I’m so klutzy and fall-y, I think I need to stop running outside. (Sniff sniff, sob sob…)

Behold the scabby gruesomeness of my left knee.

Behold the scabby, bruisey gruesomeness of my left knee.

I see these babes in my newly adopted FLA ‘hood all the time: Trucking along our palm tree-lined streets in sporty pink and orange (no black; black isn’t cool down here) tanks and shorts, often clutching tiny hand weights.

Slim, trim and determined, they’re almost always power-walking, not running.

And quite tellingly, these hot mamas aren’t covered in gnarly scrapes, scabs and bruises like running-addicted Yours Truly.

I think I need to stop running outside, and that makes me super sad. I just make far too much contact with concrete to justify doing it anymore.

Peep, in the pic here, the fading remnants of what happened to me earlier this month.

Sadly, this particular fall was a little freaky, because it didn’t occur while I was actually running.

I’d stopped at the curb of a cobble-stone street, watching as a golf cart – yes, a golf cart – with a family in it came barreling along.

“Hmmm, will this golf cart be STOPPING, by any chance?” I thought to myself. “Or will it take advantage of its non-car status and run me over?”

All of a sudden, a slippery dead palm frond I was standing on (they’re everywhere right now; it’s the FLA version of fallen winter foliage) started to slide out from under me, and down I went, crashing onto the surprisingly jagged cobblestones.

In other words, I was standing and STILL had a running-related mishap.

And here’s what made it even worse: I’d gotten lost while running and ogling the gorge houses on Brightwaters Boulevard, and Hubby had come looking for me in the car. 

When he finally found me, I’d already taken my slippery-palm-frond tumble. But I certainly didn’t want to let him know that. He can be a tad tsk-tsky and judge-y.

“Don’t you want to hop in?” Hubby asked. “You’ve been gone for like an hour.”

“That’s okay,” I replied, turning sideways to obscure my battered knee. “But thank you.”

If there’s an upside to this story – and there really isn’t one – is that the fall happened after a schmancy event we’d gone to the night before, for the opening of the “Monet to Matisse: On the French Coast” exhibit at The Museum of Fine Arts. Had it happened before the event, I couldn’t have worn the skirt + heels combo I sported.

That show – mostly small-scale Impressionist seascapes, a few even by Renoir – is truly lovely.

Having to finally part company with the one form of fitness that really clears out all the mental cobwebs and puts you in a completely Zen state is truly un-lovely.

And on that note, I’m walking out the door to go pick up the Wee Lass from school.



Sienna Miller in all her chiseled, girly Oscar glory. (Props to makeup goddess Charlotte Tilbury, bien sur.)


The dress? Fabulous. The hot mama? Even better.

The dress? Fabulous. The hot mama in the dress? Even better.

I used to be hideously envious of Sienna Miller. How could one girl be that cool and that gorge?

But then I read that January cover story in Vogue, and I changed my tune. Yes, she’s still unspeakably cool. And even more gorge, if that’s possible.

But she was so sweetly humble in that Vogue piece –  so “I’m pinching myself” about all the great movie roles she’s been landing lately – that I couldn’t help but be charmed.

Humility, graciousness and wide-eyed gratitude; no one ever talks about those beauty secrets!

Okay, Momover Lady is on a maje deadline, so I’m hopping right into the vegan meat + potatoes of this blog post: How makeup whiz Charlotte Tilbury – whose new line is blowing up on Net-A-Porter – gave new-ish mommy Sienna her movie star glow last night.

Voici, les deets:

1. Charlotte applied her Goddess Skin Clay Mask, a product Charlotte says “is the key to shrinking pores and tightening the skin, leaving you with a perfectly dewy, plumped and revived red carpet glow”

2. Charlotte’s Magic Cream – Charlotte’s “secret to red carpet skin”- and Wonderglow were applied to hydrate the skin and create a soft-focus which is “amazing for HDTV”

3. Charlotte then applied Light Wonder Foundation in 6 Medium and 7 Medium, then the Retoucher Concealer in 2 Fair under the eyes and 3 Medium for the rest of Sienna’s face

4. Next, Airbrush Powder Flawless Finish Powder in 1 Fair and 2 Medium was applied only to the T-Zone to control shine while keeping from taking away from the dewiness on the rest of the skin

