Okay Diet Nazis, Here is Your Update

Seriously, you blog readers are doing a great job of checking in on my diet..thanks alot (typed with obvious underlay of sarcasm). Couldn't you have just ignored that I haven't reported massive weightloss and extreme sexual harrassment...Noooo, you say "enough about your messy house and naughty child, I want to hear more about you love handles and double chin".
So here you go diet Nazi's....
Today is day 5 of Operation Envious Body. Monday I jogged, tuesday I did pilates and wednesday, thursday and friday I did jack shit.
I have been really good about eating small meals of obviously healthy foods though (audience applause).
Cutting down on the vino....not so good.
I am not quitting. I promise to do pilates tomorrow and go for a long walk on Sunday. That will still be working out 4 days this week...not too shabby (or flabby). I will continue to make smarter choices about what i (devour) eat and drink, (red wine with fresca and lime...low cal and fabulous!).
So my journey to emaciation is just going to take a little longer than initially intended, which will give you all the more time to check in on my progress (die Nazi's die!), and all the more time for me to update you.
Inner thought: When I reach fame and fortune and am interviewed by Oprah, I will say these words, and they will one day be carved on my (very narrow) coffin; "If Psychic Sylvia Brown, told me that I would have the body that all others would kill for, by doing one thing- cutting out wine, I would pour myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and toast to being chubby."

Better Material

So, I know that you are expecting this entry to be about my diet- but I have better material today than my malnourishment and sore muscles (really, it's going well).
I am sitting in my 95 Degree kitchen right now- waiting for potatoes to boil (not for me you diet nazi!)- and I just need to vent.
It's unfair really, that after a night of barely sleeping due to cranky child that both cranky child and now cranky parents are forced to coexist. It's also not fair that my crasnky son is anything but cranky at daycare, but the minute, literally the minute that I am left alone with him he turns into Chucky.
Chucky doesn't want to hold my hand across the busy street. Chucky thrusts his hips in the air (similar to a yoga pose that I tackled this morning) as I am trying to get him into his car seat all while screaming at the tippity top of his lungs. To the unsuspecting population walking and driving by I must look like I am abducting this innocent little boy...As if I would at this point! infact, if it weren't for the tell tale signs of motherhood that I so eagerly possess- like the bags under my eyes, the unkept hair and the few extra pounds around my middle I am sure that someone would call the police.
we have one stop on the way home- the grocery store. Most often my adorable little child who is everyday a bit closer to the terrific twos enjoys the sights and sounds of the market. He usually lasts about 10 minutes without bribery and another 10 with unpaid for crackers being shoved i his face. Mothers, you know that shopping for 3 weeks of food in 20 minutes is doable and has become the Price Chopper Ritual with Me and Little man.
But not today....Today I dont even get Chucky in to the cart.I am livid that I don't get to purchase my shitty diet food, mortified that strangers are witnessing my son so rudely acting his age in public and am embarrased that these Perfect Little Childless Grocery Getters are feeling sorry for me...and they don't even know that I am dieting!
After a repeat of the car seat submission I try again at the much more expensive Mom and Pop shop on the way home. A little more successful- in that a brat is not the only thing that I leave the store with...i manage to get dinner and a cookie to lure my child who refuses to sit in the cart out of the store....Always reward bad behavior.
Now, as I my anger and exhaustion by putting pen to paper, I have parked my son infront of the TV- chocalate chip cookie remnants covering his face like zit cream. and sorry, diet this mommy is having a cocktail!

Thinking Thin

Okay, Day one of the new skinny Morgan...going pretty well. I woke up early this morning and jogged for 20 minutes (well it was supposed to be 20 minutes, felt like an hour was really only 14....), did squats (those totally suck by the way), managed to pump out 10 push ups, and all this before coffee.
I didn't have a chance to go grocery shopping this weekend so I had a packet of oatmeal out of my snack drawer at work, then went to the grocery store and got a yogurt (low fat), high fiber english muffin -type doo dads and a banana. I have had 2 of my 6 glasses of water and I feel full! No shit, I really feel full!
Not sure what I am going to do for dinner but I know one thing, I am not going to have a cocktail tonight.........I swear.
Getting skinny is going to be so easy! I look foward to flaunting my high and tight buttocks in a bikini. Shopping will be a breeze because everything will look good on me. I will have to fend off all of the pawing men, but after bartending for 5 years I have had a lot of practice in that department. Oh yeah, and I will trade in my worn out yoga pants and wholly T shirt for cute skinny girl jammies... that match. I will carry a pocket book the size of a cocker spaniel and sunglasses that look like they would fit Mickey Mouse, all for the sake of showing just how small I am in comparison.
People will try and get me to eat a cheeseburger, because they will worry about me...and I will love it!
Check in tomorrow........

