I'm officially starting my diet tomorrow. I just raided Trader Joe's for a selection of fresh, healthy foods, and I've programmed my fancy dancy bathroom scale to reflect not only the horror that is my weight, but also the terror associated with having my body fat displayed at the same time.

HOLY MOLY.

In case anyone is jumping on the bandwagon with me, this is the "diet" book I'm following -

The Fat Fallacy, by Dr. Will Clower.

Come on... you know you wanna do it with me...

You can follow along over at ClubMom, once my new blog gets up and running. Have you joined ClubMom yet? No? Click on over there and sign your fine self up!

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 30, 2006 1:23 PM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (6)

After school today, I took the kids to the park. I had promised to buy them a popsicle from the vendor as a bribe to get them moving quicker this morning.

I left my wallet in the car, and with all three kids in tow, we walked down the sidewalk to where the van was parked, at the edge of the street. I opened the side door of the van, leaned inside to grab the wallet, and suddenly, my three-year-old was off like a shot, running around the end of the van and straight into the busy street.

I saw her start to dash, and began to scream.

"NO! No! NOOOOO! Stop! Freeze!" as I fought to disentangle myself and reach her. As she giggled her way into the middle of the street, and I dashed behind, screeching at the top of my lungs, I heard tires squeal.

The bumper of an SUV stopped six inches from my baby's head.

I swooped her up, hysterically thanking the driver for seeing her and stopping, and simultaneously scolding and crying, and freaking out and scolding her back to her carseat, where I buckled that five-point harness and collapsed onto the curb, shaking like a leaf. Cars wizzed by on the other side of the van, where moments before, my daughter had dashed, barefoot and squealing with glee.

I fought back the nausea that rose in my throat, said a quick prayer of thanks to whatever guardian angel stepped in and stopped that truck, and handed my oldest a couple of dollars to buy herself and her brother a popsicle. She trotted across the lawn, and returned with a selection of popsicles, one for each kid. I sat and quaked.

For twenty minutes, I was wracked with cold sweats and tremors. And then I closed the door to the van, drove home, and after shooing the kids into the house, I stood outside our fence, just crying like a baby.

I'm starting to feel like we've used up too many of our freebies. I think I lost about 10 years off my life with that one.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 27, 2006 5:54 PM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (40)

In an effort to get myself fit and serene, I've been attempting to include a short yoga workout while the kids are in school. Since I can't get my youngest to play nicely and quietly while I stretch, I've invested in some DVDs that are aimed at children, which I figure we can do together. It's not as peaceful as all the New Age gongs and stuff that you get on grown up DVDs, but I'm telling you, we are having a blast.

Yoga For Kids is the set we have, and they are really fun to do.

First of all, there is no expectation of perfection. There is room for messing things up royal, and still having fun with it. Then there are animal noises. Heh! Cat-Cow is WAY more fun when you are mooing and meowing. Volcano pose has already been an effective tantrum avoider. And I think I get more joy out of pretending to drive while 'walking' forward on my sit-bones. Honk, honk! Beep!

And then there is the Namaste Song.

Oh, the cuteness. My three-year-old's chubby cheeks bounce as she sings "Mama-Stay! Mama-Stay!" while bobbing in an exaggerated bow towards me. I love that she thinks it's all about me.

And! Then you get the added cuteness of watching little kids chant "om" which also makes bunchy chipmunk cheeks.

A while back, it dawned on me that I'm just not the type of mom who is going to join a gym, put the kids in the day care, and work out daily. It just isn't my style. I need to do workouts that are varied, fun, and often, funny. I need to do something that includes the kids, and fits into my day without an extra stop. The plan is to stop calling it working out, and to treat it like a play date with my family. We have been riding scooters and bikes, having mini-trampoline trick shows, and walking everywhere. It's been fun, and relatively painless. We'll see how it works towards my goal of losing 50 pounds.

I've been invited to create a blog to chronicle my weight-loss attempts for ClubMom - and I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to blather on in yet another location. I'll give more details about the new site as it gets closer to launch, but I hope that you'll come check out my daily progress, and share your thoughts and ideas with me as I try to lose these 50 pounds.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 26, 2006 10:02 AM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (7)

Idylwild Horse Show_044, originally uploaded by mizzjenny.