5. To enhance Sienna’s eyebrows, Charlotte used Brow Lift in Grace K and Cara D

6. Rock ‘N’ Kohl Eye Pencil in Bedroom Black and The Feline Flick Quick Fine Line Shodo Pen were used over the lash line to dramatically define the eyes

7. Using her Eye Smudger Brush and The Eyeshadow Luxury Palette in The Sophisticate, and Full Fat Lashes, Charlotte accentuated Sienna’s “winged” eyes, focusing on the crease and lash line areas

8. To enhance the cheekbones, Charlotte applied Filmstar Bronze & Glow with the Powder & Sculpt Brush, following the hollows of the cheeks and along the jaw line with the bronzer and applying the highlighter shade to the top of the cheekbones

9. To further accentuate Sienna’s features, Beach Sticks in Moonbeach and Ibiza were used to illuminate and sculpt

10. To prep the lips, Charlotte used Lip Love Lip Scrub and Lip Magic. Charlotte Tilbury Lip Cheat Lip Liner in Pillow Talk was applied to mimic the pigment of Sienna’s lips and filled in with K.I.S.S.I.N.G Lipstick in Bitch Perfect

11. For an all over glow, Charlotte applied Supermodel Body on Sienna’s arms, shoulders, etc.

You can nab all Charlotte’s goodies on Net-A. Personally, I’m eyeballing the Beach Sticks. I think I need them in every color, starting with bronze-y Ibiza, here.





Lent for Dummies: So much more than running screaming from chocolate for 40 days


So cute. And basic. And perfect for me right now.

I’m not Catholic.


Rather, I’m Catholic by association. My mother was, my husband and daughter are. And as new-ish Florida residents, Team Momover Lady has gotten fairly involved with our local parish; the Wee Lass attends the world’s sweetest Catholic school in our ‘hood, and we’re faithful weekly mass-goers.

But I don’t do mass in torturous “shapewear” anymore. I’ve completely learned my lesson on that front:

RELATED: Spanxing at Sunday mass. Maybe I should just do planks instead? Or jump some damn rope? 

Soooo….when my lovely neighbor Lynn called shortly before Christmas and asked if I might want to join the Wednesday morning Bible study group, I didn’t hesitate to sign on. For four reasons:

1. Our meetings would be centered around the cinematic, Hollywood-y videos of Father Robert Barron, a rock star of the Catholic church.

2. As I’ve mentioned, I’m currently enrolled in the Docent training at the Dali Museum (yay! yay! yay!), and Salvador Dali had quite the conflicted relationship with Catholicism, as manifested in epic works like “Christ of Saint John of the Cross” and “Sacrament of the Last Supper.” (If you’d like to learn more about this fascinating subject, watch this lecture by my charming and erudite professor – Dali curator Peter Tush –  on “Dali & Catholicism.”)

3. The Wee Lass is immersed in learning the basics of Catholicism in school, and I want to keep pace.

4. It just sounded nice, and fun, and a chance to meet new folks. I’m always on the hunt for nice, and fun, and the chance to meet new folks.

Uh oh…this blog post is beginning to show signs of “mission drift”…better get back to topic at hand: Lent.

But wait, first, “mission drift”??? Did I just coin another new phrase? Trademarking that right now:

Mission Drift™

Okay, so because I’m not a proper Catholic, I have lots to learn. And one biggie is how to “do” Lent. I’m a Scorpio, and Scorps are all about transformation and new beginnings, so I’ve dabbled in Lent-sacrifice on occasion:

RELATED:  I’m giving up negativity (+ meat) for Lent

Last Sunday, on the way out of mass, I grabbed a packet of Lent info that was on-hand for parishioners. And inside was all kinds of kid-cuteness: Stickers, games, the sweet little activity book pictured here.

And there was also this realllllllly lovely list of suggestions for what one might consider sacrificing for the next 40 days, until Easter.

I’d like to share some of my fave ideas from this list with you now. Because no matter what you believe, they’re sure to improve your life and mindset.

These five really spoke to me, and very much play into the Momover Mission™ (no Mission Drift™ here!) of self-improvement:


1. Doubting you can change

2. Thinking of greener pastures

3. Looking for easy answers

4. Promising more than you deliver

5. Being bored

How cool is #5, right? It’s totally on us to make our lives exciting.

Allez-y! On y va! Let’s go!





Rodarte. Hair by Odile Gilbert. Using John Frieda products. DIY it, Miss Thing.

