Snan's Failproof Weight-Loss Plan

I am not athletic. In fact, I think I might be the antonym to "athletic." Personally I don't think that's a bad thing, after all, I'm pretty sure evolution has traditionally favored those who know well enough to run away when large objects fly in their direction.

But when it came time to diet back to normal size after Shalva was born, I turned to my evolutionarily-challenged younger sister, who considers marathons a fun thing to do in your free time (if somewhat boring for her by now - she's moved on to the Iron Man).

She gave me three simple tips (or maybe more than three? Three that I remember. Snan, if there were more, please leave a comment) that have worked so well I felt obligated to share.

1. Eat something in the morning.
2. Drink lots of water.
3. Get 15 minutes of physical activity each day.

I say "something" instead of "breakfast" because I haven't really been doing full breakfasts. My stomach wakes up after the rest of me, so it's enough to get down a piece of fruit. Snan says that's enough.

The 15 minutes can be non-consecutive, which makes that part very easy. I try to get mine in by using the elliptical three times a week (technically I use it every day, but I mean "use it for something other than drying clothing"), and on the other days walking up and down stairs for 5-6 minutes on my way to pick up Dani and then doing jumping jacks for 60 seconds once an hour during work.

I work from home, by the way. Don't try that last part if you work in an office.

It's hard to fit in jumping jacks, especially when the kids are home. But on the other hand, it can make things easier with the kids, because the kids find the sight of me doing jumping jacks breathtakingly funny. Literally, Noya can't even get the words out as she runs to tell Adi, "She's doing it again!! Come quick!" Then they both run over and only manage two or three "jumping jacks" of their own before falling down laughing.

I'm doing a few other things too - I try to eat healthily, and I work out for more than 15 minutes 3-4 times a week. But whenever I do only that, I don't lose weight, and whenever I stick to Snan's advice, I do.

Poor Snan has had the following conversation with me more than once in the past few months:
Me: "Snan, it's not working any more. I haven't lost weight in three weeks."
Her: "Are you still doing the things I told you to?"
Me: "Uhhh... kinda?"
Her: "Do the things I told you to."

Ahh, family. The people obligated by social norms to put up with me - what would I do without you?

Consider Yourself Warned - P - Princesses

No potential future parent of girls (and some boys) is ever truly warned if they are not warned about Disney princesses. The ones of the big-eyed, tiny-waisted, fall-in-love-at-the-drop-of-a-hat variety.

"Oh but Ali" you may be thinking, "I don't need to know anything about Disney princesses. I agree, they're bad role models, so my daughters just won't watch Disney movies. They'll watch educational programming. And I'll give them American Girl dolls instead of Barbie."

Trust me. You need to know about Disney princesses. Because if you ever let your little girls out of the house, somehow they will spot one (or a Barbie. same difference really). And nine times out of ten, it will go like this:

And before you know it, you've been Disneyed.

I tried to avoid Disney. I hid Adi's first Barbie, and gave her Dora instead of Cinderella. But girls just have this weird, backward sense for these things. 

(On a similar note, the only jewelry I wear is my wedding band, and the last time I had a full face of makeup or painted nails was at my wedding. Adi saw one of her aunts for the first time in ages and her immediate response was, "Mommy, I want to have color on my nails too. And when can I pierce my ears?" They just know.)

After she realized that there were other dolls out there - dolls that she somehow innately knew to be more beautiful and thus better in every way than her normally-proportioned Dora doll - I still tried to keep things in check. I was not successful.

Suggesting anything but Mermaid Barbie once they were aware she existed was like trying to convince college students to celebrate Spring Break by chugging apple juice.

Just for the record, the unrealistic bodies isn't really what bothers me most, it's the stories themselves. As my husband can't help saying every time The Little Mermaid is playing, "What do you mean, you love him?? You just met him! For all you know he's a serial killer! What kind of a stupid... Man, if that were my kid... "

Anyway. By now you're convinced that Disney princesses will somehow become part of your child's life. So I should get to the part where I impart tried-and-true parenting tactics for dealing with it.

Unfortunately, I don't have any. I've basically given up.

But hey, at least now you're forewarned. 

Art!

The kids saw my attempts at art (the illustrations you see here) and decided they wanted to try too. It turned out to be a great way to get almost an hour of relative quiet.

Here are their pictures. First two are by the oldest, then in descending age order, then the last was a collaborative effort.

I'm adding one: Adi did this, and explained to Noya, "I'm writing a lot because I have a lot to say to a lot of people."

The hardest part of today, by the way? Trying to deal with !@#$^&^ Microsoft Word (XP version).