WHRG! Except that there pony doesn't like to go forward, all that much. She still came away with a 6th place ribbon and a big smile. See him giving me the stink-eye? He's all "Lady, your kid is a novice, and I know it, and you know it, and I'm not going to do nothing unless she sits up straight and acts like she's in charge."

This is her second class of the day, and her first time ever on Grommet the pony.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 24, 2006 6:33 AM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (6)

Idylwild Horse Show_004, originally uploaded by mizzjenny.

Yesterday, my daughter, Princess of the Wind Horse Riding Girls, and my son, took place in their first riding show. Ha! Hee! Hoo! Look at his face! That right there is one happy kid. See the whole set by clicking on the photo.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 24, 2006 6:20 AM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (0)

My three-year-old has a language problem. Actually, it's all MY problem.

She finds the phrase "butthead" hilarious.

From the living room right now, she just echoed Diego's "Buenos Dias" with "Buenos Butthead." I've become "Mommy Butthead." What's for lunch you ask? Why, Peanut Butthead and Jelly Sandwiches!

For the record, I redirect and correct every time I hear her. And then I go smirk in the kitchen like an 8-year-old.

This youngest child of mine answers to a wild variety of names - Kabinga is still popular, but we've expanded our range. She's now answering to Nina, and Nooge, and Meep. She will permit two permutations of nicknames, before one of us must say "hey you little." Except the only correct method of saying it involves running all the words together and saying it with my son's Elmer Fudd accent. "Heyawittul!"

Another favorite game is played whenever she is in my arms. She'll turn her face to mine and say "How 'bout..." and then stick out her tongue and say "mwaaaaaah." I'll mimic, and then we'll continue with different noises. Now, how 'bout MEEP! How 'bout laller laller laller? How 'bout this? (sticking fingers up nose)

Ah, good quality communication with my child, huh? With my oldest, we were all about educational games and every action had a thought behind it. My son naturally gravitates towards learning activities. But my youngest? She's happiest with insults and fingers up her nose.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 21, 2006 5:39 PM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (6)

So, we spent Easter Sunday brunching with my parents and sister. We had a kid vs. kid vs. kid egg-off in the yard, and then while I drank a bunch of champagne, the kids hid all the eggs again, and the husband and I faced off. He is such a wuss (Ow! These bushes are stabbing me! Ooh! I got a thorn!) that I totally cleaned his clock, and came away with an overflowing basket of plastic eggs, as well as two arms full of scratches and thorns. Wooo! Victory was mine, and I did an embarrassing dance in my parent's yard to celebrate. Let us all be thankful that my mother's camera doesn't include video. Photos of THAT fun can be found here:

As we left to come home, my youngest borrowed my dad's scooter to ride around the neighborhood. When Monday dawned bright and clear, there was only one thing on her mind. Scootin' in the 'hood. The hubs took her out into the court, and they took turns flying around the pavement with the scooter. The other two kids were jealous, and we ended up heading in to Toys R Us to buy a scooter for the other two.

Ha! Ha ha ha ha! Can I tell you how much stinking fun it is to ride a scooter? Oh my GOD I totally shredded the cement. I was out in the court at eight o'clock last night, racing my seven year old to the blue garbage can at the end of the street, and doing more embarrassing dances in the middle of the street to celebrate beating her to the can. I am totally the most mature parent EVER!

My youngest liked her scooter just fine, but was more absorbed in the accessories it came with. The fake cell phone and sunglasses were just too much fun, and really, she liked running around on the street more than actually scooting, but either way, we wore her out. The kids collapsed into bed without much fight in them, and I decided to call it a night as well.

But no. No, I could not, because my fool blood was pumping and my adreneline was surging and I stayed up reading some trashy novel about 15th century court politics in England. Now, I imagine I could have done something productive, but no. I was too hyped up. I kept grinning like an idiot, thinking about the scooters. I let out a little whooping Baaaaa! noise as I recalled my victory dance in the court. The hubs rolled over and covered his head with his pillow while I periodically erupted with little laughing fits.

