Keepin’ It Real

I’ve Got a Girl | Keepin’ It Real

The other day, I was thinking while in the shower … my best place for thinking. I try to take my showers while Maddie Jane is at Pre-K so that the house is completely quiet and I can think (and cleanse) without interruption. Or without yelling STOP! at the top of my lungs, in my “I mean it voice,” only to have to do it again 5 seconds later. Rinse and repeat.

So as I washed my face with my Mary Kay facial cleanser, followed by using some of my Lemongrass Body Polish on my dry, itchy, almost done with winter skin and then stepping out onto my Norwex Bath Mat, I started thinking about HOW MANY of the products I use and consume every. single. day. are from a kick ass direct sales consultant.

I make Wildtree dinners regularly, using almost exclusively Pampered Chef tools. I put the leftovers in my Tupperware, clean the kitchen with my Norwex products, while clothed in LuLaRoe with Younique products on my face, LipSense on my lips and Jamberry lacquer on my nails. All while a relaxing blend of Young Living essential oils being diffused.

There are days when everything touching my body except my underwear and shoes is a direct sales product (if you know an underwear girl, give me her info stat!). I can make an entire meal using direct sales products from the measuring cups to the chopper to the pots and pans. Hell. I just recently bought SHEETS for my bed from a direct sales consultant! And they are SOFT!

I try to buy as much as I can from direct sales consultants for several reasons. For one, I really, genuinely love all of the products that I use. Some of the best, top of the line, long lasting products I have are from direct sales consultants. It is some good stuff! Trust me, I wouldn’t use them if I didn’t love them. And I certainly wouldn’t give them the shout outs that I do if I didn’t love them. Of course, I also love the convenience of shopping online. Seriously, what is better than shopping at home in your pajamas? Not the mall. But quite possibly shopping at a friend’s home filled with good company and tasty treats (bonus points for wine). But what I love even more than good shit and convenient shopping is that I am actually helping and supporting women hustling and working their tails off to make a difference in their family’s lives. Whether it is as a side business to supplement her full time job or her way to stay home with her kiddos and still contribute, I want to support her. For putting herself out there, for taking a risk, for being a freakin’ rock star boss lady, I want to support her. So when I say, “I’ve got a girl.” I mean it. I’ve got a girl, and she is freakin’ awesome. And so is the stuff she is slinging. Make a real difference and get your makeup, your clothes, your meal solutions, your cleaning products, your nail art, your bath products, your kitchen gadgets, and for the love of all things holy, your SHEETS, from a kick ass woman and make a difference in her world!

It Takes a Village | Keepin’ It Real

We have all heard it before. It takes a village to raise a child. And it should. Community, love, support, encouragement, unity, inclusion. These are all basic things needed to raise hardworking, empathetic, productive adults. But. I fear it is slipping away. Being replaced by the modern day Wild West, social media.

There should be a great fear, a common fear, among us all when children become the target of hateful, disgusting, and inappropriate posts by adults. When a child, a 10 year old child, is the victim of social media attacks. Barron Trump did not ask to be put in the spotlight, in the public eye. He did not ask to have a businessman turned celebrity turned President of the United States as his father. He is just a child.

And then there is this gem of a tweet. Posted by Saturday Night Live writer, Katie Rich.

I can only imagine the outrage I would see if the SNL writer made a post attacking someone’s race or national origin. Lives and careers would be destroyed in a blaze of fire across the interwebs. Over the last several days and months, we have seen a massive movement form. We have heard their voices, their concerns for the future. We have heard their cries.

But a hateful attack on an innocent child?! Silence.

Silence is tolerance. Tolerance becomes acceptance. We cannot accept attacks on our children. We cannot tolerate this type of behavior by adults. We cannot be silent when it comes to protecting our children.

Where are the battle cries for our children? The uproar, the passion? Where is the call of action to Saturday Night Live to acknowledge the wrong done by one of its staffers? Looking through Saturday Night Live’s Facebook page, not a mention of Katie Rich’s tweet. No apology. Just silence … Tolerance … Acceptance. Most major news outlets have remained just as silent. Scrolling through my newsfeed, there are very few posts about the attack by adults on Barron Trump. It does not matter who his father is, or how much you dislike his father. Barron is a child. We must protect our children.

We all must rise together to say it is NOT alright to attack a child. That it is NOT alright to bully a 10 year old. That the children are off limits. Because the moment it becomes acceptable to publicly treat children like this is the moment we destroy this country, this society. If our children are raised in a world where it is accepted for adults to bully, degrade and attack children, then our children’s future is a scary place.

It takes a village to raise and protect our children, our future. It takes a village to stand up against those who hurt our children. We must treat and protect all children as if they are our own. Barron Trump is my son. And I will not silently accept or tolerate any attack on him. It takes a village.

Keepin’ It Real | I Got Fat

This post isn’t about body shaming. It is about keepin’ it real and calling it what it is – I. Got. Fat.

Today, this week strangely came full circle. I have known for awhile that I needed to make changes in my eating and activity levels. But honestly, 2015 had so many changes in our life that I wasn’t mentally ready to focus on my body. I needed to focus on my mental health. I needed to find me, and find my happy. I am almost there. I overcame the stress, anxiety and depression that my work situation had put on me. I found my happy. And I have almost found me. You see, she is buried somewhere under all these extra pounds.

