, I noticed that once fully seated, the fit was a bit snug. I distinctly remembered there being a lot more room available during my last visit. And strangely enough, it only seemed to have shrunk in width ... not length. Weird. Sure there was still an inch (or was it centimeter? Gasp!) or two of room between each of my hips and the hard plastic sides of the tub ... but quite frankly, I began to feel a little claustrophobic. And much like an elephant trying to hide behind a fire hydrant.
You see, that's the thing about being fat. You can play all kinds of little tricks on yourself in order to avoid facing the fact that you are fat. You can avoid stepping onto scales. You can avoid looking at yourself in a full-length mirror. You can avoid the junior section at department stores and skip looking for underwear at the Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale (they don't sell size W). But then God steps in and plays a little practical joke on you by going and shrinking the walls of your previously roomy bathtub.
Perhaps I have done myself a disservice by choosing to take showers over baths these past several years and opting only to soak in the large whirlpool tubs found in hotel rooms while on vacation and by lounging in the oversize hot tub located on my front patio. Just as I find it to be particularly surprising and eye-opening that last summer's size W shorts are a little snug after being packed away during the long winter months (I like to believe that my clothes shrink during their hibernation period), I also find it to be particularly disconcerting that the walls of the bathtub seem to be caving in on me.
So, dear readers, again I find myself adding just one more reason to my ever-growing list of why I hate being fat. I continue to count calories, am finding creative ways to fit more exercise into my daily routine (which was literally none at all a few months ago, so any movement is a plus at this point) and I continue to take my journey one day at a time. But, as you all know, it is so much easier said than done.
I believe we need to take God's little practical jokes in stride ... whether he chooses to shrink all of your clothes, the seats at your local movie theater, the seat belts on airplanes, or like He did with me, the walls of your bathtub. I believe it is His way of gently opening your eyes to remind you that there are changes that need to be made and He is there to help you if you ask.
Yes. You can avoid the scale, you can avoid full-length mirrors, the junior department and Victoria's Secret ... but you cannot allow yourself to avoid the little things in life that you once enjoyed (i.e., bubble baths). Make the changes ... one day at a time ... one hour at a time ... one minute at a time. Whatever the case may be. I will be trudging right along beside you ... working up a sweat ... so I can go and enjoy a long, hot bubble bath.
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Friday, January 28, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sex with the Lights On ...
Before recognizing the toxicity of my relationship with Weight Watchers ... I was a dedicated meeting goer for years and years and years and years. Over the course of 20 years, the WW program has changed ... every couple of years or so ... but the meeting agendas have stayed remarkably very much the same.
For instance ... after lining up the masses for the weighing-in ritual, the leader will get the attention of the class and use a "flip chart" decorated with thought-provoking quotes, phrases and pictures to teach us wayward souls a lesson for the week. These lessons do not tend to waiver in their content from year to year.
During this lesson the leader will try to actively involve her students by asking leading questions. Such as ... (1) what did you do this week to fit in your 8 glasses of water per day (WW recommended); (2) what did you do this week to earn activity points (WW slang for exercise); and (3) what steps did you take this week to make sure you kept "on track" (WW is very big on emphasizing keeping oneself "on track"). If you answer one of these questions by raising your hand and stating your answer out loud to the group, you receive a gold star to put on your WW bookmark. The other way to earn stars for your bookmark is by losing a specific number of pounds ... one for every 5 pounds you lose, one for losing 10% of your starting weight, etc. Because I sucked so bad at losing weight, had all the knowledge but none of the will to actually put my knowledge to use, my bookmark was filled to its edges with "participation" stars. I was an excellent participator in open discussion at WW meetings.
Another go-to at a WW meeting is the leader pausing in the middle of the flip-chart demonstration to ask us to gather in groups and brainstorm for answers to seemingly easy questions. Such as ... (1) look through your points booklet and find a variety of breakfasts that can be consumed for 5 points or less; or (2) look through your healthy food guidelines and find one guideline you find difficult to follow (such as your dairy requirement) and come up with 2 ways you can correct it; or (3) write down 5 ways you can add more activity points to your daily routine. On a side note, the leader always split myself and "the peeps" apart because apparently we were trouble makers and didn't take our group exercises seriously. On another side note, most of the answers to the above questions could be answered by buying a WW related product that the leader was required to push at that particular meeting.
But my all-time favorite activity (and, yes, I am being sarcastic) at a WW meeting is the "visualization" process. This is the part in the meeting where the leader has completed her lesson and will ask you to get your daily tracker out (given to you at the start of every meeting after your weigh-in) and have you do some ridiculous visualization exercise. For example, she will say something along the lines of the following (with a calm, hushed tone): "Close your eyes and visualize you have reached your goal weight. What are you wearing? How do you feel? Who are you with? Where are you at?" Now open your eyes and write down on your daily tracker everything you just saw in your mind. And I would like one or two of you to share it with the group."
At one meeting, a lady expressed that she had bought a silver dress to wear to a wedding. But she had never been able to wear it. And that once she got to her goal weight, she was going to wear it. To a meeting. And she did. It was horribly outdated (once again affirming my theory that you shouldn't keep clothes in your closet that don't fit in the present so you can wear them in the future when you lose weight) and not an attractive look for her. But she made her goal and kept her promise which is more than I can say for my WW dropout self.
Another woman stated that she was wearing an LBD (little black dress) to a fancy cocktail party alongside her husband. It should be noted that she stated that she had never owned an LBD or had ever attended a fancy cocktail party with her husband. But, by gosh, that's what she conjured up in her head.
Others expressed wearing bikinis and sipping frozen fruity cocktails on exotic beaches somewhere in the Caribbean. Which kind of goes against all WW was trying to teach us ... do you have any idea how many points are in that fruity frozen cocktail?
But everyone has a dream. Mine? And if my children are reading this ... please log off immediately because you may be scarred for life ... and if you are again not a fan of TMI ... you log off as well.
My dream? To have sex with the lights on. Yea ... I'm not joking around. After about what seemed like the 100th time I had done this "visualization" exercise, I decided to quit playing it safe and say what I really felt.
What I am wearing? A thong ... a bustier, thigh high black stockings, garters, high-heels ... the works. I also have very long hair in this dream which is weird because I haven't had anything other than shoulder length hair since I was 18. Jersey style. Teased to the ceiling.
How did I feel? Smoking hot and sexy. Like Angelina Jolie ... or any girl in a rap video.
Who am I with? Well, I guess since I'm married I had better say my husband. *Wink* Just kidding ... of course I'm with my husband ... you'd think I'd let someone other than my husband, gynecologist and primary care physician see me naked at this stage in the game?
Where are you at? A bedroom ... mine, a hotel room, any bedroom. And we're leaving the lights on. Or maybe it's during the daytime and we are allowing the sunlight to fill the room. I don't know and I don't care. All I know is that there is light.
I wrote all this down on my little tracker. I did. And I raised my hand and shared my dream with the group. And aside from offending a small group of prudish ladies ... I got some laughs, some applause and another gold star for my bookmark. I also submitted a very similar version of my vision for a WW contest wherein the grand prize winner would receive a $25,000 cash prize. I didn't win. But I did receive an honorable mention and a $100 AmEx card. The winning entry involved the writer seeing herself starting out as a caterpillar and emerging from her cocoon as a beautiful butterfly. Or some bullshit like that. I was robbed.
Let's be honest ladies ... isn't being sexy one of the top reasons we want to lose those extra pounds? Who doesn't want to slink around like Halle Berry in a cat suit or walk the runway at a Victoria's Secret fashion show? If you are sitting at a WW meeting or tackling your weight loss in some other way ... you aren't feeling very sexy.
As a married woman (or a woman in a long-term, committed relationship), you have lost your sense of mystery. My husband has seen me without make up and witnessed my "I just woke up" hair (which resembles that of a Troll doll's). He has nursed me to health when I was severely sick with the flu. Watched me give birth to two children. He has witnessed me caring for two babies, sleep-deprived, with dark circles under my eyes, legs unshaven and covered head to toe in spit up and baby poop. He knows the location of every stretch mark, every surgical scar and patch of cellulite on my body. He has seen me at my very worst. So, at the very least, I would really, really like for him to be able to see me at my very best. And at this moment, at this age and this weight, my very best is in the dark.
Is it ridiculous given how much this man knows about me, not to mention the fact that he has this knowledge and has stuck around all of these years, to limit our mating rituals to that of vampires ... in the middle of the night and in complete and total darkness? Probably.
But I don't know of very many women ... actually, I take that back ... I personally don't know of any women (my friends) who are at the same stage in their life as I am and have had similar struggles with their weight that actively promote a little "afternoon delight" without the shades drawn or who have had fluorescent lighting installed in their bedrooms so their significant other can see them more clearly.
I am upset because my husband has been flirting with the idea of getting Lasik surgery. It terrifies me. Not because of the risks that something may happen to permanently damage his eyes. No, I'm terrified it might actually work and give the man 20/20 vision. And he will actually be able to see me ... CLEARLY ... for the first time in many, many years. Yes, he has glasses but he barely ever cleans them so his eyesight is foggy at best. And he takes them off when it's time for "romance" and thankfully he is blind as a bat without them. The thought of his eyes being permanently fixed gives me hives. Lord have mercy ...
WW leaders aren't the only ones who promote visualization exercises for success. Coaches want players to visualize making that touchdown in the end zone, sinking that putt, catching that ball, hitting that home run, etc. Your boss wants you to visualize a successful financial year ... what will you do differently ... how did you attract more customers, cut expenses, etc. President Obama used a visualization board wherein he and his wife attached pictures, articles, quotes, etc. onto a bulletin board visually mapping out his path to the White House. Never believing for a moment that it wasn't possible.
So ladies ... close your eyes and imagine you are at your goal weight. What are you wearing? How do you feel? Who are you with? Where are you at? Tell me ... because I'm still sitting in the dark.
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
For instance ... after lining up the masses for the weighing-in ritual, the leader will get the attention of the class and use a "flip chart" decorated with thought-provoking quotes, phrases and pictures to teach us wayward souls a lesson for the week. These lessons do not tend to waiver in their content from year to year.
During this lesson the leader will try to actively involve her students by asking leading questions. Such as ... (1) what did you do this week to fit in your 8 glasses of water per day (WW recommended); (2) what did you do this week to earn activity points (WW slang for exercise); and (3) what steps did you take this week to make sure you kept "on track" (WW is very big on emphasizing keeping oneself "on track"). If you answer one of these questions by raising your hand and stating your answer out loud to the group, you receive a gold star to put on your WW bookmark. The other way to earn stars for your bookmark is by losing a specific number of pounds ... one for every 5 pounds you lose, one for losing 10% of your starting weight, etc. Because I sucked so bad at losing weight, had all the knowledge but none of the will to actually put my knowledge to use, my bookmark was filled to its edges with "participation" stars. I was an excellent participator in open discussion at WW meetings.
Another go-to at a WW meeting is the leader pausing in the middle of the flip-chart demonstration to ask us to gather in groups and brainstorm for answers to seemingly easy questions. Such as ... (1) look through your points booklet and find a variety of breakfasts that can be consumed for 5 points or less; or (2) look through your healthy food guidelines and find one guideline you find difficult to follow (such as your dairy requirement) and come up with 2 ways you can correct it; or (3) write down 5 ways you can add more activity points to your daily routine. On a side note, the leader always split myself and "the peeps" apart because apparently we were trouble makers and didn't take our group exercises seriously. On another side note, most of the answers to the above questions could be answered by buying a WW related product that the leader was required to push at that particular meeting.
But my all-time favorite activity (and, yes, I am being sarcastic) at a WW meeting is the "visualization" process. This is the part in the meeting where the leader has completed her lesson and will ask you to get your daily tracker out (given to you at the start of every meeting after your weigh-in) and have you do some ridiculous visualization exercise. For example, she will say something along the lines of the following (with a calm, hushed tone): "Close your eyes and visualize you have reached your goal weight. What are you wearing? How do you feel? Who are you with? Where are you at?" Now open your eyes and write down on your daily tracker everything you just saw in your mind. And I would like one or two of you to share it with the group."
At one meeting, a lady expressed that she had bought a silver dress to wear to a wedding. But she had never been able to wear it. And that once she got to her goal weight, she was going to wear it. To a meeting. And she did. It was horribly outdated (once again affirming my theory that you shouldn't keep clothes in your closet that don't fit in the present so you can wear them in the future when you lose weight) and not an attractive look for her. But she made her goal and kept her promise which is more than I can say for my WW dropout self.
Another woman stated that she was wearing an LBD (little black dress) to a fancy cocktail party alongside her husband. It should be noted that she stated that she had never owned an LBD or had ever attended a fancy cocktail party with her husband. But, by gosh, that's what she conjured up in her head.
Others expressed wearing bikinis and sipping frozen fruity cocktails on exotic beaches somewhere in the Caribbean. Which kind of goes against all WW was trying to teach us ... do you have any idea how many points are in that fruity frozen cocktail?
But everyone has a dream. Mine? And if my children are reading this ... please log off immediately because you may be scarred for life ... and if you are again not a fan of TMI ... you log off as well.
My dream? To have sex with the lights on. Yea ... I'm not joking around. After about what seemed like the 100th time I had done this "visualization" exercise, I decided to quit playing it safe and say what I really felt.
What I am wearing? A thong ... a bustier, thigh high black stockings, garters, high-heels ... the works. I also have very long hair in this dream which is weird because I haven't had anything other than shoulder length hair since I was 18. Jersey style. Teased to the ceiling.
How did I feel? Smoking hot and sexy. Like Angelina Jolie ... or any girl in a rap video.
Who am I with? Well, I guess since I'm married I had better say my husband. *Wink* Just kidding ... of course I'm with my husband ... you'd think I'd let someone other than my husband, gynecologist and primary care physician see me naked at this stage in the game?
Where are you at? A bedroom ... mine, a hotel room, any bedroom. And we're leaving the lights on. Or maybe it's during the daytime and we are allowing the sunlight to fill the room. I don't know and I don't care. All I know is that there is light.