I am so putting together a neighborhood mom's scooter club. I think I need a tshirt for that. Pictures of the initial scooter outing here.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 18, 2006 4:29 PM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (12)

This is day seven with no caffinated goodness. I'm decaff'd.

For months now, I've been scolding myself about coffee, wanting to get off of the artificial highs and lows. I've been prone to wild mood swings, too, and disrupted sleep, so I figure while my coffee consumption isn't excessive, it's probably not helping.

It went a little something like this:

Day 1 - 8AM

Blurg. Bleh. Bluuuugh. Drink water to help flush system.

Day 1 - 3PM

HEADACHE. My eyebrows fall off. Drink more water.

Day 1 - 8PM

Asleep on couch, thanks to tylenol.

Day 2 - 8AM

Blugh. Blah. Bluuuuuuugh. Bloated. Drink more *&(&@%& water.

Day 2 - 3PM

HATE. Hate you and you and you. And my head hurts. I'm tired of peeing. This is like being pregnant. Meh.

Day 2 - 8PM

HEADACHE. And also, I hate everyone. Drink more water, so that I can maintain my peeing every half hour schedule.

Day 3 - 8AM

Bluuuuugh.

Day 3 - 3PM

Isn't this headache stuff supposed to be over? God, I think my left eye just fell out of my skull.

Day 3 - 8PM

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Day 4 - 8AM

Hey, not so bad! I'm awake! I'm not a slave to coffee! Yay me!

Day 4 - 3PM

()*&(&^)*&!! Headache. Again. Drink water. Pee. Drink. Pee. Drink. Pee.

Day 4 - 8PM

Chocolate has caffeine in it, right? But only a baby amount, so I'm justified in eating an entire bag of Dove eggs.

Day 5 - 8AM

Bluuuuuuurgh. Oh, wait. No? No. Huh.

Day 5 - 3PM

Headache? No? Hello? Huh.

Day 5 - 8PM

QUEEN OF THE WORLD! I have taken control of myself! I have gotten through the worst of it! I will consume more chocolate to celebrate! And wash it down with some *&^&^$( water.

Day 6 - 8AM

FIne! Groovy, in fact! I'm up, and I'm okay! I'm not exactly what you would call perky, but I'm upright, and I'm not cussing, so small victories, right?

Day 6 - 3PM

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Day 6 - 8PM

Headache. The hell. Will blame this one running out of chocolate.

So far today, no headache. Also, plenty of chocolate. Yay!

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 16, 2006 7:14 PM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (13)

There is a strange rhythm to my days lately. After Slobgate 2006, I've been struggling to fit writing into my daily life, without upsetting the apple cart. I've been horrible about responding to email, and I've been unable to visit my favorite blogs. It's sort of bumming me out.

I'm determined to spread some of my martyr-like responsibilites out to my family, and it's not going so well. I'm going to have to try the apple cart analogy out on them. See here, children. If we all pick the apples and slice them and bake the pies together, then we all get pie! Yum yum! Otherwise, I'm going to make one pie, and let the other apples rot!

Yeah, that'll teach 'em.

I spent yesterday stuffing candy and bandaids into plastic eggs for the kindergarten egg hunt today. Why bandaids? Because I figure we'll get 'em hopped up on sugar and then turn 'em loose on the playground. There's gonna be bloodshed. Besides, they seem to really get excited over bandaids, more so than stickers. I don't know why, but there you have it.

The other day, I found a couple of balloons in a drawer. The kids had fun trying to blow them up demanded that I blow them up, after the sucked on them and got them nice and spitty and then they were popped and then there was crying. I try to be stoic about these things, but after 15 minutes of la la la la la they were just silly balloons la la la la la what did you think would happen if you stuck it with a pencil la la la la la I got my husband on his cell phone.

"Hi, honey! How was your day? Oh, yes, the kids, yeah, they are expressing their emotions! Ooh, you can hear that? Yes. Will you be a love and stop at the store and pick up some balloons? Great. Love you!"

Daddy was the hero when he handed over a package of 100 assorted balloons. Within an hour, my house was littered with rubber globes and sausages. Weeeeeeners! Ah yes. We bopped each other with them. We batted them around. We stuffed them into our clothing. We rubbed them on each other's heads. At one point, I was wearing about 10 balloons static clinged to my head. So pretty!