Eezy peezy lemon squeezy.

Eezy peezy lemon squeezy.


I’m nowhere near New York Fashion Week right now. Or New York, for that matter.


I’m very happy about that. Because where I am, it’s 70 degrees. Seventy degrees and pouring rain, but 70 degrees nonetheless. I’ll take it.

Still, I think this hair look from the Rodarte show earlier today is Capital G Gorge.

Of course it is; it was crafted by the greatest female hairdresser of all time, Odile Gilbert.

And happily, the little elves at John Frieda sent over all the deets to DIY the look in the privacy of our homes, be they in FLA or elsewhere.

Here you go, my lovely:


· Depending on your natural texture, apply either Frizz Ease Beyond Smooth Frizz Immunity Primer or Frizz Ease Dream Curls Air-Dry Waves Styling Foam to wet hair.

· Next, blow-dry while combing through with your fingers.

· Spray Beach Blonde Sea Waves Sea Salt Spray and work in with hands while diffusing.

· Once all the hair is dry, take random pieces and curl them using a 1.5-inch curling iron. Don’t touch the roots or ends with the curling iron. For the waves to look natural, run your fingers through them at the end.

· To finish, spray Frizz Ease KeraFLEX Hairspray to hold the style and brush through with a natural-bristle brush.



FIRMLY in TMI territory: Prepping for my first colonoscopy, hoping to lose a few lbs

In my immediate future. Grrr...

In my immediate future. Grrr times a trillion.

Calm down, people. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.

Despite the headline on this post, I won’t be writing about the dastardly preventive medical procedure that awaits me tomorrow. Trust me when I tell you there is no one on the planet more squeamish about the nether regions of the human body than I. So if you’re in the market for a detailed blow-by-blow recap of a colonoscopy, best move along little doggie.

Here, on Momover.net (aka Superficiality Central), we’ll be delving into the potential slimming and sveltifying aspects of this loathsome chore, which I’ll gladly be chopping off my To Do list by Friday afternoon.

Faithful readers may recall that in December, one week before Xmas, I zipped off to a gorge starvation spa in an undisclosed location, which I subsequently wrote about for an undisclosed magazine. Until you can read all about that this spring, when my piece hits the newsstands, I’ll give you the abbreviated version: I returned from said starvation spa markedly less puffy and bloat-y, with reduced sugar cravings, to boot.

That bit about sugar cravings is important; I’ll circle back to that in a moment.

But back to that colonoscopy…

Because I’m a normal – albeit wussy – human, I’ve been putting off getting a colonoscopy for as long as possible. Who wouldn’t? I mean really…



Last year, I suggested to my New York internist that perhaps I should wait until I moved to FLA before having it done. My rationale: If, God forbid, something were to surface during the procedure – something of a tumor-y, polyp-y, cancer-y nature – wouldn’t it be better to deal with it in my newly adopted state? Where I would have continuity of care?

He bought my stalling tactic, but just barely.

“Okaaay,” said my doc, rolling his eyes. “But you better book it the second you get to Florida, because you should have taken care of this last year.”

So I did. I booked it maybe not the precise second I arrived in FLA, but definitely within what I would call a perfectly acceptable time-frame.  And now it’s actually happening. Tomorrow.

Ever the sass machine, my betrothed has been having a field day with all of this:


“Are  you looking forward to your colonoscopy?”

Momover Lady:

“I’m definitely looking forward to maybe losing a few pounds, which I think is a distinct possibility.”


“For like 48 hours, and then it’ll come right back.”

Momover Lady:

“I’ll take it.”

Last night, during some frantic 3 am Googling, I came across a colon cancer website with a link to a free copy of Colonoscopies for Dummies. So of course I downloaded it, immediately. And after blasting through all manner of gruesome intel about the bowel-clearing “prep” every colonoscopy patient must endure, I landed in a Q + A section. Happily, there resided the following exchange. (FYI, I shaved off some of the bummer answer…)

Q. Can having a colonoscopy take off a few pounds?

A. Despite what some of those shady colon cleanser ads claim, it is highly unlikely that you’re carrying pounds and pounds of waste in your intestines. Colonoscopy isn’t a diet strategy. I hate to break it to you, but nutrition and exercise are still the keys to weight loss.