I wrote all this down on my little tracker. I did. And I raised my hand and shared my dream with the group. And aside from offending a small group of prudish ladies ... I got some laughs, some applause and another gold star for my bookmark. I also submitted a very similar version of my vision for a WW contest wherein the grand prize winner would receive a $25,000 cash prize. I didn't win. But I did receive an honorable mention and a $100 AmEx card. The winning entry involved the writer seeing herself starting out as a caterpillar and emerging from her cocoon as a beautiful butterfly. Or some bullshit like that. I was robbed.
Let's be honest ladies ... isn't being sexy one of the top reasons we want to lose those extra pounds? Who doesn't want to slink around like Halle Berry in a cat suit or walk the runway at a Victoria's Secret fashion show? If you are sitting at a WW meeting or tackling your weight loss in some other way ... you aren't feeling very sexy.
As a married woman (or a woman in a long-term, committed relationship), you have lost your sense of mystery. My husband has seen me without make up and witnessed my "I just woke up" hair (which resembles that of a Troll doll's). He has nursed me to health when I was severely sick with the flu. Watched me give birth to two children. He has witnessed me caring for two babies, sleep-deprived, with dark circles under my eyes, legs unshaven and covered head to toe in spit up and baby poop. He knows the location of every stretch mark, every surgical scar and patch of cellulite on my body. He has seen me at my very worst. So, at the very least, I would really, really like for him to be able to see me at my very best. And at this moment, at this age and this weight, my very best is in the dark.
Is it ridiculous given how much this man knows about me, not to mention the fact that he has this knowledge and has stuck around all of these years, to limit our mating rituals to that of vampires ... in the middle of the night and in complete and total darkness? Probably.
But I don't know of very many women ... actually, I take that back ... I personally don't know of any women (my friends) who are at the same stage in their life as I am and have had similar struggles with their weight that actively promote a little "afternoon delight" without the shades drawn or who have had fluorescent lighting installed in their bedrooms so their significant other can see them more clearly.
I am upset because my husband has been flirting with the idea of getting Lasik surgery. It terrifies me. Not because of the risks that something may happen to permanently damage his eyes. No, I'm terrified it might actually work and give the man 20/20 vision. And he will actually be able to see me ... CLEARLY ... for the first time in many, many years. Yes, he has glasses but he barely ever cleans them so his eyesight is foggy at best. And he takes them off when it's time for "romance" and thankfully he is blind as a bat without them. The thought of his eyes being permanently fixed gives me hives. Lord have mercy ...
WW leaders aren't the only ones who promote visualization exercises for success. Coaches want players to visualize making that touchdown in the end zone, sinking that putt, catching that ball, hitting that home run, etc. Your boss wants you to visualize a successful financial year ... what will you do differently ... how did you attract more customers, cut expenses, etc. President Obama used a visualization board wherein he and his wife attached pictures, articles, quotes, etc. onto a bulletin board visually mapping out his path to the White House. Never believing for a moment that it wasn't possible.
So ladies ... close your eyes and imagine you are at your goal weight. What are you wearing? How do you feel? Who are you with? Where are you at? Tell me ... because I'm still sitting in the dark.
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
The Lazy Girl's Guide to Excuses ...
The other day I called out women who wear pajamas in public as being lazy. And I stand by that ... and I do not take it back.
However, so the cheese does not stand alone, I would like to out myself as well ... as being incredibly lazy. In a lot of different areas ... just not of the pajama-wearing-in-public kind.
We all know that genetics are responsible for your outward appearance ... whether you are tall, short, blonde, blue-eyed, brunette, brown-eyed, freckled, dark-skinned, fair-skinned, etc. It has also been found that genetics are responsible for your inward appearance as well ... whether you are fat, skinny, have heart disease, high cholesterol, have a higher chance of developing certain types of cancer, whether you are gay or straight, etc. Your personal values make up another part of who you are ... and those are learned by example from your parents, grandparents, legal guardians, teachers, coaches, etc.
I seem to break the mold when it comes to genetics playing a part in my outward appearance as I am a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fair skinned daughter born to two dark-haired, dark-eyed, darker-skinned parents. Don't think for a moment that I haven't thought of searching for my true birth parents ... it's just that I have become too old and I don't think I could deal with yet another family.
Since my outward appearance is so drastically different from my parents ... how about my inward appearance? My father, for example, has a history of heart disease and Alzheimer's in his family. My mother, diabetes and certain types of cancer. I check the appropriate boxes on the medical forms you are required to fill out every time you go and see a doctor. But no doctor has ever attributed any of my ailments to a "family history."
For example ... nowhere on that medical form does it ask me if one or both of my parents is obese or exceed the healthy BMI rate. Nowhere on that medical form does it ask me if my parents are physically active ... exercising at a moderate pace for at least 30 minutes per day. Nowhere on that medical form does it ask me what kind of food my mother cooked while I was growing up, etc.
Since the medical world could care less about my own parents habits as far as health is concerned, I guess genetics is the factor that I can blame my poor eating habits, couch potato tendencies and fat ass on. Right? I'm not so sure.
My mother is a little on the chubby side ... a typical woman of Italian descent. However, my 4'10" mother is The Little Engine that Could when it comes to dieting. She has immense amounts of willpower and when she decides its time to take off the weight and get into better shape ... she does it. Sure she goes through periods of time that her weight creeps back up on her ... who doesn't? But once she makes up her mind ... ZAP ... it's coming off.
My father is different. He has never been overweight a day in his life. He has exercised regularly for as long as I can remember and he eats an overall healthy diet. And, yet, he had to have a stint put in a few years ago as a result of a clogged artery and high cholesterol. He has done everything "right" his entire life and was still effected by his family history of heart disease.
So again, here I sit as the blonde-haired, blue-eyed daughter of dark-haired, dark-eyed, darker-skinned parents at a crossroads. On the one hand, my mother is a little chunky ... on the other hand, my dad is lean and fit. On the one hand, my mother cooks like most Italian women do ... lots of pasta, bread, sauces , etc. laden with a lot of carbs and calories ... on the other hand, my father eats a relatively healthy diet and is mindful of his intake of carbs and calories. On the one hand, my mother gets her exercise in by walking her puppy Bella ... on the other hand, my father has a gym membership which he actually uses and also bikes and skis and kayaks.
Which side do I take when I am making my excuses of why I am shaped the way that I am, why I eat the way that I do, the reason I do not exercise? Ideas?
No one. I am just lazy. Just like the pajama-in-public wearing lazy slobs that I waxed on about in my previous post. I am just a well-dressed, well-manicured, well-perfumed version of a lazy slob. That's right ... I'm dressing up lazy ... like a wolf in sheep's clothing.
No one can become as fat and out of shape as I have allowed myself to become without being lazy. And trust me ... it takes a lot of work to be this lazy.
When my abusive boyfriend WW wasn't working for me, I was sure that there had to be some medical explanation for why the pounds weren't coming off. A physical and a battery of blood tests proved me to be wrong and threw that theory right out the window. I actually get a full physical every January ... and I am a healthy girl. No high blood pressure or high cholesterol, no thyroid or sugar issues, etc. My two strikes against me? I am a smoker ... and I am overweight. Both of which are completely in my control. And what started out as being a "little" overweight according to the BMI scale in my early 30's has now become full-on "obese" in my late 30's early 40's.
I allowed this to happen to myself and there is no one to blame but myself. Just as I do not believe you can continue to blame your parents for your lousy childhood and continue to whine about it after the age of 30, you can no longer blame your parents, your childhood, your marriage, your social status, etc. for your obesity. Own it brothers and sisters ... because you are the only one who can change it.
The Lazy Girl's Guide to Excuses:
"I have a slow metabolism." Yes, you do. And you will continue to have a slow metabolism until you get off your fat ass and do some exercise and fill your body with the fuel it needs to burn calories. You need to do cardio ... you need to do strength training. You need to shed the fat and put on some muscle. The more muscle you put on ... the more calories you will burn when you are sitting still. You will have a faster metabolism. A faster metabolism and a more efficient calorie-burning body cannot be purchased on EBay or Amazon.com. You have to actually get up and do the work yourself.
While age can play a factor in slowing down your metabolism (it's a medically-proven fact that losing weight for women over the age of 40 is harder than it is when you are 20), it is not impossible to lose weight after the age of 40. It may take longer but it is an achievable goal. I have witnessed it happen in my friends lives.
"I don't have enough time." Bullshit. That's right ... I said bullshit. Because this is the number one excuse I have used myself and the number one excuse I have heard from every one of my friends over the past 20 years or so. Do me a favor. Pick up an appointment calendar ... the kind that a doctor may have ... that has every day broken down into hours. For one week carry that calendar around with you and write down what you did every hour. Do it. And then come back and let me know if you don't have enough time to fit in 30 minutes of moderate exercise five days a week and an hour of strength training two to three times per week.
I have actually done this time experiment ... and I am ashamed and embarrassed by my ridiculously lazy behavior. I spend a lot of time at my childrens' sporting events but not near as much time as I originally thought. I spend more time watching TV than I do anything else. And I mean, anything else. I spend more time in front of the TV than eating, sleeping, working, etc. I really do. I am LAZY ... and if you try tracking how you spend your time hour by hour I think you will find that you are lazier than you think you are too ...
"It's in my genes." I kind of already covered this one. Wasn't the world a much better place when scientists and doctors concluded that there was a "fat" gene? Didn't everyone who was overweight breathe a sigh of relief and think, "Wow, mystery solved. I'm predisposed to be fat so there's nothing I can do about it. Now, let's eat!!" Ridiculous. Just because I'm predisposed to developing heart disease and diabetes doesn't mean that I cannot try to counteract the disease by maintaining a healthy lifestyle. And just because there is a "fat" gene and you are overweight doesn't mean that the "gene" is to blame. Maybe its the donuts, cupcakes, deep-fried onion rings, french fries, chicken wings and pizza that are in your diet more days a week than you would like to admit. Maybe you will never be a size SB ... that could definitely be linked to your genetic make up ... but it doesn't mean that you have to be a size "WWW" either.
"No one in my family will eat the healthy food I make." Who cares? Let them get fat. Then maybe they will look back on your attempts to get healthy and jump on the bandwagon. Make two meals if you have to ... better yet, make them make their own meal if they don't like what you're cooking (if they are old enough, of course). Do what you have to do ... and let them figure it out for themselves. If they are hungry enough ... they will eat it. This is actually one of my favorite stand-by excuses. One time I made a WW macaroni and cheese dish for my family and they wouldn't touch it. They whined until I made the calorie-filled, gooey, cheesy homemade mac and cheese they were used to. So I quit making the healthy one because it was just too much trouble to make both. I need to stop catering to them ASAP ... because truth be told, the WW version of homemade mac and cheese was pretty delicious. Since I have a 39-year old husband, a 17-year old son and a soon to be 16-year old daughter who are healthy and able to cook for themselves ... I think I'm going to start cooking what I want and they can eat it if they want to or they can cook for themselves.
"I'm not an athlete." Who says? Maybe deep down inside you really are an athlete. How will you know unless you try? If you watch the "Biggest Loser" you see that season after season people who can barely walk a mile their first day on the ranch can run a marathon on the last day of the competition. A marathon! They can do it and so can you ... maybe not today ... maybe not tomorrow ... but you can do it if you want to. Maybe running isn't your thing. I know it's not mine. I like to dance. And quite honestly doing Just Dance 2 for the Wii just about kills me ... and I'm talking only one dance here. On a beginner level. But the more I do, the less difficult it becomes. Same with Zumba ... Same with riding my exercise bike ... Maybe I never will be an athlete ... maybe I won't ever be a contestant on So You Think You Can Dance ... maybe I won't ever win the Tour de France ... or maybe I will. You don't know if you don't try.
"I'm going on vacation." This is one of my favorites ... because I go on a lot of vacations. I do. I love to travel and I go every time I get the opportunity. Last year I went to Atlantic City, Florida (3 different times), Hawaii, Mississippi, and Las Vegas. I am always going somewhere with someone ... my family, friends, etc. Now one would think that going on vacation would inspire me to lose weight ... not the case. I always say I'm too busy and I will start when I get back. And then I don't. Or I do and then go on another vacation and blow it once again. Now "going on vacation" is just a jumping off point ... maybe your go-to excuse is something like ... "when the weather gets nicer," or "as soon as my life settles down a bit," or "after I get through this rough patch," or whatever the case may be ...
I can go on and on and on and on with the excuses that I have made over the past several years as to why I am fat. But here are some of the facts: (1) I am too lazy to get out of bed in the morning and put in 30 minutes of exercise; (2) because I am too lazy to get up early, I am oftentimes rushing around getting ready for work which means that I don't have time for a healthy breakfast and usually grab a coffee and donut on the run; (3) I am too lazy to grocery shop regularly which means that I am usually scrambling for something quick and easy to eat for lunch (i.e., fast food); (4) because I am too lazy to grocery shop regularly, my family is usually scrambling for something to eat for dinner (i.e., fast food); (5) when I do grocery shop, I tend to shop for things that are quick and easy to make which usually includes a ton of processed foods and not meals that are prepared with fresh, healthy ingredients; (6) I am too lazy when I get home from a 7 1/2 hour workday where I spend my time sitting on my behind in front of a computer to exercise; and (7) I am so lazy that the only thing I want to do when I get home is sit on the couch and watch TV.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I am lazy. If I continue to be lazy I will not magically wake up one morning and be a size "SB." Nope. I will continue to grow and grow and grow into an even bigger size "W."
Laziness is an epidemic and I am the band leader of the laziness parade. Sure I can dress it up and make it look as pretty as possible ... but underneath it all lays a lazy slob that needs to move her fat ass and quit being so darn lazy. Laziness takes a lot of time and effort ... more effort actually than not being lazy. If I had spent as much time exercising and eating right than making excuses as to why I couldn't ... I wouldn't be sitting here typing this blog with such a fat butt.