The game lost the thrill shortly thereafter, leaving the house covered in balloons. I only mention this because I keep stepping on them by accident and scaring the crap out of myself as they explode. I've taken to tiptoe, in the hopes of avoiding unexpected BLAM! noises.

People, that isn't a metaphor, but it sorta fits better than that apple cart farce.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 14, 2006 10:54 AM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (2)

My daughter gleefully zipped open her backpack last night, and pushed a photocopied page into my face. I spluttered a bit as I pushed it back far enough for my eyes to focus on the words. I could just see my daughter's eyes twinking with excitement at me from over the top of the paper.

2006 VARIETY SHOW

It's that time again! We are looking for a variety of acts, such as: song, dance, instrumental, comedy, skits or any special talent a student may have. (A bunch of details) Students should start practicing now so they are well prepared.

Well, shut my mouth and slap the chicken. I lowered the paper to find my daughter still beaming at me, with a pencil in her hand. "Fill it out, Mommy!"

Oh my. Is this like the time Nickelodeon was looking for America's Funniest Mom and the kids decided I should audition? I refused, of course.

Uh, um. "What are you doing for the show?" I asked.

"I'm doing ballet!" With this proclamation, she began to whirl and tiptoe and leap around the kitchen, all with a snooty look on her face. "I'm going to be the STAR!"

"Oh, um. Well. It says you need to start practicing now, and have a routine and everything. Do you want to dance to music?"

She indicated that yes, and feels that Your Attitude Towards Cuttlefishwill provide a lovely backdrop to her interpretive dance. Oh, the lure of the squid-themed ballet.

See, this is one of the times where being a mommyblogger really can bite you in the ass. Because hello! How ripe for parody! How easy to make fun of her solid and probably well-justified belief that she should not only perform ballet for the variety show, but that it will make her a star. I'm no expert, and probably more than a little bitter having entered and lost more talent competitions than I'm willing to admit.

(I am talented! I swear. However, I made the mistake of doing a "dance" to Stray Cat Strut in 6th grade wearing cat ears and a tail on my black leotard. And I didn't actually learn a routine or anything like that. No, that stuff is for suckers. I just sort of got up on stage and pranced around. Actually, that's kind of comic genius. Never mind. It wasn't a mistake. It was brilliant. And that's only ONE of the moments that make me SO GLAD my parents didn't make home movies.)

But here's the thing - do I encourage her to let her Cuttlefish flag fly, or do I suggest that perhaps she wait until another year, or do I pray she isn't chosen in the auditions and let her try? What to do, since clearly, it would be wrong to put video of it on the internet?

Apparently, kindergarteners aren't encouraged to apply, which is a bummer, because my son is getting quite masterful with the armpit and kneepit farts. He's carrying melodies, now. Perhaps I can get them to do a sibling act. Oh! And I can join in, and we can wear matching outfits!

Now, if I'm in it, I'm totally posting it on the internet.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 12, 2006 12:29 PM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (6)

When I woke up to yet another drizzle-marred morning, I wanted to burrow back under the covers. Now, the clouds have parted and patches of sunlight are illuminating my deck. It is shocking how much better I feel.

I'm on day ten of daily exercise. I'm achy in my muscles, but it's that good-achy. It feels like I've been having fun. My limbs are loose, my chest feels open, my spine is lengthened, my eyes are clear and my mood is greatly improved. (I hate it when the experts are right.)

I've just finished watching the Frontier House series that ran on PBS a long time ago. I love this kind of stuff. I was surprised to hear what the teenaged girls had to say at the end, once they'd returned to their mansion in Malibu. They were bored. They didn't appreciate any of the nice things they had, and missed having a vital role in their family's survival. "You get tired of going to the mall every day."

The father from this same family was obsessing about all the weight he was losing, so they sent out a doctor to evaluate him. He was irritated to be pronounced healthier than when he started the show. Hah.

I had a point to make, but it eludes me now. Alas.

Probably that I'm thinking that the kids need to work more. We have to make time to exercise. We follow perky, spandex-clad instructors on DVD when everything our ancestors did kept them in hard-muscled shape. I'm glad I'm not a frontier woman. Yeah, that was probably it.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 10, 2006 9:03 AM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (9)

This has been one crazy mofo week.