On Monday, I woke up and made the decision it was the day I was going to start recording what I eat, make healthier choices and make the changes I have needed to make. I don’t know why but I made the decision as I carefully, out of nowhere, measured the number of tablespoons of creamer going into my coffee. And I only had one cup.

I even stood on the scale. It has been awhile since I had the courage to take that action. 186. Those are pounds. The only time I have been this heavy is when I was pregnant. And honestly, I look pregnant now. I am shocked nobody has tried to run my belly. Thank goodness it hasn’t because I am sure I would say something inappropriate but I wouldn’t be surprised! Ya’ll, I am being serious. I looked better 17 weeks pregnant with my daughter, and, I know, I was huge for 17 weeks!

I already made the mental commitment to make a change. I have eaten between 1200 and 1500 calories every day this week. Of healthy choices. I have recorded everything I have eaten. But today, something came up that just confirmed further that now is the time.

Today, in my Facebook memories, was a picture. On this day, 10 years ago, I posted a picture of me and my boyfriend (now hubs). It was from the Law School Prom my 1L year (translate to Barristers Ball my first year of law school).

That is me. At least 65 pounds smaller. 65. Pounds. That is like the weight of both my children combined right now. We won’t go into all the excuses of how I got here because, honestly, they don’t matter. I got fat.

Fat is one of those words that has become politically incorrect. Every time it is the first word to come to my mind to describe something when I am reading with the kids, I get all nervous. Like it isn’t a word I should teach them to describe anything. Like it is a bad word. But it is an accurate word to describe myself right now. My body is composed of too much fat. I am squishy. And lumpy. My muffin top could win a contest. I am not healthy. I am fat.

I am putting it all out there – my weight, pictures of my current self – because that is what I do. I am an open book. And I want to hold myself accountable. If I am still this fat in a month, then I am failing. I do not like to fail. So, game on.

Keepin’ It Real … The Itch

Alright. If you know me, you know I am an open book. I don’t hold back. Especially in the name of a good laugh. So I am starting a new series here on the blog called Keepin’ It Real. Really, it can be about anything I just want to talk about and, in the process, keep it real. And I am going all in for the first installment. Putting it all out there at the risk of complete and utter embarrassment. If you are a guy, you probably want to stop here if you want to keep your fantasies that women are all roses and butterflies south of the border!

The Itch

Let’s just start this post by saying that I have not had many feminine issues. I have never had a yeast infection. I have had one UTI, which the doctor attributed to a “flurry of sexual activity.” Doesn’t that sound so wild, and fun, and …. young. The honeymoon phase of a relationship is a whole lot different than the two kids phase. The only flurry we have around here these days is snow flurries.

Then, there was that one time in college that I got one of those smelly bacterial infections. The prescription I was given warned me, ALL over the bottle, not to drink alcoholic beverages. I did not heed the warning. And miss a weekend at Mother Fletchers and the Freaky Tiki (I went to college in Myrtle Beach)?! Um, no. Grown-Up Sarah would like to smack College Sarah in the back of the head. That prescription warning was not just for fun because I don’t think I have ever been so sick in my life. I can still picture the toilet I spent hugging that night and next day. And I don’t think I drank again for, like, 2 weeks.

So you see, really, I have a very healthy, happy vajayjay. Until recently. When I got the Itch. What is the Itch, you ask? Jock Itch. Also called, when on the foot, Athlete’s Foot. The irony is not lost on me. At this point in my life (or really any point in my life), Jock or Athlete are two words never used to describe me. And yes, women can also get Jock Itch. I know, I know, you hear Jock Itch and you instantly visualize toned football players in the locker room smacking each other’s asses. Not a 30-something mama of two with a muffin top sitting in her pajama bottoms writing a blog post on Jock Itch. But bikini line, groin, same thing. Same itch.

The Itch all started with some irritation in my bikini line that I attributed to razor rash. It seemed to mostly go away but would get itchy every now and then when I wore certain underwear. Fact – I need new underwear. Or to lose weight. Or, in the perfect world, BOTH. But because I refuse to buy underwear that could double as a sail, some of my undies are a little snug. So this cycle went on – I would think it was gone and then all of the sudden it would flare up and get really itchy! But then it was gone. So I didn’t think too much of it til it got itchy again.

Well, this last time, it was out of control itchy. Like, OMG-this-shit-is-itchy itchy. And then it started to burn. I decided this cannot be irritated razor rash. So I had to do secret internet research. Don’t want the kiddos to see any pictures that might pop up, don’t want the hubs to see me reading up on “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH MY CROTCH” (a very interesting and informative Google search, I assure you), and I certainly don’t want the creepy interwebs to start targeting me with advertisements about creams and vajayjay cleanses.

Based on my research, I determined it must be Jock Itch. It was only in my bikini line, which made me think it wouldn’t be a yeast infection, and it is winter here in Western New York, so there ain’t no air gettin’ up there. It is dark, and cozy, and warm. Apparently all things that Jock Itch likes. So I got some Jock Itch cream (for the hubs of course), and, let me tell you, nearly INSTANT relief. So I do believe my self diagnosis is correct. Who knew. But please, for the love of all things chocolate, can we come up with a better name for this than Jock Itch?

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