So here's to all the lazy girls ... let's get up and get moving. I will admit that since starting this blog I have epically failed in my attempt to keep healthy and keep fit. I have used a number of excuses on my journey and I have allowed them to hold me back from accomplishing my goals. I have lost a total of 8 pounds ... which is a good start. It's 8 pounds I didn't have when I started. But my lazy ways truly have to change in order for me to live my life to the fullest.
What lazy behavior is holding you back from accomplishing your goals? What lazy behavior are you willing to come clean about and admit to? If you're not willing to admit it and own it ... how can you ever expect to change it?
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
However, so the cheese does not stand alone, I would like to out myself as well ... as being incredibly lazy. In a lot of different areas ... just not of the pajama-wearing-in-public kind.
We all know that genetics are responsible for your outward appearance ... whether you are tall, short, blonde, blue-eyed, brunette, brown-eyed, freckled, dark-skinned, fair-skinned, etc. It has also been found that genetics are responsible for your inward appearance as well ... whether you are fat, skinny, have heart disease, high cholesterol, have a higher chance of developing certain types of cancer, whether you are gay or straight, etc. Your personal values make up another part of who you are ... and those are learned by example from your parents, grandparents, legal guardians, teachers, coaches, etc.
I seem to break the mold when it comes to genetics playing a part in my outward appearance as I am a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fair skinned daughter born to two dark-haired, dark-eyed, darker-skinned parents. Don't think for a moment that I haven't thought of searching for my true birth parents ... it's just that I have become too old and I don't think I could deal with yet another family.
Since my outward appearance is so drastically different from my parents ... how about my inward appearance? My father, for example, has a history of heart disease and Alzheimer's in his family. My mother, diabetes and certain types of cancer. I check the appropriate boxes on the medical forms you are required to fill out every time you go and see a doctor. But no doctor has ever attributed any of my ailments to a "family history."
For example ... nowhere on that medical form does it ask me if one or both of my parents is obese or exceed the healthy BMI rate. Nowhere on that medical form does it ask me if my parents are physically active ... exercising at a moderate pace for at least 30 minutes per day. Nowhere on that medical form does it ask me what kind of food my mother cooked while I was growing up, etc.
Since the medical world could care less about my own parents habits as far as health is concerned, I guess genetics is the factor that I can blame my poor eating habits, couch potato tendencies and fat ass on. Right? I'm not so sure.
My mother is a little on the chubby side ... a typical woman of Italian descent. However, my 4'10" mother is The Little Engine that Could when it comes to dieting. She has immense amounts of willpower and when she decides its time to take off the weight and get into better shape ... she does it. Sure she goes through periods of time that her weight creeps back up on her ... who doesn't? But once she makes up her mind ... ZAP ... it's coming off.
My father is different. He has never been overweight a day in his life. He has exercised regularly for as long as I can remember and he eats an overall healthy diet. And, yet, he had to have a stint put in a few years ago as a result of a clogged artery and high cholesterol. He has done everything "right" his entire life and was still effected by his family history of heart disease.
So again, here I sit as the blonde-haired, blue-eyed daughter of dark-haired, dark-eyed, darker-skinned parents at a crossroads. On the one hand, my mother is a little chunky ... on the other hand, my dad is lean and fit. On the one hand, my mother cooks like most Italian women do ... lots of pasta, bread, sauces , etc. laden with a lot of carbs and calories ... on the other hand, my father eats a relatively healthy diet and is mindful of his intake of carbs and calories. On the one hand, my mother gets her exercise in by walking her puppy Bella ... on the other hand, my father has a gym membership which he actually uses and also bikes and skis and kayaks.
Which side do I take when I am making my excuses of why I am shaped the way that I am, why I eat the way that I do, the reason I do not exercise? Ideas?
No one. I am just lazy. Just like the pajama-in-public wearing lazy slobs that I waxed on about in my previous post. I am just a well-dressed, well-manicured, well-perfumed version of a lazy slob. That's right ... I'm dressing up lazy ... like a wolf in sheep's clothing.
No one can become as fat and out of shape as I have allowed myself to become without being lazy. And trust me ... it takes a lot of work to be this lazy.
When my abusive boyfriend WW wasn't working for me, I was sure that there had to be some medical explanation for why the pounds weren't coming off. A physical and a battery of blood tests proved me to be wrong and threw that theory right out the window. I actually get a full physical every January ... and I am a healthy girl. No high blood pressure or high cholesterol, no thyroid or sugar issues, etc. My two strikes against me? I am a smoker ... and I am overweight. Both of which are completely in my control. And what started out as being a "little" overweight according to the BMI scale in my early 30's has now become full-on "obese" in my late 30's early 40's.
I allowed this to happen to myself and there is no one to blame but myself. Just as I do not believe you can continue to blame your parents for your lousy childhood and continue to whine about it after the age of 30, you can no longer blame your parents, your childhood, your marriage, your social status, etc. for your obesity. Own it brothers and sisters ... because you are the only one who can change it.
The Lazy Girl's Guide to Excuses:
"I have a slow metabolism." Yes, you do. And you will continue to have a slow metabolism until you get off your fat ass and do some exercise and fill your body with the fuel it needs to burn calories. You need to do cardio ... you need to do strength training. You need to shed the fat and put on some muscle. The more muscle you put on ... the more calories you will burn when you are sitting still. You will have a faster metabolism. A faster metabolism and a more efficient calorie-burning body cannot be purchased on EBay or Amazon.com. You have to actually get up and do the work yourself.
While age can play a factor in slowing down your metabolism (it's a medically-proven fact that losing weight for women over the age of 40 is harder than it is when you are 20), it is not impossible to lose weight after the age of 40. It may take longer but it is an achievable goal. I have witnessed it happen in my friends lives.
"I don't have enough time." Bullshit. That's right ... I said bullshit. Because this is the number one excuse I have used myself and the number one excuse I have heard from every one of my friends over the past 20 years or so. Do me a favor. Pick up an appointment calendar ... the kind that a doctor may have ... that has every day broken down into hours. For one week carry that calendar around with you and write down what you did every hour. Do it. And then come back and let me know if you don't have enough time to fit in 30 minutes of moderate exercise five days a week and an hour of strength training two to three times per week.
I have actually done this time experiment ... and I am ashamed and embarrassed by my ridiculously lazy behavior. I spend a lot of time at my childrens' sporting events but not near as much time as I originally thought. I spend more time watching TV than I do anything else. And I mean, anything else. I spend more time in front of the TV than eating, sleeping, working, etc. I really do. I am LAZY ... and if you try tracking how you spend your time hour by hour I think you will find that you are lazier than you think you are too ...
"It's in my genes." I kind of already covered this one. Wasn't the world a much better place when scientists and doctors concluded that there was a "fat" gene? Didn't everyone who was overweight breathe a sigh of relief and think, "Wow, mystery solved. I'm predisposed to be fat so there's nothing I can do about it. Now, let's eat!!" Ridiculous. Just because I'm predisposed to developing heart disease and diabetes doesn't mean that I cannot try to counteract the disease by maintaining a healthy lifestyle. And just because there is a "fat" gene and you are overweight doesn't mean that the "gene" is to blame. Maybe its the donuts, cupcakes, deep-fried onion rings, french fries, chicken wings and pizza that are in your diet more days a week than you would like to admit. Maybe you will never be a size SB ... that could definitely be linked to your genetic make up ... but it doesn't mean that you have to be a size "WWW" either.
"No one in my family will eat the healthy food I make." Who cares? Let them get fat. Then maybe they will look back on your attempts to get healthy and jump on the bandwagon. Make two meals if you have to ... better yet, make them make their own meal if they don't like what you're cooking (if they are old enough, of course). Do what you have to do ... and let them figure it out for themselves. If they are hungry enough ... they will eat it. This is actually one of my favorite stand-by excuses. One time I made a WW macaroni and cheese dish for my family and they wouldn't touch it. They whined until I made the calorie-filled, gooey, cheesy homemade mac and cheese they were used to. So I quit making the healthy one because it was just too much trouble to make both. I need to stop catering to them ASAP ... because truth be told, the WW version of homemade mac and cheese was pretty delicious. Since I have a 39-year old husband, a 17-year old son and a soon to be 16-year old daughter who are healthy and able to cook for themselves ... I think I'm going to start cooking what I want and they can eat it if they want to or they can cook for themselves.
"I'm not an athlete." Who says? Maybe deep down inside you really are an athlete. How will you know unless you try? If you watch the "Biggest Loser" you see that season after season people who can barely walk a mile their first day on the ranch can run a marathon on the last day of the competition. A marathon! They can do it and so can you ... maybe not today ... maybe not tomorrow ... but you can do it if you want to. Maybe running isn't your thing. I know it's not mine. I like to dance. And quite honestly doing Just Dance 2 for the Wii just about kills me ... and I'm talking only one dance here. On a beginner level. But the more I do, the less difficult it becomes. Same with Zumba ... Same with riding my exercise bike ... Maybe I never will be an athlete ... maybe I won't ever be a contestant on So You Think You Can Dance ... maybe I won't ever win the Tour de France ... or maybe I will. You don't know if you don't try.
"I'm going on vacation." This is one of my favorites ... because I go on a lot of vacations. I do. I love to travel and I go every time I get the opportunity. Last year I went to Atlantic City, Florida (3 different times), Hawaii, Mississippi, and Las Vegas. I am always going somewhere with someone ... my family, friends, etc. Now one would think that going on vacation would inspire me to lose weight ... not the case. I always say I'm too busy and I will start when I get back. And then I don't. Or I do and then go on another vacation and blow it once again. Now "going on vacation" is just a jumping off point ... maybe your go-to excuse is something like ... "when the weather gets nicer," or "as soon as my life settles down a bit," or "after I get through this rough patch," or whatever the case may be ...
I can go on and on and on and on with the excuses that I have made over the past several years as to why I am fat. But here are some of the facts: (1) I am too lazy to get out of bed in the morning and put in 30 minutes of exercise; (2) because I am too lazy to get up early, I am oftentimes rushing around getting ready for work which means that I don't have time for a healthy breakfast and usually grab a coffee and donut on the run; (3) I am too lazy to grocery shop regularly which means that I am usually scrambling for something quick and easy to eat for lunch (i.e., fast food); (4) because I am too lazy to grocery shop regularly, my family is usually scrambling for something to eat for dinner (i.e., fast food); (5) when I do grocery shop, I tend to shop for things that are quick and easy to make which usually includes a ton of processed foods and not meals that are prepared with fresh, healthy ingredients; (6) I am too lazy when I get home from a 7 1/2 hour workday where I spend my time sitting on my behind in front of a computer to exercise; and (7) I am so lazy that the only thing I want to do when I get home is sit on the couch and watch TV.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I am lazy. If I continue to be lazy I will not magically wake up one morning and be a size "SB." Nope. I will continue to grow and grow and grow into an even bigger size "W."
Laziness is an epidemic and I am the band leader of the laziness parade. Sure I can dress it up and make it look as pretty as possible ... but underneath it all lays a lazy slob that needs to move her fat ass and quit being so darn lazy. Laziness takes a lot of time and effort ... more effort actually than not being lazy. If I had spent as much time exercising and eating right than making excuses as to why I couldn't ... I wouldn't be sitting here typing this blog with such a fat butt.
So here's to all the lazy girls ... let's get up and get moving. I will admit that since starting this blog I have epically failed in my attempt to keep healthy and keep fit. I have used a number of excuses on my journey and I have allowed them to hold me back from accomplishing my goals. I have lost a total of 8 pounds ... which is a good start. It's 8 pounds I didn't have when I started. But my lazy ways truly have to change in order for me to live my life to the fullest.
What lazy behavior is holding you back from accomplishing your goals? What lazy behavior are you willing to come clean about and admit to? If you're not willing to admit it and own it ... how can you ever expect to change it?
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Friday, January 21, 2011
Bi-focals, mammograms and pre-menopause ... Oh My!
Close your eyes and picture the scene ... a yellow brick road, a gingham-dressed Dorothy, the tin man, the scarecrow, linking arms, skipping their way toward the Wonderful Wizard of Oz where all of their dreams will come true ... all the while singing "Lions and Tigers and Bears ... oh my!"
Now close your eyes and picture a different scene ... three women, all of a certain age, well dressed in their jeans and flats (because wearing heels at their age usually involves a visit to the chiropractor), carrying trendy handbags, linking arms, not skipping but driving their way (because one of the three has a bad hip, one has a bad knee and the other just wouldn't feel right leaving the others behind) to the Wonderful Local Medical Center where all of their dreams will be quietly but quickly shattered ... all the while singing "Bi-focals, mammograms and pre-menopause ... oh my!"
Welcome to your 40's and beyond! Where the road is no longer paved in gold ... but, rather, paved in a long list of prescription pads and medical tests that you have matured gracefully into needing ... yearly.
I am issuing a warning up front in regard to this post ... if you are not a fan of someone sharing TMI (too much information) than please discontinue reading and perhaps go back and review some of my previous posts. "The Devil is Alive and Well and Living in the Swimsuit Department" and "My Husband is NOT my BFF" have become fan favorites. If you have no such reserves ... then by all means ... continue.
First stop ... the optometrist. I am an avid reader and received my first prescription eye-glasses at the age of 18. At that time, the optometrist told my father that my eyes had been gradually losing their once perfect 20/20 vision because I had my head buried in a book more often than not. So, I guess by staying home on the weekends reading and forgoing underage drinking parties with my peers ... I had done myself a real disservice. (Nick and Chloe if you are reading this ... that was sarcasm. Stay home with mommy and read a good book ... do not drink alcoholic beverages.)
Fast forward 20 years. At the age of 38, my yearly eye exam ended with a very disturbing conclusion ... the optometrist said "I think maybe we should start thinking about bifocals." Now, first of all, we weren't thinking about anything because I was the one that supposedly needed them. He (the optometrist) didn't need to think about getting bifocals because he was only in his late 20's, early 30's. Second of all, no. That's correct. I said, no. As a matter of fact, what I said was "I will not get bifocals until I'm 40." End of story.
And he wrote that down in my chart ... I'm not joking. On my most recent visit he said, and I quote, "I see you said you would not get bifocals until you turned 40. I see you just turned 40."
So here I am ... sitting at my computer ... typing this blog ... wearing these damn bifocals. Which I am finding incredibly hard to get used to. First of all, the lens is much larger than what I am used to wearing ... which for a forty and fabulous woman is a blow to the ego all on its own. Second of all, the "blended" lens has a blurry factor somewhere between the far-sighted and near-sighted portions of the eyeglass that my eye is constantly drawn to. It's frustrating ... but I no longer have to take my glasses off to do anything "reading related," such as typing, reading a book, filling out paperwork, etc. So I guess that's something.
Next stop ... the mammogram. Awww ... the mammogram. Who can think of a better way to spend a beautiful frigid wintry morning than having each of your breasts squeezed flat between a freezing cold vice in a freezing cold hospital room?
Let me be clear ... mammograms are necessary. You have no choice in the matter. You should begin getting yearly mammograms at the age of 40 and earlier if you have a family history of breast cancer. Mammograms can save your life. But not everything that is necessary and life-saving is going to be pleasant.
I actually had my first mammogram at the age of 37. I have no history of breast cancer in my family. So why did I subject myself to this particular form of torture? And now readers, ahead lies a portion of the TMI. Because I was going to get breast implants. That's right. I have breast implants. And in order to get breast implants ... you have to subject yourself to a mammogram in order to assure the plastic surgeon that your breasts are healthy and so the mammographer (is that a real word?) has good picture of your "before" breasts to compare to your "after" breasts to detect any abnormalities.
So, let me sidetrack for a moment ... why breast implants? Several reasons really. For one, when I was 17 my brother was in the Navy and stationed along the gulf coast of Mississippi. My parents were still married at the time and we vacationed there regularly ... renting a condo on the beach. On one of these vacations, my father and I were taking an early morning stroll along the beach. There was a group of girls setting up camp along the beach for the day ... all dressed in their bikinis and sunglasses. My father said, and I remember it vividly ... "The only thing worse than a fat girl in a bikini is a flat girl in a bikini." Hand to God. I was just barely a B cup ... and those words burned into my brain and I never wore a bikini again. Even though, at the time, I had the body to back it up. I have been self-conscious about my bra size ever since.
Another reason ... I breast-fed my babies and my breasts just didn't look the same after that. Now, just so we are all clear ... I didn't breast-feed my children because I am a granola eating, Birkenstock sandal wearing, earth mother. No ... I breast-fed the babies because I was poor and cases of formula were not in our family budget. I chose breast-feeding over cloth diapers. It was a very good decision.
So, after saving for several years ... struggling with what kind of example I was setting for my daughter ... I bit the bullet and went for it. And I have no regrets.
My decision was completely justified after going for my pre-breast implant surgery mammogram when the mammographer (there's that word again) told me to put my breast up onto the vice. She kept saying, no, put the whole thing on the vice. I said, ummmm ... it is. She said ... it can't be. Because the vice couldn't get a good enough grip on it to get a clear picture. So in the true humiliating fashion to which I have become accustomed, she came over and handled my breast, trying to desperately pull it into a more vice-friendly position and said ... I guess you're right ... we'll have to do the best with what we have.
So now that I am no longer sporting a pre-pubescent girl's sized chest, I had the distinct honor of taking my now D breasts off to the cold, sterile hospital room to get my first of many annual mammograms to come. My biggest fear ... that they would pop an implant. They didn't. And I received a clean bill of health.
And now for my favorite 40+ life change ... pre-menopausal symptoms. Warning ... there is definitely TMI included in the paragraphs that follow. There's still time to click to a different subject matter. Just sayin'.
Yes, pre-menopause. The wonderful window opened to those who are well-past their prime baby-making years but not yet able to collect Social Security. I thought when I turned 40 that I had years before experiencing any symptoms. In reality, it took one month. Yep, one month.
I have always been a regularly scheduled menstrual cycle kind of girl. Every 28 days ... only missing it on two occasions ... and I have two children ... so you get what I mean. Everyone said that when you breast-fed your children you could miss your period. Not me. Every 28 days. So imagine my horror when one month after turning 40, my period was 5 days late. Yep, 5 days. I was freaking out. I had my tubes tied when I was 24 ... immediately following the birth of my daughter. Because 2 kids was all I could handle.
I started searching the Internet to find out if it was medically possible for someone who had their tubes tied when they were in their 20s to end up pregnant in their 40s. It is! By day 4 I was in severe panic mode. I called the BFF for an emergency therapy session. She, being a nurse, said it was completely medically possible. That she even knew someone personally who had experienced a late life pregnancy after having had their tubes tied. I told her that was the meanest thing she had ever said to me. She said, yay, we might be having a baby.
The following 24 hours after this therapy session had me convinced that a baby was on the way, that I wouldn't see my last child graduate high school until the age of 58, graduate college until the age of 62 and that all of my plans for taking cooking classes in Paris, traveling the world and enjoying long, lazy "naked" afternoons with my husband in our empty nest of a house wouldn't occur until we were both carrying a Medicare card.
Thankfully, my period did make its appearance and while my husband and I both breathed a much needed sigh of relief, my BFF was devilishly disappointed. Apparently, the explanation for the delayed appearance of Mother Nature was my age. And I was told I could experience much more oddities to my monthly cycle in the future.
Like the following month when I had what can only be described as a "teenager" type period. Light spotting and barely there at all. And early. A whole 6 days early. My BFF said to get used to it. That after she turned 40 her period came a full week and a half early and she didn't realize it until she saw evidence of it running down her leg ... while wearing shorts ... in the summertime. I can't wait.
Other things to look forward to? Hot flashes. My co-worker actually had me convinced I was having a hot flash a couple of months ago until I pointed out to her (who has passed menopause) that she had the heat in our office turned up to 80 degrees.
I can also look forward to mood swings ... which really, if I'm honest, I have always been prone to so now it's nice to have a medically-proven fact to blame them on. And weight-loss is harder to achieve during your pre-menopausal years. Isn't that awesome? But based on that fact, apparently, I have been pre-menopausal for approximately 20 years now.
The light at the end of this seemingly dark and confusing tunnel? That I am the baby of the "peeps." I am the last to turn 40 and my friends have seemingly gone ahead and blazed the middle-aged trail before me and are there to lend a hand to guide me through, a shoulder to cry upon and a sense of humor to help me laugh my way through it.
So link your arms through my mine my friends ... and join me on this journey into "maturity" which we will take one prescription at a time. We're off to see the Wizard ...
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Now close your eyes and picture a different scene ... three women, all of a certain age, well dressed in their jeans and flats (because wearing heels at their age usually involves a visit to the chiropractor), carrying trendy handbags, linking arms, not skipping but driving their way (because one of the three has a bad hip, one has a bad knee and the other just wouldn't feel right leaving the others behind) to the Wonderful Local Medical Center where all of their dreams will be quietly but quickly shattered ... all the while singing "Bi-focals, mammograms and pre-menopause ... oh my!"
Welcome to your 40's and beyond! Where the road is no longer paved in gold ... but, rather, paved in a long list of prescription pads and medical tests that you have matured gracefully into needing ... yearly.
I am issuing a warning up front in regard to this post ... if you are not a fan of someone sharing TMI (too much information) than please discontinue reading and perhaps go back and review some of my previous posts. "The Devil is Alive and Well and Living in the Swimsuit Department" and "My Husband is NOT my BFF" have become fan favorites. If you have no such reserves ... then by all means ... continue.
First stop ... the optometrist. I am an avid reader and received my first prescription eye-glasses at the age of 18. At that time, the optometrist told my father that my eyes had been gradually losing their once perfect 20/20 vision because I had my head buried in a book more often than not. So, I guess by staying home on the weekends reading and forgoing underage drinking parties with my peers ... I had done myself a real disservice. (Nick and Chloe if you are reading this ... that was sarcasm. Stay home with mommy and read a good book ... do not drink alcoholic beverages.)
Fast forward 20 years. At the age of 38, my yearly eye exam ended with a very disturbing conclusion ... the optometrist said "I think maybe we should start thinking about bifocals." Now, first of all, we weren't thinking about anything because I was the one that supposedly needed them. He (the optometrist) didn't need to think about getting bifocals because he was only in his late 20's, early 30's. Second of all, no. That's correct. I said, no. As a matter of fact, what I said was "I will not get bifocals until I'm 40." End of story.
And he wrote that down in my chart ... I'm not joking. On my most recent visit he said, and I quote, "I see you said you would not get bifocals until you turned 40. I see you just turned 40."
So here I am ... sitting at my computer ... typing this blog ... wearing these damn bifocals. Which I am finding incredibly hard to get used to. First of all, the lens is much larger than what I am used to wearing ... which for a forty and fabulous woman is a blow to the ego all on its own. Second of all, the "blended" lens has a blurry factor somewhere between the far-sighted and near-sighted portions of the eyeglass that my eye is constantly drawn to. It's frustrating ... but I no longer have to take my glasses off to do anything "reading related," such as typing, reading a book, filling out paperwork, etc. So I guess that's something.
Next stop ... the mammogram. Awww ... the mammogram. Who can think of a better way to spend a beautiful frigid wintry morning than having each of your breasts squeezed flat between a freezing cold vice in a freezing cold hospital room?
Let me be clear ... mammograms are necessary. You have no choice in the matter. You should begin getting yearly mammograms at the age of 40 and earlier if you have a family history of breast cancer. Mammograms can save your life. But not everything that is necessary and life-saving is going to be pleasant.
I actually had my first mammogram at the age of 37. I have no history of breast cancer in my family. So why did I subject myself to this particular form of torture? And now readers, ahead lies a portion of the TMI. Because I was going to get breast implants. That's right. I have breast implants. And in order to get breast implants ... you have to subject yourself to a mammogram in order to assure the plastic surgeon that your breasts are healthy and so the mammographer (is that a real word?) has good picture of your "before" breasts to compare to your "after" breasts to detect any abnormalities.
So, let me sidetrack for a moment ... why breast implants? Several reasons really. For one, when I was 17 my brother was in the Navy and stationed along the gulf coast of Mississippi. My parents were still married at the time and we vacationed there regularly ... renting a condo on the beach. On one of these vacations, my father and I were taking an early morning stroll along the beach. There was a group of girls setting up camp along the beach for the day ... all dressed in their bikinis and sunglasses. My father said, and I remember it vividly ... "The only thing worse than a fat girl in a bikini is a flat girl in a bikini." Hand to God. I was just barely a B cup ... and those words burned into my brain and I never wore a bikini again. Even though, at the time, I had the body to back it up. I have been self-conscious about my bra size ever since.
Another reason ... I breast-fed my babies and my breasts just didn't look the same after that. Now, just so we are all clear ... I didn't breast-feed my children because I am a granola eating, Birkenstock sandal wearing, earth mother. No ... I breast-fed the babies because I was poor and cases of formula were not in our family budget. I chose breast-feeding over cloth diapers. It was a very good decision.
So, after saving for several years ... struggling with what kind of example I was setting for my daughter ... I bit the bullet and went for it. And I have no regrets.
My decision was completely justified after going for my pre-breast implant surgery mammogram when the mammographer (there's that word again) told me to put my breast up onto the vice. She kept saying, no, put the whole thing on the vice. I said, ummmm ... it is. She said ... it can't be. Because the vice couldn't get a good enough grip on it to get a clear picture. So in the true humiliating fashion to which I have become accustomed, she came over and handled my breast, trying to desperately pull it into a more vice-friendly position and said ... I guess you're right ... we'll have to do the best with what we have.
So now that I am no longer sporting a pre-pubescent girl's sized chest, I had the distinct honor of taking my now D breasts off to the cold, sterile hospital room to get my first of many annual mammograms to come. My biggest fear ... that they would pop an implant. They didn't. And I received a clean bill of health.
And now for my favorite 40+ life change ... pre-menopausal symptoms. Warning ... there is definitely TMI included in the paragraphs that follow. There's still time to click to a different subject matter. Just sayin'.
Yes, pre-menopause. The wonderful window opened to those who are well-past their prime baby-making years but not yet able to collect Social Security. I thought when I turned 40 that I had years before experiencing any symptoms. In reality, it took one month. Yep, one month.
I have always been a regularly scheduled menstrual cycle kind of girl. Every 28 days ... only missing it on two occasions ... and I have two children ... so you get what I mean. Everyone said that when you breast-fed your children you could miss your period. Not me. Every 28 days. So imagine my horror when one month after turning 40, my period was 5 days late. Yep, 5 days. I was freaking out. I had my tubes tied when I was 24 ... immediately following the birth of my daughter. Because 2 kids was all I could handle.
I started searching the Internet to find out if it was medically possible for someone who had their tubes tied when they were in their 20s to end up pregnant in their 40s. It is! By day 4 I was in severe panic mode. I called the BFF for an emergency therapy session. She, being a nurse, said it was completely medically possible. That she even knew someone personally who had experienced a late life pregnancy after having had their tubes tied. I told her that was the meanest thing she had ever said to me. She said, yay, we might be having a baby.
The following 24 hours after this therapy session had me convinced that a baby was on the way, that I wouldn't see my last child graduate high school until the age of 58, graduate college until the age of 62 and that all of my plans for taking cooking classes in Paris, traveling the world and enjoying long, lazy "naked" afternoons with my husband in our empty nest of a house wouldn't occur until we were both carrying a Medicare card.
Thankfully, my period did make its appearance and while my husband and I both breathed a much needed sigh of relief, my BFF was devilishly disappointed. Apparently, the explanation for the delayed appearance of Mother Nature was my age. And I was told I could experience much more oddities to my monthly cycle in the future.
Like the following month when I had what can only be described as a "teenager" type period. Light spotting and barely there at all. And early. A whole 6 days early. My BFF said to get used to it. That after she turned 40 her period came a full week and a half early and she didn't realize it until she saw evidence of it running down her leg ... while wearing shorts ... in the summertime. I can't wait.
Other things to look forward to? Hot flashes. My co-worker actually had me convinced I was having a hot flash a couple of months ago until I pointed out to her (who has passed menopause) that she had the heat in our office turned up to 80 degrees.
I can also look forward to mood swings ... which really, if I'm honest, I have always been prone to so now it's nice to have a medically-proven fact to blame them on. And weight-loss is harder to achieve during your pre-menopausal years. Isn't that awesome? But based on that fact, apparently, I have been pre-menopausal for approximately 20 years now.
The light at the end of this seemingly dark and confusing tunnel? That I am the baby of the "peeps." I am the last to turn 40 and my friends have seemingly gone ahead and blazed the middle-aged trail before me and are there to lend a hand to guide me through, a shoulder to cry upon and a sense of humor to help me laugh my way through it.
So link your arms through my mine my friends ... and join me on this journey into "maturity" which we will take one prescription at a time. We're off to see the Wizard ...
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Pretty in Pink
"I don't understand how a woman can leave the house without fixing herself up a little - if only out of politeness. And then, you never know, maybe that's the day she has a date with destiny. And it's best to be as pretty as possible for destiny." ~ Coco Chanel
Just out of curiosity, could someone please leave a comment below and let me know the date ... the exact date ... that it became socially acceptable to wear pajama bottoms in public. As in, wearing your pj's to the grocery store, the mall, to breakfast with your girlfriends, to the movies, etc. When? How? Why? Have women in America become so incredibly lazy that rolling out of bed and changing into actual clothing has become just "too much" for us? Or is this just an example of me beginning to show my age?
I know Congress has more important ways to spend their time ... but I really think a law should be passed making it illegal for women to step out into public wearing their pajamas and for men to quit wearing pants that hang below their waist exposing their underwear.
I have always lived by the motto that you "dress for the job you want, not for the job you have." This motto has granted me many favors ... not only in the employment arena. I never had the opportunity to finish earning my college degree. Something I regret and am thinking of soon correcting. However, over the course of my career outside of the home I have landed a number of jobs that were advertised for people who completed a much higher level of education. Now, don't get me wrong ... my mother didn't raise a dummy. I'm a pretty smart cookie ... and I have never let the absence of a college diploma deter me from applying for a job that "required" one.
I know what my strengths are and I know what I am capable of. Having that kind of confidence is a must when one is reaching for the stars. Knowing how to present oneself to the outside world is also imperative. And you cannot ... I repeat ... cannot ... make a good impression while dressed as a lazy slob.
For those of you who are of the pajama-in-public wearing type ... I refuse to apologize for calling you out on the fact that you are lazy. You are. There can be no other explanation. I do not care if you are rich or poor, age 20 or age 60, a size "SB" or a size "W," there is absolutely no excuse for stepping out of your house, if only to run errands, looking less than fabulous. It takes time, planning and effort. And is arguably the best way to cheer oneself up when feeling blue.
I have always been honest with you about who I am. I don't mean to mislead you into believing I am the Rachel Zoe of Podunk, PA. I am not. Although I do say "bananas" a lot (just Google Rachel Zoe if you are having a hard time interpreting). All I'm trying to get across to you is that looking one's best can often lead to feeling one's best. And how can you feel at the top of your game when you are dressed as a character from Oliver Twist?
Every woman I know has a different perspective on what makes them feel "pretty." For me, it includes always having painted toenails (even in the wintertime when the only one admiring the color is myself, my husband and my fashion-forward puppy Gigi), monthly massage appointments, seasonal facial appointments, good moisturizing cream, perfume (Chanel No. 5 for special occasions and anything by Elizabeth Arden or Estee Lauder for everyday ... I stay away from "celebrity" perfumes ... I don't really care to smell like Beyonce, JLo or Katy Perry thank you very much ... although I did break down once and buy a bottle by my idol SJP ... I didn't care for it), fragrant body wash, a touch of blush, a lip tint (not too dark/not too light), good accessories and a pop of color added to any outfit ... preferably PINK.
As Julia Robert's once said in Steel Magnolias (and please read the following quote in a very thick southern accent), "Pink is my signature color." I love pink. For me, there is no better cure for a self-induced pity party than throwing on something pink ... a scarf, handbag, a comfy pair of Converse, pin, etc. It just makes me feel pretty.
Once you become a wife and/or a mother, attention tends to start to shift away from you as a person and gradually you find that you tend to take the back seat to the other people in your life. Women are, by nature, caretakers. The question is ... once you have grown up and have moved out of your mother's house ... who is responsible for being the caretaker of you? I admit to having neglected a thousand tiny details in regard to myself for ... oh ... about 17 years now (which is of course is how long ago I became legally bound to my beloved husband). My wants and needs really took a nosedive after the birth of our first child and even further down on the priority list after the second. Hence, one of the main reasons this blog's title has the word "fat" in it.
Around the time I hit 30, I started taking an interest in myself again. My children were both in elementary school, I had moved to a new town where I had zero friends and I was introduced to a brand-new form of peer pressure ... the "yummy mummies." You know the ones I'm talking about ... the ones who have more than one child and enough time and energy to run the PTA, coach soccer, manage field trips, church bake sales, VBS, etc., good manners, better than average figures, great hair, impossibly well-manicured hands, and wouldn't be caught dead in a track suit outside of the gym. Yep, one glance at the "yummy mummies" and I realized that it was time to up my game.
I'm not talking about trying to "keep up with the Joneses" per se. These women weren't particularly wealthy ... but they had a certain joie de vive that I longed for. They were funny, confident, welcoming and sincere. And so well put together. And they were kind enough to ask me to join their little clique .. where I comfortably remain today ... although we now go by the name "the peeps" as they are unaware that I nicknamed them the "yummy mummies" back when we were unacquainted.
I have always had a flair for fashion (or so I like to think). I am far from being a supermodel but I know how to work what my mommy and daddy gave me regardless of what size I happen to be sporting. But when you have children in your early 20's and every other early 20-something year old woman you know is out cruising bars looking for men ... you find yourself in fashion purgatory. You are married ... a mother ... and don't want to be mistaken for a college co-ed trolling for the next "Mr. Right Now" by sporting the "come hither" looks made for ladies in your age group. However, on the other end of the spectrum, you wouldn't be caught dead in an applique sweater that depicts snowmen, fruit, vegetables, animals, etc. On the one hand, you're too old to be sporting a Gothic or "emo" look if you will and too young for "mom" jeans, Hanes T-shirts and Reebok "aerobic" shoes.
Finding your own personal style is essential ... and it takes years of experimenting with several wrong looks before you stumble across the right one. I have always taken a cue from my mentors and my peers. For instance, when I started my career at the age of 20, I started imitating the look of the firm manager. She was approximately ten years old than I was and never ... and I mean never ... wore pants to work. Skirts, dresses, suits. And heels ... never flats. So I did the same ... only from a more youthful perspective. I started out at the bottom of the ladder at this firm as a typist. By the time I turned 23, I was promoted to the position of the firm's computer training manager. I didn't have a degree in computer operations or a certificate in adult education. What I did have, however, was a strong work ethic, a willingness to learn and the ability to see my own potential.
I never applied for the above position. My firm manager hand-picked me for it. And one of the reasons cited at the time of the job offer? My ability to fit the firm's image. As the computer training manager, I would be working with office personnel and attorneys alike and they felt I had the ability to relate to each group effectively. Interesting.
I left that job after my second child was born and went back to work when she was a year old at a nationally known insurance company. I interviewed for the position of an evening transcriptionist. After my initial interview, I was called back in by the daytime supervisor and offered the position of the evening supervisor. One of the reasons? My style and the way I carried myself. This position led to a daytime position and then, after two years, a division manager called me out of the cafeteria and offered me a higher position within his department. I had never noticed this division manager who ate in the company cafeteria every afternoon at the same time that I and several other 100 employees did. But he had noticed me. He said he liked the way I carried myself and the way I was able to hold "court" as he called it (I've always been an excellent entertainer in the story-telling department) and he needed some assistance in the "style" and "social" aspect of business. And he chose me.
I held several positions within his department over the several years under his employ ... each one carrying a better title and a more impressive paycheck. And while I did succumb to wearing pants every now and again ... I never strayed very far from my first mentor's example of business savvy style. And I truly believe it assisted my climb up the corporate ladder.
And then we moved ... and I met the "yummy mummies." Who had a very casual chic sense of style. And after years of spending hours upon hours in business suits, skirts, dresses and heels ... I developed a new sense of style for "every day." None of which included pajama pants. And just last year my daughter's volleyball team called me the "most stylish" mom. I loved that.
You don't have to be a millionaire to achieve your own sense of style. Money cannot buy you class. If you only have enough money to shop at Wal-Mart, shop at Wal-Mart. There's nothing wrong with that. Just don't be drawn to all things polyester and flannel. Don't buy T-shirts with pithy sayings (i.e., "Boys Suck"), or band names on them ... those aren't really appropriate for anyone over the age of 19. Stick to solids and throw in a dash of color. Don't wear running shoes anywhere other than the gym. Go to Target and buy a few pair of Converse ... or if you can only afford one pair ... make them black or grey. They're chic and cheap. Buy scarves, classic costume jewelry and have a good trench coat in a neutral color for fall/spring and a good overcoat for winter. Ballerina flats are a girls best friend ... they can be found on the low or high end of the price scale and can dress up a pair of jeans and T-shirt as well as a cocktail dress.
If you really want to feel pretty, don't always wear underwear that come in packages of 6. Spring for the perfume that makes you feel like a "lady." Don't pay department store prices ... hit up Marhsall's and TJ Maxx. Buy one designer handbag ... in black or beige ... without too many garish looking logos. If you take care if it ... it will last you a lifetime and never go out of style. Paint your toenails ... try a shade of pink! Do whatever it takes to feel pretty ... like you are a teenager again.
You are a walking advertisement for yourself ... figure out who you are. Emulate your idols. Maybe you loved the style of Marilyn Monroe, Audrey or Katherine Hepburn, SJP, Kate Hudson, etc. Find your personal style and go for broke. Whatever you do ... leave the pajamas in the bedroom and the track suits in the gym. I don't care if your track suits are made by Juicy Couture ... just don't.
Above all ... dress your age. If you are like me and are in your 40's, please don't wear a mini skirt with Uggs. Please. Leave the minis for the young ones. And remember that skinny jeans are meant for skinny girls. If you are sporting a size "W" please don't buy a skinny jean ... the tapered leg is just going to draw attention to your hips. If you must wear a skinny jean, please do so with a boot ... over top of the jean. And buy the appropriate size. Too small will make you look like a tube of Pillsbury biscuits, bursting at the top and just begging for your pants to split. Too big will make you look like you are wearing a circus tent.
If you are single and want to attract a good man ... don't dress like the town tramp. If you are married and want to keep your husband interested ... then take my advice above and buy some sexy undergarments .. and don't wear sweatpants and flannel pajamas to bed every night. And if you want to become the next big thing in your corporation than forgo "casual Friday" and dress as if every day is the day you will get your promotion. And please, dear God, please, NEVER wear white socks with black shoes.
Take risks, have fun and dress to impress. Embrace your advanced years and take comfort in the knowledge that you are mature enough to have found your own personal style. Coco Chanel once said ... "A woman should be two things. Classy and fabulous." I agree.
And when in doubt ... "Wear pink." The Divine Mrs. M
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Just out of curiosity, could someone please leave a comment below and let me know the date ... the exact date ... that it became socially acceptable to wear pajama bottoms in public. As in, wearing your pj's to the grocery store, the mall, to breakfast with your girlfriends, to the movies, etc. When? How? Why? Have women in America become so incredibly lazy that rolling out of bed and changing into actual clothing has become just "too much" for us? Or is this just an example of me beginning to show my age?
I know Congress has more important ways to spend their time ... but I really think a law should be passed making it illegal for women to step out into public wearing their pajamas and for men to quit wearing pants that hang below their waist exposing their underwear.
I have always lived by the motto that you "dress for the job you want, not for the job you have." This motto has granted me many favors ... not only in the employment arena. I never had the opportunity to finish earning my college degree. Something I regret and am thinking of soon correcting. However, over the course of my career outside of the home I have landed a number of jobs that were advertised for people who completed a much higher level of education. Now, don't get me wrong ... my mother didn't raise a dummy. I'm a pretty smart cookie ... and I have never let the absence of a college diploma deter me from applying for a job that "required" one.
I know what my strengths are and I know what I am capable of. Having that kind of confidence is a must when one is reaching for the stars. Knowing how to present oneself to the outside world is also imperative. And you cannot ... I repeat ... cannot ... make a good impression while dressed as a lazy slob.
For those of you who are of the pajama-in-public wearing type ... I refuse to apologize for calling you out on the fact that you are lazy. You are. There can be no other explanation. I do not care if you are rich or poor, age 20 or age 60, a size "SB" or a size "W," there is absolutely no excuse for stepping out of your house, if only to run errands, looking less than fabulous. It takes time, planning and effort. And is arguably the best way to cheer oneself up when feeling blue.
I have always been honest with you about who I am. I don't mean to mislead you into believing I am the Rachel Zoe of Podunk, PA. I am not. Although I do say "bananas" a lot (just Google Rachel Zoe if you are having a hard time interpreting). All I'm trying to get across to you is that looking one's best can often lead to feeling one's best. And how can you feel at the top of your game when you are dressed as a character from Oliver Twist?
Every woman I know has a different perspective on what makes them feel "pretty." For me, it includes always having painted toenails (even in the wintertime when the only one admiring the color is myself, my husband and my fashion-forward puppy Gigi), monthly massage appointments, seasonal facial appointments, good moisturizing cream, perfume (Chanel No. 5 for special occasions and anything by Elizabeth Arden or Estee Lauder for everyday ... I stay away from "celebrity" perfumes ... I don't really care to smell like Beyonce, JLo or Katy Perry thank you very much ... although I did break down once and buy a bottle by my idol SJP ... I didn't care for it), fragrant body wash, a touch of blush, a lip tint (not too dark/not too light), good accessories and a pop of color added to any outfit ... preferably PINK.
