The Andersen Family Halloween 2013: Son #3 (L) is Jack Frost from Rise of the Guardians, Son #1 (C) is an M&M (yes that’s a plastic snow sled hanging around his neck!), Son #2 (R) made his own “Stevie” costume from Minecraft (yep, he’s got a paper bag over his face but he came up with it all on his own so I give him props for creativity!) and Jelly Bean is a “pink princess fairy with pink wings pink pink piiiiiiink!” My husband is, um, a college student and I went as a girl who’s been in a deep funk and therefore hasn’t showered in three days and requires a hat to cover her greasy hair but just be glad she crawled out of bed ok?
This Halloween there’s a new monster scaring all the kids on the block: the ConcernTroll, i.e. a person who says really crappy things under the guise of “concern” for you. And this year’s concerntrolling is brought to you by a woman whom I can only hope is secretly a paid actress/instigator from Fargo, North Dakota, who has decided that instead of handing out treats to children she deems to be “moderately obese”, she’ll be sending a note home in their sad little treat-less bag. To their parents:
I’m a mess. I don’t know how else to explain this. I have no way to make it funny or probably even interesting. I’ve been teetering on the brink of the abyss ever since we moved. Scratch that, ever since I knew it was a possibility we were moving. Don’t get me wrong, the move was the right choice to make for my husband’s career and consequently for our family and I don’t want to sound ungrateful but there is a reason that moving is considered the third most traumatic life event after death of a loved one and divorce. And while I’ve moved a ton in my lifetime, for whatever reason, this time has been the hardest. It just has.
But while the move was the life event that unmoored me – both physically and emotionally – it was the anniversary of my friend Steve’s death that was the catalyst for the actual breakdown. While I am very very sad he died (as is everyone who knew him), I kind of made it the focal point for all my issues right now. Rather than deal with all the things I don’t want to think about, I put all my pain and frustration into this one event; I’ve been needing a big, gut-wrenching, ugly cry and this anniversary finally gave me a reason to do it.
Daily in the morning one half hour before breakfast on an empty stomach and at night before sleeping, drink 1 Tbsp honey and 1 tsp cinnamon powder boiled in one cup of water. If taken regularly, it reduces the weight of even the most obese person. Also, drinking this mixture regularly does not allow the fat to accumulate in the body even though the person may eat a high calorie diet.
This is from a Shape photoshoot for an article on corrective exercises. Steve did NOT want to do this. Him: Does this angle make me look short? Me: Yep. Him: You know I hate these machines and would never stick a client on one, right? Me: Yep. Him: Do I still have to be in this picture?? Me: Yep. So he crouched down to make himself look like even more of a midget. This is me trying not to bust out laughing. Jerk. Also, unrelated, my bangs were really unfortunate.
Practical jokes have never ranked very high on the funny scale for me. Having done my fair share of toilet-papering houses, saran wrapping toilets and forking lawns (you stick plastic forks ouchie side up all over in someone’s grass because… bored?), I probably ought to have more of a sense of humor for them. Yet when I got the text message, a year ago in the dark predawn, from my friend Steve’s phone that he had died a few hours earlier I rolled my eyes and thought it was a stupid joke, a crappy way to try to get out of a meeting we had scheduled later that day. Steve was known for his jokes.
Step 3. Wear a boob harness – it’s like the Blade Runner of bras.
NOT knocking anyone who naturally has a “thigh gap”, just poking fun at all the “fitspiration” that centers around this one quirk of genetics, weight and hip width. I recently read a post on a prominent healthy living blog (not linking, sorry) that had a whole list of criteria as to whether or not your thigh gap – how much daylight you can see between your upper legs – is legit or not. No less than 12 rules that included things like “Your heels AND big toes must be touching” and “You may not arch your back” and “sitting doesn’t count!!” because apparently there is a rash of counterfeit thigh gaps plaguing the Internet? They even used a Victoria’s Secret MODEL as an example of a faker! Somebody alert the FCC.