Let's have a little music to celebrate making it through:

This week at Three Kid Circus:

I lost a hour. It wasn't my fault.

My therapist decided I am totally normal and apparently just lazy. Then he sent me away. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I'm thinking it was him, not me. Maybe I talked too much about myself. Ha! Ha ha ha! I crack myself up!

I restrained my squirming three year old through the following - the first grade production of Three Nanny Goats Gruff, a volunteer session in my son's class, two trips to Target and a class field trip to the Redwoods. I deserve a medal.

I also helped groom a horse while restraining my three year-old AND my five year-old so that my seven-year-old could have her second-ever riding lesson. In the space of the hour and a half we were at the stables, we coated all our shoes (and knees) with mud, set off the van alarm (and couldn't remember how to disengage it without help) and made friends with the giant, pony-like dog that roams the farm. I think I lost 20 years off my life trying to manage that particular feat. Next week, I'm hiring a sitter. And bringing a flask.

My Wind Horse Riding Girls heart is all aflutter over the horses, lemme tell you. I am SO asking for riding lessons for Mother's Day. Okay, how stinking cute is this? I mean, seriously?

Granted, I wouldn't look so cute perched on a horse, but still. I could reinact my favorite Trixie Belden plots! You wanna see something else that made my WHRG day?


That's the lovely and hilarious Deana of SquidInk, who shows her WHRG spirit while doing yoga.

I also jumped and jumped and jumped on the trampoline, managed a standing backbend (!) and have almost made the decision to delete all of the TiVo'd episodes of 24, now that I'm 7 weeks behind. I'm not going to catch up, so I think I might just let it go. (Shut up. This is big for me.)

I've just got to get through tonight, with a theatre performance of Curious George, and then I'm going to collapse in a heap.

How you feelin'? Hot hot hot?

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 7, 2006 9:35 AM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (9)

The Genuine Family is only about 30 comments short of their goal of 240 comments. Please, if you haven't commented, please pop by and give them some love in support of Ben.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 3, 2006 3:20 PM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (3)

Oy. Whoever decided this whole spring forward baloney should be smacked.

That is all.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 3, 2006 9:37 AM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (16)

So, I'm officially "starting" my diet. "Starting" meaning "making a virtuous grocery list while eating leftover pizza from last night." I also decided to dust off some of my exercise DVDs so that I could make a tenative workout schedule for myself, alternating walking and weights with rebounding and hula hooping and throwing in some DVD goodness to boot.

I pulled out this little gem, which I bought eons ago, and really is a pretty good little workout. Ha! I crack myself up. Listen to me... oh, it's a baby little wee workout. Because you know that I'd be gasping for breath midway through the warmup segment. But I'm an expert judge of workouts. I have watched a lot of them. Again, that is not to say that I've followed any more than a few times, but the watching is quite fun.

Ahem.

My eyes fell on the sister of the above little gem, languishing in the plastic wrap it came in. I decided to give it a spin.

It looks like a great one. I mean, first of all, the instructor is Australian, and rather stoic. Or maybe that's because her entire face has been botoxed into submission. But she's not a yipper, and frankly, not all that encouraging. She says things like "yeah, I know it burns. KEEP GOING."

Yes ma'am.

And it's KICKBOXING BOOTCAMP. Hello! That's totally funny! The only thing that would be funnier is if it was Kickboxing Booty-Camp. In fact, I think I'll call it that. I got right up off the couch and started punch-jab-undercutting right along with her. I'm going to be like Chuck Norris with the roundhouse kicks! I'm going kick some spongy, girlie ass and I'm going to like it!

Yeah. Well. Ow. The only ass that got kicked was mine, and I'm currently sitting on the spongy, girlieness right now. I can tell I'm going to be sore tomorrow. Which is hot, right? Girls who limp around and can't sit down without bracing themselves are hot. You heard it here first.

<__trans phrase="Posted by [_1] on [_2]" params="Jenny%%April 1, 2006 3:09 PM"> | <__trans phrase="Permalink"> | <__trans phrase="Comments"> (3)