As Julia Robert's once said in Steel Magnolias (and please read the following quote in a very thick southern accent), "Pink is my signature color." I love pink. For me, there is no better cure for a self-induced pity party than throwing on something pink ... a scarf, handbag, a comfy pair of Converse, pin, etc. It just makes me feel pretty.
Once you become a wife and/or a mother, attention tends to start to shift away from you as a person and gradually you find that you tend to take the back seat to the other people in your life. Women are, by nature, caretakers. The question is ... once you have grown up and have moved out of your mother's house ... who is responsible for being the caretaker of you? I admit to having neglected a thousand tiny details in regard to myself for ... oh ... about 17 years now (which is of course is how long ago I became legally bound to my beloved husband). My wants and needs really took a nosedive after the birth of our first child and even further down on the priority list after the second. Hence, one of the main reasons this blog's title has the word "fat" in it.
Around the time I hit 30, I started taking an interest in myself again. My children were both in elementary school, I had moved to a new town where I had zero friends and I was introduced to a brand-new form of peer pressure ... the "yummy mummies." You know the ones I'm talking about ... the ones who have more than one child and enough time and energy to run the PTA, coach soccer, manage field trips, church bake sales, VBS, etc., good manners, better than average figures, great hair, impossibly well-manicured hands, and wouldn't be caught dead in a track suit outside of the gym. Yep, one glance at the "yummy mummies" and I realized that it was time to up my game.
I'm not talking about trying to "keep up with the Joneses" per se. These women weren't particularly wealthy ... but they had a certain joie de vive that I longed for. They were funny, confident, welcoming and sincere. And so well put together. And they were kind enough to ask me to join their little clique .. where I comfortably remain today ... although we now go by the name "the peeps" as they are unaware that I nicknamed them the "yummy mummies" back when we were unacquainted.
I have always had a flair for fashion (or so I like to think). I am far from being a supermodel but I know how to work what my mommy and daddy gave me regardless of what size I happen to be sporting. But when you have children in your early 20's and every other early 20-something year old woman you know is out cruising bars looking for men ... you find yourself in fashion purgatory. You are married ... a mother ... and don't want to be mistaken for a college co-ed trolling for the next "Mr. Right Now" by sporting the "come hither" looks made for ladies in your age group. However, on the other end of the spectrum, you wouldn't be caught dead in an applique sweater that depicts snowmen, fruit, vegetables, animals, etc. On the one hand, you're too old to be sporting a Gothic or "emo" look if you will and too young for "mom" jeans, Hanes T-shirts and Reebok "aerobic" shoes.
Finding your own personal style is essential ... and it takes years of experimenting with several wrong looks before you stumble across the right one. I have always taken a cue from my mentors and my peers. For instance, when I started my career at the age of 20, I started imitating the look of the firm manager. She was approximately ten years old than I was and never ... and I mean never ... wore pants to work. Skirts, dresses, suits. And heels ... never flats. So I did the same ... only from a more youthful perspective. I started out at the bottom of the ladder at this firm as a typist. By the time I turned 23, I was promoted to the position of the firm's computer training manager. I didn't have a degree in computer operations or a certificate in adult education. What I did have, however, was a strong work ethic, a willingness to learn and the ability to see my own potential.
I never applied for the above position. My firm manager hand-picked me for it. And one of the reasons cited at the time of the job offer? My ability to fit the firm's image. As the computer training manager, I would be working with office personnel and attorneys alike and they felt I had the ability to relate to each group effectively. Interesting.
I left that job after my second child was born and went back to work when she was a year old at a nationally known insurance company. I interviewed for the position of an evening transcriptionist. After my initial interview, I was called back in by the daytime supervisor and offered the position of the evening supervisor. One of the reasons? My style and the way I carried myself. This position led to a daytime position and then, after two years, a division manager called me out of the cafeteria and offered me a higher position within his department. I had never noticed this division manager who ate in the company cafeteria every afternoon at the same time that I and several other 100 employees did. But he had noticed me. He said he liked the way I carried myself and the way I was able to hold "court" as he called it (I've always been an excellent entertainer in the story-telling department) and he needed some assistance in the "style" and "social" aspect of business. And he chose me.
I held several positions within his department over the several years under his employ ... each one carrying a better title and a more impressive paycheck. And while I did succumb to wearing pants every now and again ... I never strayed very far from my first mentor's example of business savvy style. And I truly believe it assisted my climb up the corporate ladder.
And then we moved ... and I met the "yummy mummies." Who had a very casual chic sense of style. And after years of spending hours upon hours in business suits, skirts, dresses and heels ... I developed a new sense of style for "every day." None of which included pajama pants. And just last year my daughter's volleyball team called me the "most stylish" mom. I loved that.
You don't have to be a millionaire to achieve your own sense of style. Money cannot buy you class. If you only have enough money to shop at Wal-Mart, shop at Wal-Mart. There's nothing wrong with that. Just don't be drawn to all things polyester and flannel. Don't buy T-shirts with pithy sayings (i.e., "Boys Suck"), or band names on them ... those aren't really appropriate for anyone over the age of 19. Stick to solids and throw in a dash of color. Don't wear running shoes anywhere other than the gym. Go to Target and buy a few pair of Converse ... or if you can only afford one pair ... make them black or grey. They're chic and cheap. Buy scarves, classic costume jewelry and have a good trench coat in a neutral color for fall/spring and a good overcoat for winter. Ballerina flats are a girls best friend ... they can be found on the low or high end of the price scale and can dress up a pair of jeans and T-shirt as well as a cocktail dress.
If you really want to feel pretty, don't always wear underwear that come in packages of 6. Spring for the perfume that makes you feel like a "lady." Don't pay department store prices ... hit up Marhsall's and TJ Maxx. Buy one designer handbag ... in black or beige ... without too many garish looking logos. If you take care if it ... it will last you a lifetime and never go out of style. Paint your toenails ... try a shade of pink! Do whatever it takes to feel pretty ... like you are a teenager again.
You are a walking advertisement for yourself ... figure out who you are. Emulate your idols. Maybe you loved the style of Marilyn Monroe, Audrey or Katherine Hepburn, SJP, Kate Hudson, etc. Find your personal style and go for broke. Whatever you do ... leave the pajamas in the bedroom and the track suits in the gym. I don't care if your track suits are made by Juicy Couture ... just don't.
Above all ... dress your age. If you are like me and are in your 40's, please don't wear a mini skirt with Uggs. Please. Leave the minis for the young ones. And remember that skinny jeans are meant for skinny girls. If you are sporting a size "W" please don't buy a skinny jean ... the tapered leg is just going to draw attention to your hips. If you must wear a skinny jean, please do so with a boot ... over top of the jean. And buy the appropriate size. Too small will make you look like a tube of Pillsbury biscuits, bursting at the top and just begging for your pants to split. Too big will make you look like you are wearing a circus tent.
If you are single and want to attract a good man ... don't dress like the town tramp. If you are married and want to keep your husband interested ... then take my advice above and buy some sexy undergarments .. and don't wear sweatpants and flannel pajamas to bed every night. And if you want to become the next big thing in your corporation than forgo "casual Friday" and dress as if every day is the day you will get your promotion. And please, dear God, please, NEVER wear white socks with black shoes.
Take risks, have fun and dress to impress. Embrace your advanced years and take comfort in the knowledge that you are mature enough to have found your own personal style. Coco Chanel once said ... "A woman should be two things. Classy and fabulous." I agree.
And when in doubt ... "Wear pink." The Divine Mrs. M
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Monday, January 10, 2011
The Devil is Alive and Well and Living in the Swimsuit Department
Awww....shopping for swimwear. Who doesn't love the experience of walking into a department store in January and being assaulted by the various versions of the itsy bitsy polka dot bikini prominently displayed to remind us that spring break is just around the corner? Makes you want to throw up in your mouth a little bit doesn't it?
Oh yes, spring break vacations are just around the corner and just down the road from that lay the hot summer months and long, lazy days spent at the beach. So my friends, pop a Xanax and join me under the blaring lights in the dreaded confines of the nearest dressing room and stare in shock and awe into the full-length mirror for my favorite springtime ritual ... trying on swimwear. Or as I like to call it ... having a picnic in Hell.
There are days that I truly believe that I was born in the wrong era ... the 1920's seem to suit me much better. The 1920's introduced "flapper fashion" which included looser, much more shapeless fits, knee-length asymmetrical skirts, the first patented bra, shorter hair (aka, the bob) and my favorite style of shoe ... the Mary Jane. Women didn't wear shorts and bare arms were all the rage. And lest we not forget the epitome of fashion design for this era was none other than the amazing Gabrielle Chanel ... or Coco Chanel as she is now known ... whose timeless designs have yet to go out of style.
Yes, the 1920's suit me ... especially when it comes to swimwear. In the 20's it was considered scandalous for women to be seen at the beach sporting the new athletic tank swimsuit. Which was basically a one-piece wool garment (can you even imagine?) with a high neck tank at the top and then cut down the legs to stop mid-thigh. Think "wrestling singlet" with the neck being cut at the collar bone and the legs stopping right at the knee. Not attractive ... but effective in hiding a majority of flaws. For the "bigger" girl, styles were offered with abstract patterns to draw the eye away from any "problem" areas. Which just goes to show that women have been having anxiety attacks about wearing swimwear for decades.
Imagine living in the 20's and stepping out onto the sandy beach wearing the above-mentioned "scandalous" swimwear with only your knees, calves, feet and arms exposed. Now imagine stepping out on the sandy beach wearing one of today's bikinis ... with two small patches of material at the top and a small triangle of material at the bottom revealing everything except your nipples and private parts. Which image leaves you hyperventilating into a paper bag? My guess is the latter.
But alas, we are not living in the Roaring 20's ... we are living in the 2011's and Vogue, Marie Claire and all other "fashion forward" magazines believe that all women are built like supermodels and a bikini is a "must have" for the upcoming resort season. Just as we are not all spending the cold months of winter relaxing on a yacht in St. Tropez, not all women can pack for vacation with nothing but a string bikini and a sarong. And if you can ... well, screw you.
No, the real woman finds parading around in a swimsuit about as appealing as a trip to the gynecologist. Which, in reality, I actually find a yearly pap smear to be much less embarrassing. Your in ... your out. No harm ... no foul. A season dedicated to wearing the least amount of clothing as possible, however, seems to last forever. Choosing the appropriate swimwear for the beach and/or pool is stressful ... and should be approached with extreme caution.
Rule #1 ... never shop for swimwear on a fat day. And you know what I'm talking about ladies. You wake up in the morning and you just feel huge ... even when the scale doesn't reflect an overnight weight gain of 10 pounds ... you're feeling it. Stay home.
Rule #2 ... never shop for swimwear with your spouse/significant other. Just don't. Enough said.
Rule #3 ... never shop for swimwear after consuming one or more cocktails. Yes, it sounds like a good idea. Trust me ... it's not.
Rule #4 ... never shop for swimwear alone. Do take along your BFF. She's your buffer ... and you are hers. Be honest ... brutally honest.
Rule #5 ... never shop for swimwear under the delusion that one of these contraptions is not going to make you look fat. If you are fat ... the less material a garment has is not going to hide the fact that you are fat ... it accentuates the fact. So, go in knowing that yes, you are going to look fat, and pick one that makes you look less fat than the other ones do.
Rule #6 ... if you have a great chest ... show it. And I don't mean go topless. I mean if your two best assets rest just below your chin and right above your navel ... buy a swimsuit that holds them up and displays them as trophies. It will draw the eye away from all of the other areas that are not so pleasing to the eye.
Rule #7 ... if you have a small waist ... buy a suit that accentuates it with bright colors at the top and bottom and a dark strip of color around your middle.
Rule #8 ... if you have killer legs, don't hide them in a "swim skirt."
Rule #9 ... on the same note, if you have cottage cheese legs such as myself ... spring for the "swim skirt."
Rule #10 ... realize that you care way more about how you look in your swimsuit than anyone else on the beach does. There will always be that woman who has an overload of self-confidence sporting a bikini when she really shouldn't be. There will be older women wearing suits designed for teenagers ... teenagers sporting less material than is really age appropriate ... and then there is everyone else. Just like you.
I could go on and on and on and on. We all come in different shapes and sizes and we all deserve a day at the beach. So you're not a size 4 ... who cares? I love the beach ... I love the smell in the air, the wind in my hair, the sound of the waves hitting the shore, the sand between my toes and the warmth of the sun on my pale, Irish skin. The beach is my favorite escape and short of wearing a suit of armor, my flaws are going to be exposed. And that's okay ... because I own it.
That doesn't mean that I still don't get anxiety as the season approaches and I have my picnic in Hell. It just means that the older I get, the less it seems to matter. So look the Devil square in the eyes and tell him to take a hike ... to the mountains ... because you're going to the beach.
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Oh yes, spring break vacations are just around the corner and just down the road from that lay the hot summer months and long, lazy days spent at the beach. So my friends, pop a Xanax and join me under the blaring lights in the dreaded confines of the nearest dressing room and stare in shock and awe into the full-length mirror for my favorite springtime ritual ... trying on swimwear. Or as I like to call it ... having a picnic in Hell.
There are days that I truly believe that I was born in the wrong era ... the 1920's seem to suit me much better. The 1920's introduced "flapper fashion" which included looser, much more shapeless fits, knee-length asymmetrical skirts, the first patented bra, shorter hair (aka, the bob) and my favorite style of shoe ... the Mary Jane. Women didn't wear shorts and bare arms were all the rage. And lest we not forget the epitome of fashion design for this era was none other than the amazing Gabrielle Chanel ... or Coco Chanel as she is now known ... whose timeless designs have yet to go out of style.
Yes, the 1920's suit me ... especially when it comes to swimwear. In the 20's it was considered scandalous for women to be seen at the beach sporting the new athletic tank swimsuit. Which was basically a one-piece wool garment (can you even imagine?) with a high neck tank at the top and then cut down the legs to stop mid-thigh. Think "wrestling singlet" with the neck being cut at the collar bone and the legs stopping right at the knee. Not attractive ... but effective in hiding a majority of flaws. For the "bigger" girl, styles were offered with abstract patterns to draw the eye away from any "problem" areas. Which just goes to show that women have been having anxiety attacks about wearing swimwear for decades.
Imagine living in the 20's and stepping out onto the sandy beach wearing the above-mentioned "scandalous" swimwear with only your knees, calves, feet and arms exposed. Now imagine stepping out on the sandy beach wearing one of today's bikinis ... with two small patches of material at the top and a small triangle of material at the bottom revealing everything except your nipples and private parts. Which image leaves you hyperventilating into a paper bag? My guess is the latter.
But alas, we are not living in the Roaring 20's ... we are living in the 2011's and Vogue, Marie Claire and all other "fashion forward" magazines believe that all women are built like supermodels and a bikini is a "must have" for the upcoming resort season. Just as we are not all spending the cold months of winter relaxing on a yacht in St. Tropez, not all women can pack for vacation with nothing but a string bikini and a sarong. And if you can ... well, screw you.
No, the real woman finds parading around in a swimsuit about as appealing as a trip to the gynecologist. Which, in reality, I actually find a yearly pap smear to be much less embarrassing. Your in ... your out. No harm ... no foul. A season dedicated to wearing the least amount of clothing as possible, however, seems to last forever. Choosing the appropriate swimwear for the beach and/or pool is stressful ... and should be approached with extreme caution.
Rule #1 ... never shop for swimwear on a fat day. And you know what I'm talking about ladies. You wake up in the morning and you just feel huge ... even when the scale doesn't reflect an overnight weight gain of 10 pounds ... you're feeling it. Stay home.
Rule #2 ... never shop for swimwear with your spouse/significant other. Just don't. Enough said.
Rule #3 ... never shop for swimwear after consuming one or more cocktails. Yes, it sounds like a good idea. Trust me ... it's not.
Rule #4 ... never shop for swimwear alone. Do take along your BFF. She's your buffer ... and you are hers. Be honest ... brutally honest.
Rule #5 ... never shop for swimwear under the delusion that one of these contraptions is not going to make you look fat. If you are fat ... the less material a garment has is not going to hide the fact that you are fat ... it accentuates the fact. So, go in knowing that yes, you are going to look fat, and pick one that makes you look less fat than the other ones do.
Rule #6 ... if you have a great chest ... show it. And I don't mean go topless. I mean if your two best assets rest just below your chin and right above your navel ... buy a swimsuit that holds them up and displays them as trophies. It will draw the eye away from all of the other areas that are not so pleasing to the eye.
Rule #7 ... if you have a small waist ... buy a suit that accentuates it with bright colors at the top and bottom and a dark strip of color around your middle.
Rule #8 ... if you have killer legs, don't hide them in a "swim skirt."
Rule #9 ... on the same note, if you have cottage cheese legs such as myself ... spring for the "swim skirt."
Rule #10 ... realize that you care way more about how you look in your swimsuit than anyone else on the beach does. There will always be that woman who has an overload of self-confidence sporting a bikini when she really shouldn't be. There will be older women wearing suits designed for teenagers ... teenagers sporting less material than is really age appropriate ... and then there is everyone else. Just like you.
I could go on and on and on and on. We all come in different shapes and sizes and we all deserve a day at the beach. So you're not a size 4 ... who cares? I love the beach ... I love the smell in the air, the wind in my hair, the sound of the waves hitting the shore, the sand between my toes and the warmth of the sun on my pale, Irish skin. The beach is my favorite escape and short of wearing a suit of armor, my flaws are going to be exposed. And that's okay ... because I own it.
That doesn't mean that I still don't get anxiety as the season approaches and I have my picnic in Hell. It just means that the older I get, the less it seems to matter. So look the Devil square in the eyes and tell him to take a hike ... to the mountains ... because you're going to the beach.
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
More is More
I have been 40 for approximately 8 weeks now ... and already the "mature woman" offers are starting to roll in. Anti-aging cream, vitamins, herbal energy enhancers, estrogen replacement therapy, Depends ...
A few weeks after turning the big 4-0 I received an offer in the mail for a free year's subscription to More magazine ... a magazine designed by and for the "mature" woman. More promised that I would no longer have to ogle the Lindsay Lohans of the world as cover girls ... no longer be subjected to "in depth" interviews with the Jonas Brothers ... that they would feature styles that didn't include super short mini skirts and ripped skinny jeans ... or hair that is styled into pigtails and ribbons. More, as I mentioned before, is for the "mature" woman.
Now before you judge ... yes, it can be argued that a woman such as myself whose iPod is filled with Eminem, Ke$ha, Lady Gaga, Trey Songz (I didn't spell that incorrectly ... it really does end in a Z), Rhianna and Jay-Z and whose favorite television shows include Gossip Girl (xoxo), America's Next Top Model and Glee may not be quite the "mature" woman they were targeting. However, the subscription was free and I thought ... what the heck? I'd much rather respond to the offer of a free magazine than to the free offer of Depends. But truth be told ... I'm a sucker for a free sample. So I got the Depends too. You can never be too prepared.
At first, I was quite offended that the editor-in-chief of More felt that I needed a magazine dedicated to the mature woman. For goodness sakes, I had only been 40 for a few weeks ... did they have every woman in America's birth date listed on a calendar and once the magic date hit, the offer went into the mail? What's next? The mailman leaving me a copy of AARP??
Needless to say, I left the envelope sit on my desk with all of the other junk mail that needed sorted and/or thrown away. The longer the envelope sat there, the more I couldn't decide whether it would become a product of the "keep" pile or the "trash" pile. So I opened the envelope and looked inside. And here is what eventually caught my eye ... a mini sampling of More was located inside to give you a glimpse of what their magazine had to offer. And in big bold red lettering it said the following ... "It's Your Turn Now." Those 4 words piqued my interest and it got me to thinking. My turn for what?
I will tell you. Apparently, I am in the "autumn" of my life. That's right ... I am now in the "autumn" of my life. Apparently spring and summer have long since passed and I am now full blown into fall. Lucky for me ... it happens to be my favorite season.
Let's take a moment to explore what all this entails. It means my leaves are bright and beautiful and more colorful than at any other point in my life. I happen to love the smell of fall in the air ... so apparently my scent is particularly pleasing. Fruit is ripe and juicy and ready to be harvested ... and I'm not really sure how to relate that to myself without it sounding dirty ... so talk amongst yourselves.
It's the time of year I love the most because the days are warm and the nights are crisp and cool (which doesn't really make a whole lot of sense in this scenario because as I have not yet entered menopause ... I hear hot flashes and night sweats are a complete b*tch). People are out enjoying the last few beautiful days of the season before settling in for the long, harsh winter (at least they are in northwestern PA ... if you live in Hawaii you're probably okay and don't even realize how precious and luxurious a beautiful fall day can be).
So I am autumn. And I'm okay with that. I get the distinction. I'm not spring ... that's for the really young like my daughter. I'm not summer ... that was me 15 years ago ... when I didn't realize I was a summer and was covered more in baby poop and spit-up than I was in tanning lotion. I am an autumn. And it's MY time now.
Interesting. I've never really thought about it like that before. In the spring of my life I was like all young, teen aged girls ... self-absorbed, full of spirit and ready to dive head-first into the drama. In the summer of my life I was raising two children, helping a husband build up his own business and CEO of the M's Palazzo. Which sounds fancy ... but it really just means that I was taking care of everything and everyone in the household ... bills, laundry, cleaning, car pools, PTA, doctors/dentists appointments, vehicle tune-ups, etc., etc, etc. By the time I was starting to leave the summer solstice, I realized that I should get a job ... because I had been teaching my young, impressionable daughter that she could grow up to be anything she wanted ... and yet, her mother was a stay-at-home mom. It seemed hypocritical. So, I got a job. Part-time at first ... that worked with my children's and husband's schedules. So I could still stay on full-time as CEO of the M's Palazzo. And eventually I was asked to take a full-time position and I took it. Because it fit around the children's and husband's schedules, had better insurance that would pay for two sets of very expensive braces and would not interrupt my current position as CEO of the M's Palazzo.
Do you see a pattern here? In the summer of your life, you are so busy running around making sure everyone else has on their SPF 30, not drowning in the pool, not standing too close to the campfire, wearing their helmets to avoid a bike injury, etc. that you hardly ever have a chance to lie down for 15 minutes to soak up the summer sun yourself. Summer seems to go by so quickly it is like it was hardly ever here to begin with.
And now it's autumn and it's my turn. I get it. I do. I once asked my husband if he won $100 million in the lottery if he would quit his job. He said no. I said what about $200 million? He said no. A billion? No. What? Why not? Because he loves his job. He said if won the lottery he may cut back on his hours and we would travel more ... but no, he would never give up his job. He is passionate about his job and his hobby ... antiques. He even turned his hobby into another successful business. So, my husband, who is also in the autumn of his life, runs two successful businesses and loves what he does so much that he wouldn't give it up for any amount of money in the world. Wow ... I don't know what that feels like.
But maybe I should. And he said as much when I showed him the bold red letters on my advertisement. He said ... "They're right. Go find your passion and do what you want to do." And this, my friends, is why I'm still married to this man ... even though there are days he makes me question my sanity. In just the right moment, with just the right words ... he pulls me right back in again. "Go find your passion." As far as I know, I have never had a "passion" for anything besides cheesecake.
For the past 17 years, I have focused on my family ... and I don't regret that and I cherish every memory I have been blessed to have made with each and every one of them. On the other side of that statement, every decision I have ever made in the last 17 years has been for my family as well. I never finished my college degree because I had a family to raise and the money was better spent on a roof over our head and clothes on our backs. I chose the jobs I have had to fit around my family's schedule ... not because I had a true passion for the work. Maybe it's time to contemplate a change ... a big change.
I don't expect to wake up tomorrow with an epiphany of what my true passion is. It will take some time and a lot of soul searching. But my children are growing and will be off to start their own lives in the very near future and I've already established that my husband won't be retiring anytime soon. So that leaves me staring at the end of my career as the CEO of the M's Palazzo. What will I do? Do I want to keep working a "job" that I enjoy but am not passionate about or have a new career? Will I go back and finish my college degree? Fly to Paris and learn to be a pastry chef? Only time will tell.
There is a movie that I adore ... One True Thing ... with Meryl Streep and Renee Zelleweger. If you haven't seen it, please do. See it with your mother or your daughter or both and have some Kleenex handy. Meryl and Renee play a mother and daughter and the mother is dying of cancer. The mother is trying to teach her cynical daughter a life lesson about choosing to be happy ... the mother says to the daughter while walking home on a crisp autumn evening (coincidence?), "Your father always says less is more ... mm hmm ... but to me, more is more." Isn't that awesome? More is more. Live big ... live loud ... make an impact.
I am in the autumn of my life ... maybe the leaves are starting to lose their color and the air is getting colder in yours ... or maybe you're still smack dab in the middle of summer. Take time to cherish every season ... because you only get four. Is it ever too late for a change? I don't think so. Change can be scary ... but it can also catapult you into the adventure of a lifetime.
Yes my dear readers, More is More ... and it is now also my favorite magazine.
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
A few weeks after turning the big 4-0 I received an offer in the mail for a free year's subscription to More magazine ... a magazine designed by and for the "mature" woman. More promised that I would no longer have to ogle the Lindsay Lohans of the world as cover girls ... no longer be subjected to "in depth" interviews with the Jonas Brothers ... that they would feature styles that didn't include super short mini skirts and ripped skinny jeans ... or hair that is styled into pigtails and ribbons. More, as I mentioned before, is for the "mature" woman.
Now before you judge ... yes, it can be argued that a woman such as myself whose iPod is filled with Eminem, Ke$ha, Lady Gaga, Trey Songz (I didn't spell that incorrectly ... it really does end in a Z), Rhianna and Jay-Z and whose favorite television shows include Gossip Girl (xoxo), America's Next Top Model and Glee may not be quite the "mature" woman they were targeting. However, the subscription was free and I thought ... what the heck? I'd much rather respond to the offer of a free magazine than to the free offer of Depends. But truth be told ... I'm a sucker for a free sample. So I got the Depends too. You can never be too prepared.
At first, I was quite offended that the editor-in-chief of More felt that I needed a magazine dedicated to the mature woman. For goodness sakes, I had only been 40 for a few weeks ... did they have every woman in America's birth date listed on a calendar and once the magic date hit, the offer went into the mail? What's next? The mailman leaving me a copy of AARP??
Needless to say, I left the envelope sit on my desk with all of the other junk mail that needed sorted and/or thrown away. The longer the envelope sat there, the more I couldn't decide whether it would become a product of the "keep" pile or the "trash" pile. So I opened the envelope and looked inside. And here is what eventually caught my eye ... a mini sampling of More was located inside to give you a glimpse of what their magazine had to offer. And in big bold red lettering it said the following ... "It's Your Turn Now." Those 4 words piqued my interest and it got me to thinking. My turn for what?
I will tell you. Apparently, I am in the "autumn" of my life. That's right ... I am now in the "autumn" of my life. Apparently spring and summer have long since passed and I am now full blown into fall. Lucky for me ... it happens to be my favorite season.
Let's take a moment to explore what all this entails. It means my leaves are bright and beautiful and more colorful than at any other point in my life. I happen to love the smell of fall in the air ... so apparently my scent is particularly pleasing. Fruit is ripe and juicy and ready to be harvested ... and I'm not really sure how to relate that to myself without it sounding dirty ... so talk amongst yourselves.