I hate Word so much. I hate the autoformatting - why does it always pick the most complicated way to do things, unless you go press a million things to undo it? Why does it always assume that you didn't really mean to type what you actually typed, and you want it to capitalize it, change the spelling, and make it a numbered list?

At one point I found myself banging on the keyboard and saying, "Don't f&*k with me, Word!!" Would you believe that actually worked?

Unfortunately, a minute later it retaliated by renumbering the one numbered list I'd created intentionally so that everything was off by one. Which provided momentary amusement as I imagined my challenge setting programs in motion (public static BringItOnBitch... ), but overall was very much not a good thing.

Dani is sick today. She is always sick in exactly the same way.

First, she realizes she's sick at some point around 10 p.m. She then spends the next 4 hours alternately tossing, turning and crying wherever it was that I had been planning to sleep.

The next day she wakes up as if nothing had happened and spends the day jumping on furniture, drawing on walls, and using every last bit of her brainpower for the sole purpose of tracking down things she's not supposed to be eating and putting them in her mouth, as is her wont.

Then we repeat the whole thing two or three times until I'm a drooling, half-insane wreck and she is... still completely fine.

We're on day two right now. The first night she managed to headbutt me in the face in her sleep. Then she fell asleep at 1:30 a.m., exactly two seconds before the neighbor's car alarm started going off.

Last night was worse.

So this morning she was home "sick," and spent the morning prancing around eating cereal, throwing her toys around, and flooding the bathroom, while I tried and failed to get the three brain cells I had left to remember how to make coffee.

<--- time until I realize that I have to push the buttons in order to make the coffee hot: two minutes.







***
Best excuse of the day: Noya after hitting Dani: "I wasn't trying to hit her! I was just doing like this with my arm [arms swinging] and she was there!"

If I would believe that coming from anyone it would be her. But even from her, it was hard to believe.
***

I actually watched a movie last week - Cowboys and Aliens. It was about as good as you'd expect a movie called "cowboys and aliens" to be, but not nearly as awesome as a movie that has both Indiana Jones and James Bond should have been.

Consider Yourself Warned - P - Poop

So having recently finished my final exam, and having no desire to start cleaning the house, I've decided to do you all a favor. I am going to bestow upon you, my un-be-childed friends (and friends whose minds have repressed the memory of their early parenting years), a glimpse into the secret wisdom of parenting.

I will call this guide "Consider Yourself Warned."

Since we were talking about poop, I'll start there, then proceed alphabetically into the realm of parenting knowledge (or what parenting knowledge I haven't forgotten due to sleep deprivation and blows to the head).

So here it is. Consider Yourself Warned - P - Poop:


1. I already told you that will you find yourself acting excited to see toddler poop in a plastic potty someday. But it gets much worse – someday, you will be genuinely excited to see toddler poop in a plastic potty.

2. When you are a parent, there will be many years during which you will never be able to say with 100% certainty, “There is no poop in the living room right now.”

3. There will be times when you do not poop all day for the sole reason that there was no time.

<-- (maybe take some of your vacation time for this! ahahaha I crack myself up)


4. When you do make it to the bathroom, suddenly the fate of the world will hinge on your child speaking to you at exactly that moment. I don’t know what happens after your body has come to associate relieving itself with the sounds “MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMY SHE HIT ME” “SHEHITMEFIRST!!” “DID NOT!” “MOMMY OOWWWWW SHE’S HITTING ME MORE!!!” – and then all of a sudden, your kids are teenagers who have no desire to be anywhere near you at any time, let alone when you’re pooping.  Are you even physically capable of pooping in peace at that point? I don’t know.

5. You will become capable of reacting to the phrase, “Mommy, I need to poop NOW” more quickly and with greater urgency than a counter-terror unit reacting to a ticking bomb.

                                                         0.05 seconds later

I hope you have found this first foray into parenting educational. Stay tuned for Consider Yourself Warned part 2 - P - Princesses. (I semi-promise not to talk about bodily functions.)

You know what's weird about toilet training? How excited you have to act when you see someone else's poop.

Not just poop, but poop that you're about to have to clean up. And instead of being like "!$#@!$ why is there so much poop in my life, please shoot me now" you have to be like "YAAAAAY POOP!!! You are so incredibly special for making poop in this plastic thing on the floor, instead of making poop on those other things on the floor!"

<--- YAAAAY POOP!!!

Anyway. Those of you who do not have children and are laughing at me right now, please realize that chances are very good that you will be doing this someday as well. It doesn't matter how smart or successful or whatever else you are, someday you will be looking at a piece of human feces recently produced by a two-year-old and acting as if it is the best freaking thing that has happened to you all month.

Because the alternative is this: