So we head for the awesomely family-friendly Mohonk Mountain House in the morning, and I am counting the nano-seconds until I scamper into that SUV. Even though I now live across the Hudson River from Gotham, it’s in my field of vision 24/7 and Mama needs a little break from all the steel and skyscraper action.

The thing about Mohonk that I really love is that it’s equal parts rustic and glam. Not glam-glam, mind you. But there’s a pretty gorge spa that is the perfect place for a mom (or at least this mom) to nip off to and hide from a Hubby and a Wee Lass. Last year, to reward myself for handing in the manuscript for my Momover book in a timely manner, I splashed-out on an “Ageless Aging Enzyme Facial” and an “Aroma-Massage,” which, as the name implies, thrusts several unspeakably lovely aromatherapy oils into the spotlight. (I believe in aromatherapy, big-time. To learn more about it, check out the most recent Mama Guru…)

This year, I haven’t quite decided what I’m doing spa-wise, but I’m definitely doing something. I figure I’ll just take a gander at the menu when we check in, and see what speaks to me. I’ve been feeling mystical lately, so I might just partake in a Reiki treatment. And the owner of Mohonk is a big meditator (she’s even written a great little how-to book on it), so I may pop by a class and get my Zen on.

But mostly, I’m sure I’ll be eating s’mores and paddle-boating on Lake Mohonk with the Little Lady, playing golf and tennis with Hubby (he’s about 1000 times better in both sports, but really, really nice about it…) and hiking my big fat ass off. Lots of hiking is in my immediate future, so much that I might actually even christen a cute pair of Vasque boots I bought several years ago and have yet to wear. A while back, I interviewed Jessica Iclisoy, the super-smart founder of California Baby, and she told me that she swears by Vasque for her daily treks through the canyons around her Beverly Hills home. Bingo – equal parts rustic and glam.

The Wee Lass has been driving me nutsy lately, following me around the house and asking: “Mommy, are your lips dry?” If I say yes — and she very much wants me to say yes — she promptly whips out one of her many Hello Kitty glosses and goes to town on me, makeover-style.

I appreciate her concern, but let’s be honest: This is all about her already-and-she’s-not-even-five-yet addiction to glosses and balms, which, in her mind, represent a huge leap into Big Girl Territory, that magical land where no one bats a false eyelash at artifice.

And there’s no question that she’s also mimicking one of Mom’s favorite beauty gestures. Because of my new mintly WAHM status, I typically don’t break out the full-tilt lipstick and lip brush unless I have a lunch or a meeting. But I like to look peppy and pulled-together 24/7, and lip gloss is a big help with that.

Because of what I do for a living, I own an utterly scandalous amount of glosses and balms. But, circa right now, these are the ones that are in heavy rotation. With the exception of the Fresh Sugar Shag, they all fall into my pinky / purply comfort zone:

Korres Pomegranate Lip Butter

Lancôme Juicy Tubes Ultra Shiny Lip Gloss in Magic Spell

Mary Kay Nourishine Lip Gloss in Sugarberry

Fresh Sugar Lip Gloss in Sugar Shag

Clinique Long Last Glosswear SPF 15 in Stellar Plum

If you nab a few of these universally flattering numbers, and happen to have a little lady under your roof, do yourself a favor and keep ‘em under lock and key. Consider yourself officially warned.

Maybe I’m in the minority on this, but I don’t take it even remotely personally when Hubby forwards me links about weight loss. For starters, I’m the one who’s always banging on, as the Brits say, about wanting to shed a few. Plus, he knows that I’ll probably also share my newfound knowledge with my Momover-ettes, so he is, in essence, providing both a public and private service.

So without further adieu, let’s get to that link, shall we? This one hails from CNN.com, and it’s based on a study recently presented at the annual meeting of an entity I’d previously never heard of: The American Chemical Society. Perhaps if I’d been brave enough to attempt chem class in high school I’d be familiar with this august governing body, but even my dear mama advised her science-challenged Wee Lass to steer clear and load up on the French and art instead.

Oops, veering off-topic…

So here’s the gist of this study, which was conducted on a mix of overweight or obese men and women, between 55 and 75, who were on low-calorie diets: Those participants who faithfully imbibed 16 ounces of aqua before breakfast, lunch and dinner lost much more than those who didn’t. Drinking water before meals was the only variable.

Okay, so you’re undoubtedly younger than these study-persons. But you’ve got something else going on in your world: baby weight. I say, give this trick a shot, and stick with it. I’m going to. In fact, as soon as hit “Publish,” I’m heading right downstairs to the kitchen for an ice-cold, pH-balancing glass of lemon water. After my morning coffee, it’s time to tip the scales back to alkalinity. (Ooh! Science-y!)

I suspect (well, truthfully, I know) that I’ve been watching waaaay too much Rachel Zoe Project lately. But I’m a recent convert, and I have to say, I find Rach and Rodg mighty lovable. Although I, like Rodg and many others (including hot mom Kate Hudson, evidently) are rooting for her to have a baby, I admire Madame Zoe’s massive work ethic. And in the episode featuring the Harper’s Bazaar shoot, how cute was eterna-smokin’ mama Demi Moore scampering up that ladder in the Alexander McQueen monster platforms and feeding that giraffe? In Rach’s words, I die.

At this point you might be thinking: Wait, I thought this blog post was about trouser jeans! It is. Trust me.

So late last week, I taped a segment for Good Parenting Radio, which I think is broadcasting over Labor Day weekend. For those of you who might not be listeners (yet), it features a guy host, Matt Bubala. He’s a papa of four (one plus TRIPLETS!), but when you chat with him, he sounds remarkably well-rested and on top of his game. (We need his secrets, stat.)

Crazily, our talk kicked-off and ended on the topic of behinds. First, he told me that on visits to their town pool this summer, his wife has been comparing her posterior to that of every other mama in her sightlines. Please, how much can I relate? When I wasn’t busy inhaling French fries, I was doing exactly the same thing.

And then we segued to the all-important topic of jeans, a staple in every mama’s wardrobe. Matt asked for my tips for steering clear of the dreaded “mom” variety, and I told him that I’m a big fan of dark washes because they tend to look more polished — and slimming — than standard-issue blue. Conversely, light gray is really hip right now, so that’s another option.

But I forgot to mention my new favorite denim silhouette: trouser. On Rachel Zoe’s recommendation, I just snapped up a pair of 7 for All Mankind trouser-y numbers, specifically the Featherweight. They’re too expensive, and I’m so not a “premium denim” gal, so that will be my one big jeans splurge for the season. Then I’m itching to try the new Levi’s Curve ID that I’ve been reading about in all the fall fashion magazines. And, yes, Not My Daughter’s Jeans. I figure I have a Wee Lass, and a bum that seriously needs reining-in, so why not?

I know, I know: I’ve already posted a link on the Momover Facebook page, but if you still haven’t read People’s amazing cover interview with Elin Nordegren, you might want to. I can’t imagine any mother not being moved by her strength and grace, and her determination to shield her children from pain and instability. Just make sure you’ve got a box of Kleenex nearby because you’re so going to need it.

There were a lot of “take-aways” from this piece, and somehow, between my sobs, I managed to absorb a few of them: The value in privacy and circling the wagons with only close friends and family when crisis hits; the necessity of slowing down and working through grief bit-by-bit and not trying to rush it or will it away; the power in shelving bitterness and leaving the door open to hope.

And because I’m a runner myself — and a major proponent of journaling as a way to defuse stress — I seized on Nordegren’s comments about how helpful hitting the road and logging her thoughts has been in the past year.

“Another thing that got me through these last couple of months was working out and writing,” Nordegren told the magazine. “I love to run and bike, and sometimes for me there is nothing more therapeutic than to go out for a long run. Also I do a lot of writing. To get my feelings down on paper is often a good way for me to release the anger and frustration.”

I’m sending Elin major mama good karma. Please do so too.

Faithful Momover readers know I’m just a tad obsessed with dry-brushing the skin. I started doing this nightly, pre-bed, a few years ago, when I was waiting for the results of multiple skin biopsies. Though there is debate in the medical community about this, I had read that it boosts your immune system by stimulating the circulation of lymph fluids. And given all the lab work my dear dermatologist had ordered, it was abundantly clear that my immune system was not up to snuff. (More on this next week, when I write about The Big C on Showtime…)

But there was another, far far far crunchier reason I picked up that long-handled brush: I wanted to send a message to my skin: I know I abused you for decades by baking like a freaking brownie in the sun. Please forgive me.

Okay, it’s Friday, and I want us all to go to our happy place. So let’s focus, shall we, on two MASSIVE beauty benefits of dry-brushing: Reduction in cellulite and spider veins. Again, there are probably legions of medical types who would declare such miracle feats utter hogwash. I just know that for me, my nightly sending-loving-karma-vibes-to-my-beleaguered-epidermis ritual helps on both these fronts.

And, major P.S.: It feels incredible. Do it.

Inexplicably, Momover Lady has been watching a lot of infomercials lately. Well, actually, “inexplicably” probably isn’t 100 percent correct; I’m writing a beauty column for a super-serious new business publication, and the first installment is all about home shopping. So most of my TV surfing has been in service to that.

How then to explain the fact that I got THISCLOSE to buying a three-pack of Ahh Bras at 5 o’clock in the morning yesterday? (The perfectly nice phone operator wouldn’t take Amex, so game over…)

Basically, I’m human. And humans love infomercials and home shopping channels and buy lots and lots of stuff from them. I would even venture to say that we Mama Humans are especially vulnerable to television sales pitches, for a few reasons: A) We’re home a lot, because even if we work in an office, it’s not like we’re out at fancy restaurants and groovy nightclubs the rest of the time, and B) It’s a fun, if potentially costly, mommy time-out.

Which brings me to Chaz Dean, who is the undisputed king of infomercial haircare. I met handsome Chaz when I was at Cookie, and wanted to file an edition of Momover dedicated to my completely whack post-baby hair. A super-crunchy office-mate of mine wouldn’t stop raving about Chaz’s sulfate-free Cleansing Conditioners, so, in an effort to get her to just please pipe down already, I decided to give them a shot. Hence the Chaz chat.

Loved him. And when I saw him again recently on TV, I was reminded of how thoroughly smitten I am with how delicious his not-really-shampoos smell. (And feel; the Cucumber Aloe Cleansing Conditioner makes your scalp all cool and tingly – highly recommended if you’re sleep-deprived!)

I’m just not sure they’re my miracle elixir. Yes, my natural hair texture is a disaster. And yes, I’ve spent a small fortune on blowouts to disguise that fact. But I struggle with the greasies left behind when I don’t lather my locks into smithereens. So today, because I’m meeting Hubby for a schmancy lunch, I’m breaking out my industrial strength, standard-issue shampoo. Tomorrow? I’m back on Team Chaz.

About a month ago, I received an email from philosophy founder (and Momover Mama Guru) Cristina Carlino requesting my deepest, most profound (ha!) thoughts about how new moms can get their beauty mojo back. Or, more specifically, how I got my own beauty mojo back given the fact that I was (cough, cough) firmly in my forties when I delivered my Wee Lass.

I sent her my list: Lots of laughter, buckets of deep sleep, fields of fruits and veggies, a bra that actually fits….

But now I really want you to read Cristina’s take on this ultra-charged topic, which I know is of big-time importance to  Momover readers far and wide. As a busy bee who absolutely loves to write, Cristina just penned a cracking piece for The Huffington Post on how she felt about her looks post-baby. It’s raw, a little painful, brutally honest. And in typical Cristina fashion, it has a decidedly happy ending. She got her beauty groove back (obvi, just look at this picture) because she decided to make looking better (read: groomed, peeled and pedicured to the same degree she was pre-baby) a priority.

Music to my Momover ears.

As soon as I find a groovy image to go along with it, I’ll publish Cristina’s new story in the Articles section. But until then, read HuffPo. And for a 360-degree, spiritual view on the subject, check out “Easy Inner Beauty,” a piece she gifted me with earlier this year. Enjoy! Then go forth and pedicure!

Figures. The one day I want to run a picture of my very own tot-let, I can’t find the camera-image downloader-cord thingamajiggy. So I had to “settle” for the scrumptious stand-in at left. (If you’ve ever wondered what the Wee Lass looks like, scroll down to the bottom of the About Me page on this here ol’ website. You’ll get the general gist — blonde, blue-eyed, possessed of a certain joie de vie…

So why do I suddenly want to put the Little Lady out there for public consumption? Because I am so, so, so, so proud of her at this very moment. When I wasn’t looking this summer, she learned to swim. And it was all I could do not to jump in the pool with her at her lesson this morning for a soggy, wildly enthusiastic round of applause.

Two years ago, when we first attempted these classes, it was a joke. She sat on the steps and refused to budge, frustrating and embarrassing me in one fell swoop. There I was in my slimsuit, coaxing and pleading, to no avail.

Bottom line? She just wasn’t ready. But now she can’t get enough of this stuff, both at her lessons and on our weekend jaunts to the town pool.

Of course, I’d like to think (and I do think) that my constant nagging helped. Twice a week, as she headed out the door, I’d holler: “Focus! Work really, really hard!”And when she returned, I’d query: “Did you focus? Did you work really, really hard?”

Obvi, this particular mama-person 1000 percent believes in the magical powers of focus and really, really hard work. And once you’ve done all that, it’s completely, utterly, unequivocally time to kick up your heels. (Or aqua-socks.)

We’re on Day 2 of a downpour in Gotham, and I couldn’t be…happier. I’m supposed to have dinner tonight with a dear pal, so I hope it clears up a bit before I head out. But if it continues to rain right up until I stuff my feet into my new Wellies, I’ll be totally fine with that. Overjoyed, in fact.

I know I’m in the minority with this deep love of gloom, but I do have a little bit of company. Barbara, the uber-cheerful receptionist in my dentist’s office, is also a fan. Once, when I marched in shaking a gallon of water off my umbrella, she asked: “How is it outside?” My reply: “Fantastic. I’m a total weirdo, but as long as it’s not freezing, I totally love rain.” Her eyes lit up. “Me too! And how do you feel about blustery winds?” “OMG — love, love, LOVE blustery winds!” Kindred spirits, bonding over weather most (sane) people despise…

It’s no wonder, then, that Seattle ranks at the top of my “Fantasy Places to Retire” list. But since that’s still a few years off, I’ll have to just make the most of the fewer rainy days I encounter here on the East coast. And here’s how I intend to do that: By lightening up on my workload and actually — drumroll, please — resting. There’s a great piece in the September issue of O magazine by Martha Beck entitled “Lying Low.” And one of the steps she recommends is to “Rest Like You Mean It.” That really struck a chord with me. Although the article is primarily about weathering a crisis (lost job, major illness, etc.), I thought I’d give Beck’s gameplan a chance.

So yesterday, a drizzly Sunday, I did precisely that. I rested like I meant it. Not that I was a total slacker; I made a yummy vegetarian lasagna. And I read almost all of an incredibly depressing (albeit well-written) memoir on compulsive shopping. But the fact that I didn’t go near my home office, or start doing umpteen million chores around my (already perfectly tidy) house, made me feel pretty damn proud of myself. And that feeling has persisted straight through this morning, as I’ve made an alarmingly leisurely start to the new work week. After all Mercury is in retrograde…

Oops — the sun’s starting to peek out of the clouds. Time to get cracking again. But after my relative Sunday sloth, at least my batteries are fully charged.