But you wanna know what I think, Mr. Bummer ‘Colonoscopy for Dummies’ Dude? I think this whole she-bang does in fact have a slimming, trimming upside, at least for me. And here’s why:

One, you basically can’t have any real food for a pretty long time before a colonoscopy. Since I’ve already been doing Intermittent Fasting almost every day - I rarely eat anything before noon lately, not even fruit – I’m used to going long stretches without chewing. But this mega meal time-out (about 48 hours, when all is said and done), will take my fasting to a new level. And if I lose only a pound or two, I’ll feel motivated to keep going.

Tbat’s how I roll; When I get in a good groove, and start to feel slightly skinny, I have so, so, so much more willpower to steer clear of sweets and junk.

Two, unless I want to basically flunk my colonoscopy and have to repeat it the next day (including the gruesome bowel-clearing prep), I literally can’t have anything carby and super-sweet. So even though there’s a box of Twinkies chez moi right now – and I totally love Twinkies – I can’t touch them.

This is good. It perhaps doesn’t feel good to not be able to eat the Twinkies I so covet, but it is good.

Because that’s also how I roll: The less sugar I eat, the less I want. And once I get over the sugar hump – as I did when I went to the starvation spa in December – my cravings dissipate.

And since I’ve already decided to give up sugar for Lent, it’s kinda great to be getting this mandatory (read: gruesome colonoscopy) jumpstart.

Silver lining, oui?






Two brills ways to maximize the rest of this (mostly lame) Mercury retrograde

The look of steely determination. Hiss!

The look of steely determination. Hiss!

I haven’t accomplished much of a work nature today, so I need to be hyper-focused right now and cut to the chase about how you can make the most of the tail-end of this Mercury retrograde, which comes to a screeching halt (well maybe not screeching, but a halt nonetheless) next Wednesday, 11 February.

If you’ve been more diligent than I have today, and have already cranked through your many mommy duties, take a moment to kick back and read this cute piece on the current retrograde by the feisty + supersmart AstroTwins.

Although I used to despise retrogrades, I’ve come to see the value (albeit minimal, compared to the stress, hassle and drama) they can impart.

In a nutshell, retrogrades are awesome for glancing backward. Nothing of a major nature will move forward during a retrograde, nor should it. In fact, if you can swing it, don’t sign any contracts or plunk down a lot of dough for techno-gadgets or appliances during this time-frame, for you may regret it.

Conversely, old and rusty is where it’s at, my lovely. At least until next Wednesday. So make the most of the cog in the wheel that is Mercury retrograde and dive into these two endeavors ASAP:

1. Reach out to long lost pals or work colleagues

Haven’t talked to Sally Sue since third grade? Pick up the phone! (Wait, nobody makes actual calls anymore, right? Then stalk her on social media until you drill-down to her email address.) Seriously, Mercury retrogrades make us all super-receptive to rando reconnections. So don’t be shy. Reeeeeeach. You never know what could come from your efforts. At the very least, you’ll be back in each other’s orbits.

2. Finish old projects

Who doesn’t have at least 10 unfinished masterpieces laying around? Or a closet or five that needs weeding out? Pick one To Do that’s long gone undone and buckle down and make it happen by Wednesday. You will feel sooooooo much better about yourself. And then the retrograde will be over and you’ll be on fire with all manner of forward-moving newness. Allez-y!





Why cheating on your Visual Field exam is a really bad idea. (And not just because I got busted…)

Screen Shot 2015-02-03 at 10.26.35 AM

Test Results: “Unreliable” (grrr times a trillion…)

I don’t know what it says about us as a society, but one of the most popular posts I’ve ever written for this blog is centered around mayhem, lawlessness and dishonesty:

Grown-up alert: I’ve stopped cheating on my eye exam

And it seems that I, like you (please – I see your search terms! I know what you’re up to!) can easily slip back into bad habits if we don’t stay vigilant and firmly on top of our upstanding-citizen game.

Case in point: Me, last week, at the eye doctor.

But first, the backstory:

For decades, I lived in New York City and didn’t drive, save for maybe once a year, slightly hammered on Montauk Highway out in the Hamptons. Still, despite the fact that I rarely drove – and surely shouldn’t have been allowed behind the wheel on those slightly hammered evenings on Montauk Highway out in the Hamptons – I didn’t want to let my license lapse.