Anyhow, I picked this meme for (anti)Fitspo Friday since my thighs have long been my biggest source of body hate. But thanks to time, perspective and a whole lotta help from you guys, I’m really learning to not only love them for what they can do but even for how they look, including the fact that they’ll never not touch (they’re BFFs!).My curves mean I can rock the heck out of a pencil skirt! Which I take advantage of fairly often:
Sugar substitutes are not my friend. From lab rat to gym rat, really they’re not anyone’s friend. And yet over the years I’ve ingested way more than my fair share. I remember one incident, remembered only to my roommates as The Day Licorice Died And Took Our Cleaning Deposit With It.
I was a young college co-ed, trying my darndest like all young co-eds in the 90’s to look smokin’ hot in my infantalizing baby doll dresses, ripped up jeans and decidedly unsexy combat boots. All of which involved A Diet. Every girl I knew was on one. And having a long relationship with Anorexia, I knew I could do A Diet too. I was great at diets! So after weeks of deprivation, I finally splurged some of my hard-earned waitress money on sugar-free licorice. I love licorice. My roommates all loved licorice! I hated calories. My roommates all hated calories!
My favorite boys!
(Backstory: One on the right just won a trophy for his Pikachu pinewood derby car and the one on the left is having a meltdown because he didn’t win anything. It’s tough being the second child. Of course the third kid, on the far left, cared about nothing but the cake.)
Controversy is Chris Brown’s middle name. The rapper is a master of taking a bad situation and spinning it to look even worse. (Everyone remember the time he beat the crap out of then-girlfriend Rihanna? And then got a tattoo of her battered face on his neck?? Okay, good.) To say I’m not a fan would be an understatement. But this past week he gave an interview that made my heart break for him. He told The Guardian that he “lost his virginity” when he was eight years old to a 14- or 15- year old girl. (Not even going to put the full quote here as it kinda makes me want to barf. Feel free to click through to read it though.)
I used to love this game SO HARD as a kid. Raise your hand if you’re an 80’s kid!
“Mom! I need food now! My little legs are so weak!!” My 7-year-old son eats like his dad (and is dramatic like his mom) so I wasn’t surprised when he came barging in the door after school as if he were auditioning for Oliver! He then proceeded to eat half the kitchen and only quit when he realized the spaghetti he was chewing on was the plastic pile that came with Jelly Bean’s play kitchen. The next morning at breakfast I prepared his usual feast only to have him shrug and say, “I’m not hungry this morning” and wander off to put Legos down his Captain America costume (I don’t question it as long as they’re dressed in something).
Now compare that with this recent conversation:
Friend: You want to go get something to eat?
Me: I dunno. Are you hungry?
Friend: Eh. I could eat. Are you?
Me: Maybe. What were you thinking?
Friend: I dunno. I’m kind of munchy.
Me: It’s okay, we’re in Colorado, it’s legal now.
I know you’ve seen it. There’s been a thing going around the past few days. No, not the flu (although it might make you feel sickish) but rather a picture, of a mom and her kids. It was supercute until the mom, a fitness blogger, tried to turn it into “fitspiration” by adding text to it:
What’s your excuse? Huh??
And it all went downhill from there. (Or uphill, depending on your feelings about fame for the sake of fame.) People hated her. People loved her. People attacked her from every possible angle. People defended her. She jumped in the fray and issued a “sorry not sorry” apology which only upped the ante until it reached the apex of all Internet memes: a spot on the Today show.
*Warning for possible triggers regarding eating disorders.*
Your body grows and repairs when you rest – even babies know that! And also: Babeez spooooning!! Awwwwww.
“How did you find time to exercise 3-6 hours a day?” (I organized everything else in my life around exercise, didn’t sleep much and did insane stuff like shuttle sprints in the dark parking lot after doing my grocery shopping. Also, I didn’t watch TV.)
“How skinny did you get?” (Not as skinny as you’d think I would have been.)
“I want an exercise addiction, hahah!” (Come over here so I can smack you.)
“No seriously, that’s really a problem?” (Yes. It’s a type of eating disorder.)
Over the years as I’ve spoken more openly about my years of compulsive over exercise, people understandably have lots of questions. But one question I’ve gotten a lot lately is “How did you know you needed help?” The sad-but-true answer is I didn’t. I was so deep into my illness that I couldn’t see it for what it was. But I can tell you what finally drove me to seek medical care.