Ped check in...

December 2nd-- walked 5013 steps
Weight: 138.6

December 3rd -- walked 5401 steps
Weight: 137

Height, still just a tad below 5'8"

Is Britney Spears a Good Mom? And Why Do We Care?

I knew I'd have to blog about this eventually and well, what a week for the Britster, so I'm bringing it up.

I feel sorry her as well as I am the girl in the back of the classroom rolling her eyes. No one likes it when a mom is having too much fun. I know, it's a double standard-- we all think K-fed (note the cheesy nickname just like the badboy firefighters I mentioned below) is a few steps lower than a scuzball and maybe we expect him to be a loser. But Britney, when she dropped her deadbeat husband and showed up on David Letterman with a classic bob, black dress, we thought-- yes, she can have it all, she will make a comeback...what a difference a few days make. It makes me want to take out my "Spear Britney" t-shirt and become that 16 year old girl I keep hidden down deep inside me.

Now, we've got her out in a Little Miss Sunshine t-shirt, which looks like she saved it from the teeth of a barbed wire fence. And the no underwear-- when is this a good idea when you're being followed by paparazzi 24 hours a day? I know if I had men with cameras following me around all the time, I wouldn't be giving them free snaps of my naughty bits. I mean, seriously, how much would Magazine X pay for such a thing? And to offer it not just once, but two or three times? It's a complete disregard for money management, I mean-- guard your assets.

I sound a little judgmental. But maybe I'm just disappointed or perhaps, a little judgmental. I'm not perfect, but I do tend to wear underwear 99% of the time and that one percent I don't? Well, I'm not in a skirt up to my waist and being followed by paparazzi. But on the road to enlightenment, I offer understanding to Britney for all her bad choices because I too made bad choices in my 20's. And I think there are quite a few of us who did.

Though thankfully in my 20's, I didn't have children who would ever have the chance to run across nekkid photos of crotch. I did have a wee-bit of wild side occasionally, though of course, I was working a 60-70 hour corporate job, so if I did go a little crazy, most likely it meant I rolling around on the floor with post-it notes stuck to my head and less of the chance I was anywhere sans Victoria's Secret.

So, I'm wondering, why do I care? I guess a part of me wants her to pull it together. I guess another part of me is getting too old for the world of the twenty-something. I'm 37 and I'm already subscribing to MORE magazine. I'm not 40, but in certain ways, I see myself more as a woman who doesn't need the attention I did in my youth. No longer do I need anyone to tell me I'm pretty, I know it. Oh, why is this so hard for women to say or to know? (Please, right now, remind yourself how pretty you are. You are.)

Unlike my twenties where I *relied* on a guy to remind me of all that was, to prove it to me by dating me, to validate me. Now? I could care less. And what's funny. I'm actually someone I'd want to go out with. Yes, I'd date myself--I know I sound insane, but it's true. I'm so much more interesting now. Back then, I was cute, I didn't have the loose skin that comes with childbirth across my stomach, but I was so less interesting.

I don't have any advice for B. or anyone here. We're all on our own paths and have our own challenges. In no way do I understand what's it's like to grow up in a world where you are known for your sexuality (I mean, I was the ugly duckling until high school and then, I was the granola girl in college, so yes, when I had the best body of my life, I was wearing gunnysack dresses and clothes I could run through daisy-filled fields in). So, that paragraph where I said I was judgmental, I'm going to take that back except for the not-wearing-underwear part of the decision (which really was just dumb).

I'm going to focus on my own world again and try to stay out of the celebrity gossip columns for awhile because the lives we're living as women and mothers are much more interesting. I know it doesn't always seem like it, but I'd much rather hear about a regular mom being caught without underwear because well, I don't hear about that much. Rarely am I at a PTA meeting to have someone say, "Did you see Kay in the Small Town Herald with her clam showing?" And if it did happen, *that* would be interesting, and you know, I'd be easier on small town Kay because well, we need a little excitement in our lives these days. We need to go commando every so often because we can and no one's going to photograph it.

Love a Man in Uniform (Secrets About Firefighters)

I'm still wearing the pedometer and tonight am at 4729 steps. Yes, I walked my dog. I tell you, I look at this thing attached to my waist at around 2 pm and I'll only have 501 steps, so I take the dog for a walk. I come home, fall on the sofa, grab a book and eat cookies, but at least the dog is getting in shape.

Oh, and I can do these things, like take the dog for a walk then fall on the couch because my husband is a firefighter and always home. I'm going to tell you a secret about firefighters though-- there are two kinds, the good fatherly, hero types, and the a-holes. I hate to say, but it's true. Firefighters become firefighters for two reasons-- the first is that they are really truly kind and caring guys and want to help out and save the world, or two, they want to sleep with a lot of women. I'm not joking. Some men become firefighters because they think women will think they are hot (and guess what, women do.)

My husband has told me quite a few times when women who would not normally smile or wave to him in his daily life do so when he's at work. His friend said, "Hey R., that woman just waved at you." My husband's response, "It's the uniform. Without it, I'm just a short, chubby 40 year old."