It's the time of year I love the most because the days are warm and the nights are crisp and cool (which doesn't really make a whole lot of sense in this scenario because as I have not yet entered menopause ... I hear hot flashes and night sweats are a complete b*tch). People are out enjoying the last few beautiful days of the season before settling in for the long, harsh winter (at least they are in northwestern PA ... if you live in Hawaii you're probably okay and don't even realize how precious and luxurious a beautiful fall day can be).
So I am autumn. And I'm okay with that. I get the distinction. I'm not spring ... that's for the really young like my daughter. I'm not summer ... that was me 15 years ago ... when I didn't realize I was a summer and was covered more in baby poop and spit-up than I was in tanning lotion. I am an autumn. And it's MY time now.
Interesting. I've never really thought about it like that before. In the spring of my life I was like all young, teen aged girls ... self-absorbed, full of spirit and ready to dive head-first into the drama. In the summer of my life I was raising two children, helping a husband build up his own business and CEO of the M's Palazzo. Which sounds fancy ... but it really just means that I was taking care of everything and everyone in the household ... bills, laundry, cleaning, car pools, PTA, doctors/dentists appointments, vehicle tune-ups, etc., etc, etc. By the time I was starting to leave the summer solstice, I realized that I should get a job ... because I had been teaching my young, impressionable daughter that she could grow up to be anything she wanted ... and yet, her mother was a stay-at-home mom. It seemed hypocritical. So, I got a job. Part-time at first ... that worked with my children's and husband's schedules. So I could still stay on full-time as CEO of the M's Palazzo. And eventually I was asked to take a full-time position and I took it. Because it fit around the children's and husband's schedules, had better insurance that would pay for two sets of very expensive braces and would not interrupt my current position as CEO of the M's Palazzo.
Do you see a pattern here? In the summer of your life, you are so busy running around making sure everyone else has on their SPF 30, not drowning in the pool, not standing too close to the campfire, wearing their helmets to avoid a bike injury, etc. that you hardly ever have a chance to lie down for 15 minutes to soak up the summer sun yourself. Summer seems to go by so quickly it is like it was hardly ever here to begin with.
And now it's autumn and it's my turn. I get it. I do. I once asked my husband if he won $100 million in the lottery if he would quit his job. He said no. I said what about $200 million? He said no. A billion? No. What? Why not? Because he loves his job. He said if won the lottery he may cut back on his hours and we would travel more ... but no, he would never give up his job. He is passionate about his job and his hobby ... antiques. He even turned his hobby into another successful business. So, my husband, who is also in the autumn of his life, runs two successful businesses and loves what he does so much that he wouldn't give it up for any amount of money in the world. Wow ... I don't know what that feels like.
But maybe I should. And he said as much when I showed him the bold red letters on my advertisement. He said ... "They're right. Go find your passion and do what you want to do." And this, my friends, is why I'm still married to this man ... even though there are days he makes me question my sanity. In just the right moment, with just the right words ... he pulls me right back in again. "Go find your passion." As far as I know, I have never had a "passion" for anything besides cheesecake.
For the past 17 years, I have focused on my family ... and I don't regret that and I cherish every memory I have been blessed to have made with each and every one of them. On the other side of that statement, every decision I have ever made in the last 17 years has been for my family as well. I never finished my college degree because I had a family to raise and the money was better spent on a roof over our head and clothes on our backs. I chose the jobs I have had to fit around my family's schedule ... not because I had a true passion for the work. Maybe it's time to contemplate a change ... a big change.
I don't expect to wake up tomorrow with an epiphany of what my true passion is. It will take some time and a lot of soul searching. But my children are growing and will be off to start their own lives in the very near future and I've already established that my husband won't be retiring anytime soon. So that leaves me staring at the end of my career as the CEO of the M's Palazzo. What will I do? Do I want to keep working a "job" that I enjoy but am not passionate about or have a new career? Will I go back and finish my college degree? Fly to Paris and learn to be a pastry chef? Only time will tell.
There is a movie that I adore ... One True Thing ... with Meryl Streep and Renee Zelleweger. If you haven't seen it, please do. See it with your mother or your daughter or both and have some Kleenex handy. Meryl and Renee play a mother and daughter and the mother is dying of cancer. The mother is trying to teach her cynical daughter a life lesson about choosing to be happy ... the mother says to the daughter while walking home on a crisp autumn evening (coincidence?), "Your father always says less is more ... mm hmm ... but to me, more is more." Isn't that awesome? More is more. Live big ... live loud ... make an impact.
I am in the autumn of my life ... maybe the leaves are starting to lose their color and the air is getting colder in yours ... or maybe you're still smack dab in the middle of summer. Take time to cherish every season ... because you only get four. Is it ever too late for a change? I don't think so. Change can be scary ... but it can also catapult you into the adventure of a lifetime.
Yes my dear readers, More is More ... and it is now also my favorite magazine.
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and New Year's Resolutions
So 2011 ushered itself in quietly to the Divine Mrs. M's abode amongst spouse, teenagers, a dance competition to the Michael Jackson Experience and a mean game of Pictionary with the fancy UDraw tablet for the Wii which the Divine Mrs. M received as a Christmas present. The one thing missing from this low-key celebration? The need to declare a New Year's resolution.
We are now 4 days into this new year and by a show of hands ... who has already broken their New Year's resolution? Really? That many? Interesting ...
If you are like most Americans, your New Year's resolution is probably one of the following: (a) lose weight (or some variation of this); and/or (b) stop smoking, drinking, swearing, (enter bad habit here). It's not a coincidence that most major fitness facilities offer up specials that waive joining fees in January or that you see a rash of stop-smoking aid commercials throughout the month of December. You see ... the industry is on to us ... banking on us to spend our money on memberships that will hardly ever get used and aids to break bad habits only to end up throwing our money, along with our resolutions, out the window. Resolutions, while made with good intentions, are readily broken by the end of January, or if you are like me, by the end of the first week of the new year.
I think one of the major problems with New Year's resolutions are that they are vague. We say we are going to lose weight. How? Do we have the tools necessary to assist us? What steps are we going to take to accomplish this? How much weight? For how long? Have we set a goal?
We say we are going to stop smoking, drinking, swearing (enter bad habit here). When? Do we have a date set? Do we have a plan? How are we going to stop? Are we going to use the patch, nicotine gum, Chantix, join AA, put a dollar in a jar every time we say a bad word? Do we have the support of our family/friends/co-workers?
What is the plan???
That's a major problem ... no plan. A problem I have been struggling with for 20 years. I have meant it every time I've said I was going to get healthy and lose weight. And I did. And then I didn't. My goals were too vague. And much too broad. And my plan was flimsy at best. I know what I would like my goal weight to be ... and it's about 50 pounds lighter than I am at this moment. Well, 50 pounds seems like a very long, foreboding journey ... across the desert ... with no water. What if my goal were easier to reach ... like, I will not eat any deep-fried food today? Just today ... and if I make it through today ... then tomorrow I can make a new goal ... or keep the same one ... until I don't feel the need to make that my goal anymore because it's no longer a struggle to not eat deep-fried food.
My sister is Catholic. And like all good Catholic girls, she doesn't eat meat on Fridays and gives up something in recognition of Lent. In all of the years this beautiful girl has been in my life she has chosen to give up soda. Which sounds noble. Except she really doesn't drink soda. Doesn't even really like it. She's a water with lemon kind of gal. I've always found that fascinating ... her giving up something that she wouldn't miss. It definitely makes it easier not to slip ... but (and I am not Catholic nor am I judging) I'm sure that's not the point.
If I take her lead and apply it to New Year's, I could resolve to do a lot of things. For instance, I could resolve to buy at least 5 new designer handbags. Or buy more shoes. Or eat more potato chips. Maybe, I should resolve to take more naps!! Doesn't that sound delicious? Who doesn't love a good nap!!
But isn't the point of a New Year's resolution to better oneself over the upcoming year? I may buy 5 new designer handbags (and probably more if I'm honest), more shoes, eat potato chips and take a nap or two in 2011 ... and I may argue that resolving to do such wouldn't make me a bad person or any worse of a person than I was in 2010.
On the flip side, however, why make resolutions that aren't actually going to improve your way of life (as much as I think the handbags and shoes just may) and why make ones that are so difficult you are eventually going to break them?
I'm proposing a new way to look at resolutions ... I am resolving to make a new resolution every morning before I get out of bed. I have a notebook on my bedside table for recording these resolutions. The entry for January 1, 2011? "Make a new resolution every day." Done. You can repeat your resolutions ... daily ... monthly ... whatever works just as long as they "stick." Today's entry ... "Eat 3 fruits." Done. And it's not even quitting time yet. Why 3? I don't know ... I didn't want to eat 4. And yesterday I only ate 1.
The point is, I already made a resolution in 2010 to not be fat. I resolved it and I meant it and I'm tip-toeing toward it. Treading ever so softly so as not to fall on my fat, 40-year-old ass. I'm attempting to make healthy choices a habit ... in lieu of the number of bad habits I've been practicing for the past 40 years. It takes time. I'm not going to beat myself up over it. We should make resolutions all year long ... so we can evolve into our best selves. Resolving to be better shouldn't just be a once-a-year occasion. It should be a daily occasion.
It is so much easier for me to look at my little notebook and see my tiny resolution for the day and checking it off as an accomplishment instead of trying to tackle one giant thing over the course of 52 weeks/365 days. It's a lot less daunting ... and much more manageable. My notebook is actually a pocket calendar by the way ... because I don't think my resolutions need to be documented in paragraphs. I'm keeping it simple. I'm keeping it light. And I'm keeping my resolutions ... how about you?
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
We are now 4 days into this new year and by a show of hands ... who has already broken their New Year's resolution? Really? That many? Interesting ...
If you are like most Americans, your New Year's resolution is probably one of the following: (a) lose weight (or some variation of this); and/or (b) stop smoking, drinking, swearing, (enter bad habit here). It's not a coincidence that most major fitness facilities offer up specials that waive joining fees in January or that you see a rash of stop-smoking aid commercials throughout the month of December. You see ... the industry is on to us ... banking on us to spend our money on memberships that will hardly ever get used and aids to break bad habits only to end up throwing our money, along with our resolutions, out the window. Resolutions, while made with good intentions, are readily broken by the end of January, or if you are like me, by the end of the first week of the new year.
I think one of the major problems with New Year's resolutions are that they are vague. We say we are going to lose weight. How? Do we have the tools necessary to assist us? What steps are we going to take to accomplish this? How much weight? For how long? Have we set a goal?
We say we are going to stop smoking, drinking, swearing (enter bad habit here). When? Do we have a date set? Do we have a plan? How are we going to stop? Are we going to use the patch, nicotine gum, Chantix, join AA, put a dollar in a jar every time we say a bad word? Do we have the support of our family/friends/co-workers?
What is the plan???
That's a major problem ... no plan. A problem I have been struggling with for 20 years. I have meant it every time I've said I was going to get healthy and lose weight. And I did. And then I didn't. My goals were too vague. And much too broad. And my plan was flimsy at best. I know what I would like my goal weight to be ... and it's about 50 pounds lighter than I am at this moment. Well, 50 pounds seems like a very long, foreboding journey ... across the desert ... with no water. What if my goal were easier to reach ... like, I will not eat any deep-fried food today? Just today ... and if I make it through today ... then tomorrow I can make a new goal ... or keep the same one ... until I don't feel the need to make that my goal anymore because it's no longer a struggle to not eat deep-fried food.
My sister is Catholic. And like all good Catholic girls, she doesn't eat meat on Fridays and gives up something in recognition of Lent. In all of the years this beautiful girl has been in my life she has chosen to give up soda. Which sounds noble. Except she really doesn't drink soda. Doesn't even really like it. She's a water with lemon kind of gal. I've always found that fascinating ... her giving up something that she wouldn't miss. It definitely makes it easier not to slip ... but (and I am not Catholic nor am I judging) I'm sure that's not the point.
If I take her lead and apply it to New Year's, I could resolve to do a lot of things. For instance, I could resolve to buy at least 5 new designer handbags. Or buy more shoes. Or eat more potato chips. Maybe, I should resolve to take more naps!! Doesn't that sound delicious? Who doesn't love a good nap!!
But isn't the point of a New Year's resolution to better oneself over the upcoming year? I may buy 5 new designer handbags (and probably more if I'm honest), more shoes, eat potato chips and take a nap or two in 2011 ... and I may argue that resolving to do such wouldn't make me a bad person or any worse of a person than I was in 2010.
On the flip side, however, why make resolutions that aren't actually going to improve your way of life (as much as I think the handbags and shoes just may) and why make ones that are so difficult you are eventually going to break them?
I'm proposing a new way to look at resolutions ... I am resolving to make a new resolution every morning before I get out of bed. I have a notebook on my bedside table for recording these resolutions. The entry for January 1, 2011? "Make a new resolution every day." Done. You can repeat your resolutions ... daily ... monthly ... whatever works just as long as they "stick." Today's entry ... "Eat 3 fruits." Done. And it's not even quitting time yet. Why 3? I don't know ... I didn't want to eat 4. And yesterday I only ate 1.
The point is, I already made a resolution in 2010 to not be fat. I resolved it and I meant it and I'm tip-toeing toward it. Treading ever so softly so as not to fall on my fat, 40-year-old ass. I'm attempting to make healthy choices a habit ... in lieu of the number of bad habits I've been practicing for the past 40 years. It takes time. I'm not going to beat myself up over it. We should make resolutions all year long ... so we can evolve into our best selves. Resolving to be better shouldn't just be a once-a-year occasion. It should be a daily occasion.
It is so much easier for me to look at my little notebook and see my tiny resolution for the day and checking it off as an accomplishment instead of trying to tackle one giant thing over the course of 52 weeks/365 days. It's a lot less daunting ... and much more manageable. My notebook is actually a pocket calendar by the way ... because I don't think my resolutions need to be documented in paragraphs. I'm keeping it simple. I'm keeping it light. And I'm keeping my resolutions ... how about you?
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)