I Morgan Solemly Swear.....

Ok, enough is enough. I am sick of suck me in panties, love handles and sex with the lights off. I am going to do something about the 15 (used to be 10) lbs that I bitch about as often as Nancy Grace says the word Pervert . It is time to do something about it, before I am forced to retire my bikini for a one piece skirted lycra moo moo, and just in time for my second chin to convince the third one that is about to move in, that I am a slumlord.
So, here it is. I Morgan solemly swear to go on a diet and fitness plan, and blog about it for the world to see. I have printed out a 4 week plan, that seems simple enough. This weekend I will do my grocery shopping for high fiber crackers, lowfat yogurt, edimame and card board. I will look at my schedule and plan my work outs accordingly. I will begin this new lifestyle on Monday July 27th and will keep you all posted.
Here is what I need from you....encouragement. Please feel free to grab my soon to be tiny ass and say "Rock solid". Tell me that my clothes are baggy and that I look emaciated. Comment on my blog, about how well I am doing and how I should rethink my career and become a personal trainer/ super model. Can you do that for me?
Ipromise to be honest, to work hard and to keep you laughing through the whole journey from grocery shopping for fat free food, to sweating my love handles off. Wish me luck!

The Evolution of the Friday Night

When I was 8 years old, Friday night meant Sleepovers. My friends and I would ride our bikes to each others houses to pack over night bags. We would throw the remnants of a hard weeks worth of graded papers, unfinished homework and half eaten boxes of raisins out of our book bags and stuff the bag with sleepover necessities- (in order of importance) Tape Recorder (for spying on people), Scary movie, Ramen Noodles, Bag of marshmallows, stickers, tooth brush and jammies. We could hardly contain our excitement for the night to come.

By the time I was 16, Friday nights meant spending 2 hours trying to find the perfect outfit for a party in a sand pit, another hour coming up with plans to fool parents into thinking that we were spending the evening being upstanding young citizens and then FINALLY a few hours to drink as much beer as possible, with out being caught by parents, cops or the unfortunate people that lived near the sand pit.

21 was much like 16 minus the having to lie to parents and avoid the cops. Still spent hours getting ready, hours drinking as much as possible (getting a headache just thinking about it), and plenty of time either being consoled by friends or consoling friends about some sort of drama that most likely involved “the love of my/her life”.

Now I am 28. Today is Friday. Tonight I am going to a 4 year old’s Hannah Montana themed birthday party. I will spend the evening multi tasking, trying to socialize with my infrequently seen friends and trying to make sure that my son doesn’t seriously hurt himself, another child or any of the family’s pets. Most likely I will leave around 8 with an exhausted toddler in arms. I will get home, catch a glimpse of my Honey, bitch at him for something, and turn in.

TGIF- Happy Friday To You!

Jane’s Daughter

When I was born my parents were living in a little farm house in Shrewsbury VT. Its bucolic setting, sheep in the yard and pond across the street was a far cry from the upper middle class neighborhood in Scarsdale NY that my mother grew up in. She and my father were young hippies, and moving to the country in Vermont was the hippie thing to do at that time.
By the time my mother died she hadn’t lived in Vermont for over 20 years, but she had always said that it was where her heart was.
My love for the simple life in Vermont is not the only likeness to my mother that I have. For one, I have an uncanny physical resemblance to her. I was once approached at a grocery store by a complete stranger the said to me “You must be Jane’s daughter”. The stranger had worked with my mother when my mother was in her twenties. She said that it was like she had traveled back in time and was seeing my mother. To this day, that has been the best compliment that I have ever received.
My love of wine paired with hor derves and good company is another trait that my mother passed down to me. My fondest memories of my her are sitting at the big kitchen island with a bottle of Yellow Tail Cabernet, cheese and crackers, telling funny stories that got retold every time our family got together. My mother would start crying from laughter, her mascara would run, she would whimper and then pour herself another glass of wine.
Jane was a lover. She was a true romantic and yet she never really mastered the art of Happily Ever After. I sometimes think that she wanted to love, more than she actually did…and at times she loved more than she was loved. I worry that this might have been passed down to me. I am a romantic person, and I never thought that at 28 years old that I wouldn’t have yet had my special day in white.
Mom had few careers in her time, finally settling on Real Estate Sales. She was very good at it, having such a great personality. I always felt though, that my mother was put on this planet to be a mom. It was the one thing that she put in front of everything else, and she did a stellar job of it. I remember a night gown that she had, that I loved. It was flannel and blue and worn. It smelled of her and felt so good to cuddle up to.
Flighty is a word that has been used to describe my mother (and myself). She once came out of a convenient store and got in the wrong car. She was about to put the car in reverse when she heard a clearing of the throat. The woman sitting in the passenger seat expecting her husband to get in the drivers seat was a bit startled when the 5ft 4in petite blonde woman took his place. This sort of thing happened all the time. In fact, Janie blonde moments were often the stories being served at the kitchen island along with the cabernet and brie.
At Moms funeral, the church was full and there were people standing up and spilling to the outside. We opted to leave out the hymns and instead played the soundtrack to The Big Chill along with a few songs by The Moody Blues. Pretty sure that was a first for the church. We told funny stories, laughed and of course cried. At the end of the service, my mother’s body was carried out to the song My Girl. To many of us she was our girl.
Mom was cremated. The following summer the family got together and we spread some of her ashes in a lake here in Vermont, where her heart remains.
I will always be Jane’s Daughter. I hold that title proudly, as it deserves to be. To me it means that I am beautiful, warm, charming, sensitive, a great friend and that I am somebody’s everything.