Correction: I didn’t want to let my license lapse again: I’d already done that once, after moving from Newport RI to Gotham, and getting it re-instated was a MASSIVE drama involving multiple road tests and many, many tears.

As you know, keeping your license current requires popping into the DMV on occasion for an eye exam. But because I actually need glasses and don’t wear them, that has necessitated a wee bit of cheating on my part.

(Hence, the extremely popular blog post linked above.)

More recently, I’d been endeavoring to “get real” and let the chips fall regarding my eyes. In the last three or four years, prior to the move to Florida, I’d been quite cooperative about any and all eye exams, including the dreaded Visual Field, which monitors your peripheral vision.

A major decline in your peripheral vision is one marker – okay, it’s probably the primary marker – for glaucoma. Thus, your eye doc needs to know the nano-second it starts to head south. Why? Because the sooner you know you have glaucoma, the better. By treating it early, you may be able to preserve your sight.

Flashforward to last week:

Since moving to the Sunshine State last summer, I’ve acquired a battalion of new docs and care-givers: Dentist, internist, etc. And I have to say I’ve been quite impressed with the quality thus far. I never feel rushed, nor like I don’t have the full attention of whomever I’m plopped in front of.

Hubby is convinced it’s just the Southern m.o. – that whole “hospitality” thing – and that could well be true. All I know is that the docs I’m encountering down here seem a lot more dialed-in than my prior team up North.

Thus I shouldn’t have been shocked when my new eye doctor – Nora Lee Cothran - flat-out busted me for cheating on my Visual Field test a week ago.

She was very sweet about it – “50 percent of the results we see are unreliable!” “You’ll just come back next week!” – but I still couldn’t believe it.

Apparently the Visual Field machine knows when your eyes are darting all over the place in search of the tiny ping of white light rather than staring directly ahead at the red beam, as you’re supposed to.

And if you’re dialed-in – as Dr. Cothran clearly is – a print-out like the one above will show you that the test-taker cannot be trusted.

Of course it doesn’t help my sitch that before landing in her current spot, Dr. Cothran trained in the Air Force as an Intelligence Officer. Only I could find the one eye doc in town who is pretty much a trained spy.

Suffice to say I felt really ashamed when Dr. Cothran called me out – albeit in a very polite and cheerful manner – on my behavior. I don’t even know why I did that in the first place. Cheating on your Visual Field test hurts exactly one person – you. It’s an el stupido, shoot-yourself-in-the-foot move.

So don’t do it. Please. Be a better person than me. It’s pretty easy.



Beauty Armoire Monday*: Meet LOLI, a chic study in BIY (Blend It Yourself) skin, hair and bodycare

I keep thinking Celine when I see this...

When I see LOLI, I think Phoebe Philo, Celine, luxe minimalism…

Faithful Momoverettes might recall my Girl Beauty Genius™ über-pal Tina Hedges, who actually took time out of her crazy skedge to answer my life or death Qs about whether I should wash my hair with bottled water to reduce frizz.

(Tina’s verdict: Yes, and as a matter of fact FIJI is the best kind to shampoo with, because, in pH terms, it’s more alkaline than acidic. Alkaline: Good for our health, good for our hair…)

I’ve known Tina for a very long time. And in that very long time, she’s created a million famous beauty products.

That’s what Tina does for a living; she hangs out in labs with bespectacled chemists in white coats, chit-chatting about nano-particles and creating famous beauty products.

Tina’s latest piece of wizardry is LOLI, an acronym for Loving Organic Living Ingredients, and it’s gorge.

Gorge and good for you. If you’re growing increasingly paranoid about the Franken-chemicals in your beauty merch (and you 1000 percent should be paranoid about the Franken-chemicals in your beauty merch) – and if you also happen to enjoy whipping up face masks and customizing yummy oils for that banging bod of yours – you will swoon over supernatural LOLI.

Tina’s been telling me about her new project for months now, so you can imagine how psyched I was when the mail dude dropped a box on my porch bearing a LOLI label.

After burrowing through all the eco-correct packing materials (obvi LOLI is a styrofoam peanut-free zone), I found a Powder Mask, Flower Water, Base Oil, Power Oil, recipe cards – even a cute little recycled-bamboo spoon to mix with.

I got blending, deciding to kick off with a way-basic recipe of Powder Mask + Water.

“I feel like my Native great great granny, slathering away in her teepee on the Great Plains of Oklahoma,” I thought, as I smeared my mug with the earthen brew – a mix of rose clay, matcha tea, kale and blueberries.

