Archive for March, 2010

My Diapered Darling received a gorgeous book – Monuments that Tell Stories of Paris – from her lovely cousin Amelia, and of course I had to sneak it out of her room the second she fell asleep for the night. (We’re both a little Paris-obsessed; she’s already planning her first trip…) And as I flipped through the section on the “Gallo-Roman Baths,” it reminded me that I need to jump in the nearest tub to relieve some of the “stressure” I’ve been dealing with lately.

When I do, you better believe I won’t be alone. No no no. I will have in my hot little hands one of an arsenal of bath brews that I deploy for just such occasions. I really can’t get enough of these, although one is quite spendy, so I only splash out on it when I’m feeling flush. (Which isn’t often these days, truth be told.)

So without further ado, here are my favorite calming concoctions, culled from maaaaaaany years in the beauty editor trenches:

This Works Deep Calm Bath & Shower Oil

Kiss My Face Peaceful Patchouli Bath & Shower Gel

Seboni Fistral Sea Relaxing Bath & Massage Oil

Masada Dead Sea Mineral Salts

Kiehl’s Mineral Muscle Soak Foaming-Relaxing Bath

I like words so much that sometimes I even invent entirely new ones. Like Momover, for instance, or my new fave: stressure. As you can probably guess, it’s a hybrid of stress and pressure, and it is positively, unequivocally, evil.

You may beg to differ, but I see stress and pressure as two separate-but-related entities. Stress, to me at least, feels a little open-ended and free-floating. Pressure is more specific. For example, you might feel slightly stressed that your Diapered Darling just dumped his oatmeal on the kitchen floor, and you’ll of course be reaching for the paper towels to deal with the aftermath within seconds. But is that the same type of bonafide pressure you feel to finish a report for work or somehow rustle up the preschool tuition by X date? Not exactly. There’s no such thing as the Mommy Police. But bosses and bills? Those are very, very real.

But why would I use this forum — a super-cheerful, hopefully helpful website for mamas — to chat about the evilness of stressure? Because I’ve been under a lot of it lately. And I’m guessing you have, too. So in an effort to mitigate the effects on both my brain and body, I’ve been listening to a really amazing 2-CD set, Meditative Ocean & Rainforest by Dr. Jeffrey Thompson. I’m obsessed with the ocean (the “water sign” thing again), but I’m also really digging the rainforest soundtrack. It’s cool, in an Avatar-ish way. Both of the CDs tap into Theta brainwaves, which I’m just starting to explore for an upcoming article. If you’re under a lot of stressure, do yourself a favor and give these guys a listen.

This isn’t me, and I’m nowhere near a pristine, white sand beach at the moment. But I am just a hop, skip and a jump from another body of H2O — the Hudson River — and as winter gives way to spring, I’ve been making it my business to run alongside it recently. As a “water sign” (I’m a Scorpio), my creativity and idea-machinery just sort of explodes, in a really good way, whenever I get close to any large mass of the wet stuff. Combine that with running — in my opinion, the ultimate mental-cobweb DustBuster — and I can easily see why a mama-type might get addicted.

Not that every run is amazing; just this morning, I had so much on mind that I wasn’t paying attention to good form and I pretty much went splat right on the concrete. After regaining my composure, I made a point of dialing back in to what I was doing—becoming present, basically. Still, I now have matching scrapes on my knees, a pair of pink and painful bookends.

But I also have a clear head, a bit of calorie-burning already out of the way for the day and a much better chance of sleeping well tonight than I’d have if I hadn’t run.

And when I got back home, my tumble was an excellent way to elicit lots and kisses and hugs from a certain wee one. She even offered up her supply of Strawberry Shortcake bandages for my aching knees. All the more reason why I’m glad I laced-up my running shoes once again.

Earlier this week, Cafe Mom published a fun interview I did with Cynthia Dermody in which we chatted at length about my deep love of mono-tasking. Granted, most mamas have entirely too much on their plate to bag the multi-tasking altogether, but I argue strenuously, both in this interview and in my book, for trying to focus on one task at a time.