Tis a Sad Day

There is a dark cloud over many heads in Rutland County today. Today, the news broke that a dear member of our community Madeline Sherman had passed away. Mrs. Sherman, often referred to as just Sherman was my hard ass, high school history teacher. She called me Megan the entire time that she knew me. She handed out detentions for minor infractions. She commanded the room with her deep, loud voice. The sound of her high heels coming down the hallway caused fear for both teachers and students, and yet we loved her.
We loved how she had a way of getting the slackers to complete work on time. We loved how she would tell us that our skirts were too short (they were). We loved how her slip was always showing, and that she was allowed to eat in her classroom..but we weren't. We loved how she had a way of making the bully feel like a complete ass, and the victim feel uplifted. We loved how nothing was done properly if it wasn't done the Sherman way.
We will miss the New York City trips that she spent endless hours organizing and carrying through. We will miss her face at all of the PHS events, because she was a dedicated fan.

I will miss being Megan.

Mrs Sherman you will never be forgotten.

Nap Time Ahhhh

I haven't decided wether or not I believe in god- but everytime my Little Man takes a two hour nap, midday- right before I am about to abandon my family and move to a third world country where they are sure not to find me, I get a little closer to Catholicism. LM is creeping dangerously close to the terrible two's. His favorite word is "No", he bahaves well for everyone but me, and he fights sleep like his father and I fight waking up.
After what seems like hours of entertaining LM in the morning, feeding him, convincing him that putting toys in the toilet is less fun than quietly reading a book, I am about to pull out what little hair he has allowed to stay in my scalp. Then, miraculously I notice the tell tale signs of a tired toddler. He falls 6 times in 2 seconds, rubs his eyes with his grubby little hands and starts mummbling to himself in what sounds like Cantonese. I see a light at the end of the tunnell. But it is not a short tunnell. First, I must convince LM to stop whatever it is that he is exhaustedly attempting to do. Next, I must wrestle him like I am Steve Irwin and he is a rabid alligator and pin him down long enough to change his diaper. Lastly, I leave him screaming while I loudly promise him that i will soon be returning with Sippy of milk in hand. The more tired LM is, the longer I have to stand above his crib, patting his back and singing the ABC's all the while my arm is going numb from the crib rail that is jammed in my arm pit.
After one failed attempt to leave the room and about 20 minutes, I hear the best sound in the world....Silence.
I have at most 2 hours. That should be enough time to sweep (can't vaccuum due to napping tired toddler), unload the dishwasher, take a shower, put 300 books back on the book shelf, blow dry my hair, fold laundry, mop, clean out the fridge, empty out my vehicle and pluck my eyebrows.
But, today is Sunday, and I am tired. Today, I thank the god that I am unsure of, recline in the chair with a Glamour magazine that has been in the plastic wrapper for two weeks, waiting patiently for the appropriate time to rescue me from Domestic Torture. Today, I will do nothing at nap time. I will allow myself the luxury of a daydream, a half hour reality tv show, and a 1 O Clock cocktail. Tomorrow, my laundry will still be there, along with the stale food in the fridge and the unibrow...but what won't be there tomorrow is 2 hours to myself.

S-T-R-E-S-S

I have decided that the word stress is actually an acronym that can be personalised. Today my stress is;

S- Shitty nights sleep.

T- Ten pounds to lose.

R- Really tired of asking PMH to pick up after himself.

E- Endlessly being called a nag for endlessly having to ask PMH to pick up after himself.

S- Son still sleeping with us

S- Sex life non existant due to all of the above!

What is STRESSing you out?