Suddenly remembering I was on dinner duty, I rushed out to the kitchen to conjure grub for the Wee Lass. And midway through my mask drying time – and meal-prep – she wandered out of her bedroom lair to check on me.

“You look really scary,” she said, eyes wide. “And you smell like Froot Loops.”

The kid has a nose like a bloodhound, so it doesn’t surprise me in the least that she detected the blueberries in the LOLI mask.

Anyway, my way-basic Powder Mask + Water concoction was just the beginning of what I could do with my LOLI parcel. If I follow Tina’s clever recipe cards, I can deploy the Flower Water and oils to make different masks (Renewal and Exfoliant). I can also just spritz the Flower Water to rehydrate my skin. Or mix the two oils in my hand to inhale – aromatherapeutically – to calm myself when I’m freaking out.

As a writer (and not a creator of famous beauty products), I also love the little backstories Tina included at the bottom of the recipe cards. I thought it might be nice if I ended this blog post by segueing from talk of Scary Mommy and Froot Loops to one of Tina’s everything-old-is-new-again tidbits:

“Women used flower waters in Sicily in the 14th century to freshen up the bed-sheets. Our grandmothers lovingly spritzed ‘agua de flores’ to scent our hair. We love them as a facial toner.”

Stone villas in 14th-century Sicily, teepees in the Great Plains of Oklahoma, Tina’s NYC apartment – you never know where the next brills beauty idea might hail from.


My pedometer OCD is raging again. Clipping it to my nightie, my undies, my…

My hoofing-it total yesterday. Yay!!!

My hoofing-it total yesterday. Yay!!!

When I was writing my Momover book (whoa, that seems like ages ago…dog years), I needed to research a bunch of gadgets I was considering including in the fitness chapters.

Alongside my trusty Tanita jump-rope  with the built-in counter (oh how I love that thing), I also got a mini-trampoline and an old-school, pre-FitBit step-tracker that I used to calculate just how much daily schlepping I was doing while toiling as an editor in Manhattan and living in a triplex across the Hudson River.

The Wee Lass was just a toddler back then, and while her intrepid nanny did most of the chasing and corralling up and down flights of stairs, I was pressed into chasing and corralling duty on weekends.

In other words, I was on the move. Going, going, going 24/7.

And just like that – snap! – I became addicted to wearing that pedometer. I barely made a move without it. The second I woke up in the morning, I would attach it to whatever sleep apparel I’d worn the night before, and then I’d transfer it to that day’s festive work get-up, and then back again to my PJs later on. A continuous loop of pedometer-attaching…

To be perfectly frank, my fixation was getting borderline creepy. I haven’t seen Cake yet, but I’m guessing I felt about my pedometer the way Jennifer Aniston feels about her precious pain meds in that buzzed-about little flick.

Sidebar: Why does JA have to look THAT bad in order to cinematically convey that she’s a pill-popper? Aren’t any pill-poppers at least reasonably well-groomed?

Anyhoo, because I was getting worried about my over-fondness for my pedometer, when the battery died, I let my obsession die along with it.

Back to the real world I went, blissfully unaware how many steps I’d logged between my desk and the office loo.

Flashforward several years later, and here’s Momover Lady this past Sunday, organizing boxes of career-related Lord knows what in the garage. Whenever I leave a job, I always think it’s necessary to box up tons of files and project-y papers and notebooks  “just in case I need them later.” Of course, I rarely ever need anything later, but that’s beside the point.

And as it turns out, here were a few gems in the boxes I’d shipped from my New York office down to Florida: A sweet note from my former assistant, who I cry every time I think about because I miss her so much. That and a FitBit Zip I’d  never cracked open.

The next day, I synced the Zip up with my computer, and I’ve once again been sucked into the vortex of step-counting addiction.

Unlike Kim RHOBH Richards possibly being on drugs and booze again, I haven’t made my mind up yet about whether this pedometer relapse is good or bad.

According to current health wisdom, we should all be getting off our big fat fannies and m-o-v-i-n-g. In fact, if I see one more news story about the dangers of sitting, I’m gonna rip all my fake-blonde hair out.

Still, at least in my case: Message Received. I’m not a huge sitter anyway (too antsy and high-strung), but I’m now making a conscious effort to move more.