For me, mono-tasking has become a personal mission, and I’ve developed my own little mantra to shore me up; I literally mutter to myself all day long, “Do what you’re doing, Dana.” Translation? Buckle down and carry through to completion whatever it is I’ve set out to do, whether it’s 15 minutes of couch time with the Diapered Darling watching Max & Ruby (j’adore!!!), dusting the living room or finishing a story I’m writing for the deeply glamorous fashion magazine that helps pay the bills around here.

Speaking of which, I’m on deadline. So I’d just like to take this opportunity to tell you about two excellent books that can help you train yourself to really focus. One, Eat That Frog, is pretty ancient. But I found it tremendously helpful when I left publishing for a while for corporate-ville and was surrounded by a lot of extremely serious MBA types. The other is brand new and written by the genius dude who created the Zen Habits blog. It’s called The Power of Less and I highly recommend it.

I like so completely totally knew that I wasn’t the only mama in my orbit itching to hop off the “real world” hamster wheel and zip on down to Disney. And as I also correctly surmised, I’m not alone in my desire to buff and polish a smidge before pasty arms, legs and post-baby Buddha bellies start popping out from behind closed doors.

One quick email shout-out to twins mama Patricia, blogger extraordinaire and public relations whiz at Lancome, and I had my kindred spirit. Though she, her hubby and nine-year-old Gracie and Brandon are headed south a month before we are (grrr…jealous much?), she got me all ferklempt just reading her swoon over it:

“As kids, my husband and I could’ve only dreamed about going to Disney World. That’s why we made it our honeymoon spot. We adored every inch of it! The scenery, the tram, the catchy tunes, the parades, the fireworks…even the giant turkey legs that everyone looked so happy to be eating. It was bliss. A little corny? Maybe. But as life-long New Yorkers who were usually too cool for school, it made us feel like we got a little of our childhood back.”

What Patricia doesn’t share with me, however, is my yen for a top-down, full-tilt Momover before the big reveal. I’ve already written about starting a food log (um…I’m on it…) to lose a pound or five. And in a bit, I’m about to toodle off to my neighborhood couturier, Target, to stock up on my beloved Mossimo super-soft T-shirts and such. Patricia, on the other hand, intends to raid the closet at work for some kick-ass self-tanner. Her other kinda genius strategy? To chillax, for pete’s sake, and seize the day(s). “I figured if get my limbs soft and glowy then I won’t notice that I’m probably not really fit enough to wear a bathing suit,” she says. “I’m also going to get a pedicure, which I never, ever do, and maybe even throw in a manicure. Other than that, that’s it. What you see is what you get. Bring on the magic!”

Happily (yay!) and unhappily (grrr…), that piece I wrote for CNN last week is still generating lots o’ comments. I guess I should have known what a hot-button issue late-in-life mommyhood is, but I really wasn’t expecting such a reaction to what I thought was a realistic — but ultimately totally cheerful — riff on having my Diapered Darling after I’d blown out a few (ahem) candles on my birthday cake.

Is it fun to have both a small smattering of crow’s feet and racoonish dark circles from sleep deprivation? No, no, a thousand times no. Is having my tot at the age the stars aligned the best thing I ever did? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!

And here’s what else I’m completely psyched about right now (besides my delicious kid): All the lovely comments and support I’ve been getting from you mamas out there! For reals. Fellow moms have been shooting me emails just filled with positive, “you go girl” stuff. Here’s just one for-instance:

“As the 41 year old mom of a rambunctious 17 month old boy and pregnant with my second (totally exhausted btw) I think you’ve really nailed alot of what it means to be a mom in her 40′s,” wrote Kristin. “And yes, I can relate…I had high powered jobs, traveled the world, waited for Mr. Right and got married at the age of 36. There was alot of time for me to enjoy Planet Me, alas that has gone by the wayside for awhile. The reason for my email is to basically say that you come across as a breath of fresh air and folks need to lighten up a bit. I have a feeling you’ve got a thick skin coming from the fashion world…so keep up the good work.”

Massive electronic mama hugs to Kristin. And to the rest of you who took the time to write and share your tales from the mommy trenches. Please keep ‘em coming.