I've been hit on by some of the a-hole firefighters--yes, they know I'm married (to another firefighter), but yet, they think I will still think they are hot. And how can I say this without sounding uncaring? Hmmm, well, I'll just say it. After 9-11, my husband and other firefighters were hit on by women they didn't know more than any other time in their lives. Their station had groupies. Thankfully, my husband is on the "old & married crew," so the women tended to browse the other "younger and single" shifts more, but there were (and still are), women who arrive with freshly baked pies for them on a weekly basis. Some randomly drop by for free blood pressure tests.

I've been trying to come up with a way to help women determine if she has a good guy or a bad guy when dating a firefighter and here are listings to help you figure it out--

You're dating a bad boy firefighter if:

1) He constantly wears something with a firefighter logo on it and looks around to see if anyone is noticing it.

2) He's over 35 and has never been married.

3) He can't cook (all the family types can cook, & pretty well, I might add).

4) He always takes you out and doesn't want to spend time at your place or his place.

5) He has a stupid nickname like "Ace" or "J-boy" or anything with initials.

6) There are "rumors" that he's a swinger or "has a way with the ladies."

7) When you're introduced to the rest of his crew, they snicker and joke, "Is this the flavor of the week?"

8) He drives a motorcycle or slick sports car.

9) You can bounce a quarter off his abs-- sweet firefighters are a tad doughy around the middle.

*************'

How do you know if you're dating a good firefighter--

1) Not only does he open doors for you, but he gently places his hand your back as you enter a restaurant.

2) He cooks you dinner and it's really good.

3) He calls or visits his mother a lot (almost a bit much for your liking).

4) He drives a truck or SUV that's not too perfect.

5) He enjoys sports, but would never paint his face.

6) He has a dog or loves dogs.

7) He doesn't make a big deal about what he does and in fact will joke that he's paid to sleep.

8) He takes care of you.


As a firefighter's wife, I'll tell you, the good ones make the best husbands. The bad ones, well, let's just say the word "hero" does not come to mind.

Pedometer Check-in

Dec 1st: 4191 steps (first day)

Dec. 2nd (morning weigh-in): 138.4 lbs (um, big dinner out last night-- damn crabcakes!)

On the first day of Christmas: A Pedometer in a Pear Tree

We broke open our chocolate advent calendars today. Day one of a month of chocolate. Soon I'll be high on fudge, seven layer bars, candy-cane cookies with smashed bits of real candy canes sprinkled on top.

Every year around this time, I gain 5-10 lbs. Not all in one month, but by spring, I'll be leaning over the edge of the 140 canyon. Since I hate magazines who only tell you how many inches someone lost and not their weight, I'll be honest here. I'm 5' 7" (actually, we just measured me and I'm 5' 7" 3/4" but that sounds petty, even so, I want you to know it) and this morning weight 136.4 lb (why the ounces on scales now, don't we have enough to obsess about?) My low weight for the year was 132 and my high, 138.6. I know, we're not supposed to know these numbers or obsess about them. But really, if I wake up and get on the scale and have an unexpected 134 day, my day is a lot better. I feel prettier, thinner, the best me I can be. Yes, shallow and unenlightened, but I'm a slave to the scale.

So to balance out this extra weight I purchased a pedometer. Today is my first day of wearing it. It's actually rather sad. It's 1:14 p.m., I've been up since 8:30 and I've walked 501 steps (and it only went over 500 because I recently stood up to get a cookie from the kitchen, I should lose points for that.)

Did you ever see the Arthur show where he starts to get tubby. Then he wears a pedometer all day and is so proud of his 1000 steps, yet his friends have walked 10,000 steps, 15,000 steps. I'm Arthur. I walk a lot more in my mind, than I actually do in real life. This makes me want to walk my golden retriever, I think I will and see how many steps I get. I'm a Capricorn and goal-oriented. I heard that poop doctor on Oprah (Dr. Oz, I think--is that *really* his name), say that everyone should try to walk 10,000 a day. Great, only 9,499 to go for me today. He said that and a few other things and his book "You on a Diet" soared to #1. I could read that book while having a nice hot chocolate with whipped cream. Sort of like my grandma who bought a How To Quit Smoking book and a carton of Marlboro Lights.

I had it in my Amazon.com basket then took it realizing that I know what makes me gain wait. I understand the importance of exercise and walking (I do yoga a few times a week), but I like *not* exercising. I still do it. Don't get me wrong, when I finish writing this post, I'm putting on my boots and braving the cold so I can get more steps on my new pedometer toy, but it's not something I do because it makes me feel good (though I do feel good). It's something I do because I know I should and I like to eat sweets. Burning calories allows me the life I crave-- all covered in chocolate.

I think when people tell you they *like* to work out. They may be stretching the truth. I think they like how they feel afterwards, like how they look, like the endorphins swimming through their lean bodies, but I don't think they *like* it. I think they are in a good habit, just as I like sitting down with a good book by the fire. In fact, I love that. It just doesn't put any steps on my pedometer.

I'll keep you updated with my steps, my weight this month. We'll see where I end up. I'm going out to dinner tonight, there's at least 1000 steps I need to beforehand.


December 1: 136.6 lbs.
Steps so far: 501 (I'll give you my end total for the day tomorrow).
Pounds up or down= Even.