Here's mud in my eye.

Today I took another step in my never-ending quest towards health and a bangin' beach body.  Okay, by "never-ending" I mean ever-beginning, with no real middle to speak of, thereby precluding an actual end.  And by bangin' beach body, I mean I'd be a mom approaching 40 without a bathing suit that equates to a tank top and a plus sized bottom, with a ruffly skirt, that we can both pretend is tricking you about what is going on underneath it.

You see, I love to eat. Especially the 3 main food groups: Cheese, Chocolate, and wine. Thankfully, I also love going to the gym.  Rather, I love getting to the gym. I'm pumped when I pull out of my driveway.  I'm one of those hair done, made-up, matchy outfit people with a Louis Vitton gym bag. I can actually hold onto this delusion until I get in front of one of those warped gym mirrors.  Someone should really have them looked at. But, the ride there is none-the-less motivating, and only surpassed in joy by that of the ride home.

Don't get me wrong.  I pay a LOT of money for the gym I belong to because it's really amazing there. It doesn't smell anything like a foot, and they offer everything, including a million classes.  Before Isla was born, I used to take 2 classes a day there.  Kickboxing, Zumba, Yoga...I was unstoppable.

I recently found myself in my first Zumba class in 3 years.  People like to tell you that you won't forget how to do it after having a baby.  That it's like riding a bike.  I guess it is.  Only the bike is a teeny tiny tricycle. And it's almost impossible to get your arms and legs to do different things at the same time since you haven't really slept in 18 months.  And your rear end probably doesn't fit on the tiny little seat. And you might pee your pants a bit if you hit a bump. But this is the kind of stuff we do to keep it together.

Here's the thing. A year and a half after Isla's birth, I still don't fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes.  Today, I realized I'm going to have to do something drastic.  So, I did the only rational thing I could do. I committed to running 5 miles that are separated by mud and walls and ditches, in the dead of summer.  I signed up with a bunch of lunatics that I like to call family.  They like to call themselves the "Crummy Cuzzins."

We settled on the "Rock Solid Mud Run" in August. In an effort to stay "glass half full" about this disaster waiting to happen, I've been working on a few mantras.  So far, I've got: "Heat Exhaustion is more fun than Hypothermia" and "At least we don't have to be electrocuted." That last one just fills me with joy.  If this mud run/obstacle course thing is as foreign to you as it was to me 3 months ago, you might think I'm exaggerating.  Nope.

In the end, I'll be REALLY proud if I can get through this with out embarassing or killing myself. The truth is that a little exercise never killed anyone.  Well, maybe it has, but it's certainly not going to kill me.  Well, I guess maybe it could.  But at least I don't have do be electrocuted.

Making Lemonade from Lemmings

I don't usually watch the news.  A week ago, I would have told you it's because I get all of the information I need from Dora and Yo Gabba  Gabba.  Don't bite your friends, check.  If you don't know which way to go, ask your map.  Because it speaks English.

When I used to commute to work, I would stay up on current events by listening to the Howard Stern show.  At least then I could have normal, topical conversations that didn't sound like this:

Person with life outside of Mommying: That's really something about the ship that capsized off of the coast of Italy.

Me:  A ship capsized off of the coast of Italy?

Sometimes it's nice to have somewhat of an idea of what's going on outside the bubble of your home.  Now, if you are a republican, the odds are you look to Fox for your news.  If you are a democrat, you may prefer MSNBC.  Unless you are a Mom.  Something happens when you become a mom that renders all news programs other than the Today show useless.  If Matt Lauer isn't discussing it with Anne Curry, it's just not relevant.

About a week ago, I was feeling particularly out of the loop.  Isla was still asleep. I guess the right way to say it is "asleep again, finally." She was rewarding me with a half hour of peace to enjoy a cup of coffee and catch up on current events.  Mug in hand, I turned on the TV.

I learned three things that morning.  Firstly, despite years of coating butter with sugar prior to deep frying it, Paula Dean has inexplicably contracted diabetes.  This is surprising to a lot of people.  Secondly, McLovin from Superbad was apparently based on Mitt Romney's high school yearbook picture.  You're going to want to google that one.

The only word I can find to describe the last thing is "scary".  It's all kinds of scary.  In a town called LeRoy, New York, 12 girls came down with what basically equates to Tourette's Syndrome.  They came down with it in the same way that I had a pneumonia when I was in the 6th grade.  They just woke up with it one day.  I can't even begin to imagine their fear, or that of their parents.  My mother told me about this the week before (being a mom herself, she had seen one of the girls being interviewed by Anne Curry.) This week they were following up with the findings of a doctor who had seemingly solved the mystery of where it came from.  He said (somehow with a straight face) it was a form of something called "conversion disorder." He compared it to mass hysteria, or what I like to call "all in their mind."  I guess it's not even a possibility that the freight train accident in 1970 that spilled 35000 gallons of trichlorethylene and a ton of cyanide near the school could be the culprit.  I'm not saying that it is.  I just believe these families deserve more than "you'll get over it, honey."  The only thing I can think of more ridiculous than that as an answer, is anyone thinking that someone should be satisfied with that as an answer.

 I don't fault the today show for this one.  Granted, I was a little annoyed during Giada's cooking segment where she appeared to be using one of Paula Dean's recipes while wearing size 0 skinny jeans.  At least Paula eats what she makes. It is what it is. Yields 4 servings, 20 pounds, and diabetes. No surprises there. I don't know that Giada's cooking actually ever makes it into her mouth.

What I realized that morning is that we've set the bar as low as it will go when it comes to what we accept as viable information we use to navigate through our lives.  When Dr. Oz says "If you're struggling with under arm odor, look for a deoderant with 'extra aluminum'" we head to Target like lemmings.  Too bad it's also the same ingredient someone might suggest if you are struggling with not having breast cancer yet. 

The options we have are governed by the choices we make. It's about where we spend our money (and upon whose recommendation.)The FDA saying something is okay is no longer enough. Now they make splenda with vitamins.  How many other pesticides can say that? Our skin care is full of toxins (parabens, sulfates and pthalates) when our skin is as much of an organ as our liver.  Children's products made by the same company have different regulations in different countries. Why is any of this okay?

As a working mom, I don't have time to change the world. Trust me, I know what it's like to google "genetically modified organisms" and come up with 50 websites that each have their own agenda. But, one less status update on Facebook could be time spent on finding out the difference between "organic" and "non-organic."  Knowledge is power, and we owe it to ourselves and our children to be armed with as much as possible. It is our responsibility to seek out information about these things from as many different sources as we can.  The revolution will not be televised.