Alas, the time has come for us to finally wean the Diapered Darling off the night-time jumbo Huggies, and I can assure you I’ve had more fun in my life. Hubby and I have only been at it a few weeks, and with a success-to-wake-up-crying-in-a-puddle-of-pee ratio of about 50/50, my deep, restful sleep has gone AWOL. There’s never a good time for deep, restful sleep to go AWOL, but right now, while I’m in the middle of launching my book and trying to figure out how to run this website without my insanely talented designer Garrett by my side, is an especially not-good one.

I can get to sleep, but I just can’t stay there. I’m on eggshells all night, awaiting the “Mommmmmmmy” wail from the second floor. Even if it doesn’t come, I’m braced for it, which means I may as well just be up and at ‘em and watching Cindy Crawford infomercials all night. (Talk about a hot mama…lordy…)

Still, I’m determined to stay the course, especially after reading my go-to childcare bible, Practical Wisdom for Parents, which states, quite boldly, that you better pick a lane, sister, and stay in it. And I quote: “When it’s 2 a.m. and your child has a wet bed and you have to get up and change his clothing and bed linens, it can seem a lot easier to put him a diaper. However, children need to feel wet in order to know in the future that they have to go to the bathroom.” Alright already, I get it. Now excuse me while I sneak off to hide under the nearest rock.

So I wrote what I thought was a perfectly cute piece for CNN about the ups and downs of late-in-life mommyhood, and some of the comments were, shall we say, a tad unkind. As usual, I was perplexed. And also as usual, my supersmart Hubby was able to shed some light. His theory is that my use of the term “flyover country” in the opening line might be misconstrued as elitist. As in, “New York, LA and all the rest of it that doesn’t really matter…”

All I can say in my defense is that I had no idea that “flyover country” can be considered “pejorative,” according to great and powerful Wikipedia. Even with my stellar command of the English language (calm down, I’m joking), I just thought it meant “middle of the country.” Which I happen to have been born in, by the way. And which a massive part of my family still lives in, also by the way.

My bad. Are we good now?

In seven short weeks, Hubby and the Diapered Darling and I will board a big ol’ aeroplane en route to Orlando, home of The Mouse. And trust me when I say that I am — by far — the family member most excited about this venture. Despite my advanced age, I am a complete and total nut for Disney World. If I could move into the Princess castle, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

But let’s hop back to reality, shall we? Disney in May = Shorts + Bathing Suits. And after a loooong East Coast winter, I’m scrambling to prep myself for the big reveal. Though I’ve been pretty good about hitting gym lately, I still would utterly love to lose a pound or two (or five) before we head out on our happy little va-cay. And since food is, without question, the more important variable in the weight-loss equation (grrrrr…), I’m going to practice what I preach in my book: Keeping a food log.

Yup, I’m gonna record every morsel from now until D-Day. But I think I’ll make it easier on myself (and, hopefully, less mind-numbingly boring) by using one of those online food-tracker widgets. I’ll do some recon and report back to you about which ones I like, and why. Slim and trim and Mickey too? It’s almost too much to ask for.

So I’ve bravely given Garrett Yankou, my insanely talented site designer, some much-needed time off. And I’m sitting here with, I kid you not, a copy of WordPress for Dummies sprawled across my lap, trying to eke out my very first blog post all by my lonesome. Yeah, yeah, I know, I had my column on Cookie for years. What’s the big deal?

The big deal is that during Momover Phase One, I didn’t actually post anything myself. I just forked over my copy to Cookie’s in-house Web whizzes and zipped-off to some three-hour, five-star lunch to celebrate the global unveiling of some new breakthrough cellulite cream or life-changing iridescent eyeshadow. It was all very Oz-like, the handing-over-the-copy-and-zipping-off routine. And since I’m a Luddite, I dug it, big-time.

But now it’s time for me to grow up and join all the other mommy-bloggers out there who somehow manage to post blizzards of content without having their own personal Garrett at their sides. In other words, I must go forth and post.

Off come the training wheels.