And my Zip is now aiding and abetting me to the extreme.

Yesterday, circa 4pm, the Wee Lass and I were out in the backyard enjoying the sunshine and 70+ temperature. (Don’t hate me…I did my time up North…) But when I consulted my Zip, I saw that I’d only logged about 8k steps. “Let’s go for a power walk,” I said.

Off we went, out and about our ‘hood. We met an adorable new puppy up the street named Marley, we ran into friends who invited the Wee Lass to an upcoming basketball game, and we oohed and aaahed over some of the gorge homes on Brightwaters Boulevard.

It was fun, and bonding, and….it pushed me waaaaaay over my 10k step total. (Visual proof above.) In fact, I earned what FitBit calls an “Urban Boot” badge.

Today, because I ran after dropping the Wee Lass off at school (0n foot, bien sur) I’m already up to 7393 steps and it’s only 11 am.

But there’s no way in hell I’m gonna shut the door on this day before I hit 10k. Ain’t gonna happen.



Beauty Armoire Monday: Restørsea mini routine (cleanser, serum + crow’s feet prevention goo, aka eye cream)

Smell great, feel great, work great. Holla.

Smell great, feel great, work great. Holla.

It’s mostly awesome – but sometimes really sad – that I can’t justify plunking down my own cold, hard cash for skincare. My Beauty Armoire and its offspring, Baby Beauty Armoire, are just too jam-packed with hoarded merch for me to procure anything new without a raging case of the guilts.

But if guilt weren’t an issue, Restørsea is absolutely, without question, a brand I would buy. I’ve loved it since the very first time I tried it, which I’m guessing is pushing about two years ago. The founder of the company, one very sassy + smart Patti Pao – popped by my office for a deskside appointment and I was so charmed by her that I actually took her brand-spanking new Rejuvenating Day Cream home that night to try it.

Instantly, I was addicted. I’m all about great scents in skincare, and Restørsea – quite unapologetically, btw – features a pretty intoxicating white tea fragrance. But beyond that, I just loved the results I got from the day creme. I saw brightening (code for brownish age spots seemed to recede) and a radiance bump, and of course moisturization.

But then I ran out. So I nabbed other jars I found in the Beauty Closet at work. And then I ran out of those. And then I said to myself:

Dude, it’s just one creme in the vast ocean of miracle cremes you’re surrounded by. Move on. Get a life.

And so I did move on, and I did get a life. And I switched it up to a Lancer Method 3-part regime which utterly and completely kicks —. (I’m not electronically swearing anymore, so you’ll need to fill in the cuss-word blanks from now on.) So good. IMO, Dr. Lancer’s scrub should win the Nobel Prize for de-clogging pores.

Because I’m psychotically committed to using every last thing in Beauty Armoire and Baby Beauty Armoire, as soon as I finished my Lancer Method regime, I pinged right back into Restørsea. I don’t have any Restørsea creme (day or night) in my stash, but I did find these yummy numbers:

Reviving Cleanser

Renormalizing Serum 

Revitalizing Eye Cream

As with all  Restørsea prods, these three items are laced with what Pao has dubbed her “Vibransea” complex. Evidently Pao, who is a beauty exec with quite the business pedigree, discovered a special enzyme that’s unique to the pure fjords of Western Norway. While visiting a salmon hatchery – as one does when one is hell-bent on exploring the pure fjords of Western Norway – Pao discovered that the hands of the weatherbeaten Norwegian fishermen, which are submerged in salmon spawn-filled waters for a good chunk of the day, were incredibly youthful.

Suspiciously youthful, if truth be told.

Pao decided to investigate this phenom. And that’s when she learned that, at birth, baby salmon release an enzyme to help them escape their shells. Pao christened this enzyme “Aquabeautine XL.” (You have to call it something, no? And “baby salmon shell-escaping enzyme” doesn’t have an especially snappy ring to it…) Anyhoo, the enzyme contains both a protein and an exfoliant that skin really loves.

In fact, Pao contends that Aquabeautine XL delivers a sloughing effect akin to glycolic acid – minus the potential irritation. Radiance-zapping dead skin cells are given the boot, and new, fresh ones surface in their place.

All I can save is that I’m super-glad Pao visited the pure fjords of Western Norway with her peepers peeled for potentially awesome complexion breakthroughs. She did the heavy lifting so we don’t have to.