Archive for October, 2010

There’s a story in today’s New York Post about insanely tarty Halloween costumes for kids, and I’m feeling blessed. Even though she’s already drooling over the Jonas Brothers, the Wee Lass opted to be Supergirl this year, and I’m happy to report that her little caped dress is absolutely G-rated and appropriate for her four-year-old self.

I, however, will be donning the trampy get-up pictured here.

You see, we have these super-fun neighbors who live down the hall, and – bonus points -  the mom in the duo is French, so I even get to practice my mangled Franglais on her on a regular basis. (She’s very sweet about it…) Anyway, they’re having a big bash Saturday night and costumes are not only requested, they’re required.

Of course, as a pre-Hubby swingle, I wore my fair share of sexy Halloween ensembles; it’s the one night of the year women can get away with that. In fact, for one – the year I went as Baby Spice – I even had white platform-y stripper boots similar to the ones “Madame Musketeer” is wearing here.

The Wee Lass keeps asking me if I’m going to back to the costume store to nab the white boots, but that ain’t gonna happen. I figure the only way I can maintain some small measure of decorum is to pair the hot-pink “toppers” with thick tights and flat boots, both in black.

After all, I can’t embarrass Hubby, who is going as the grown-up version of Woody from Toy Story. At least one of us isn’t trying to recapture our tarty-Halloween-costume glory days.

My expectations were through the roof for Wednesday afternoon’s Jane + Oprah power summit, but I’ll be damned if those two broads didn’t totally exceed them.

E-P-I-C.

I need to find out how that episode can live permanently in my Tivo queue, because I know I’ll want to watch it about 90 more times. (If you missed it, you can piece it together bit by bit with these snippets on Jane’s amazing site….)

A walking, talking billboard for staying fit — and working, working, working on your interior self as much as your exterior self — Jane was beaming and glowing the entire hour, no matter what dark tunnel Oprah tried to lead her down. Yes, she’s in love. And yes, she’s acting again after a whopper of a time-out. But she’s also involved in about 8 million charitable endeavors, and is an activist for all manner of causes, and I’m convinced that enhances her beauty ten-fold.

The whole thing was amazing, and I got (and will continue to get) so much out of it. I don’t want to spoil it for any of you mamas who haven’t yet seen it, but when she talks about her mother – and her regrets about the way she raised her own children – you’ll be reaching for the Kleenex.

After reading her memoir and going to see her on Broadway last year, I’m veering dangerously into stalker territory. But I find her such an inspiration. And really, who wouldn’t? She’s a two-time Oscar winner who devotes herself to helping others, all while continuing to evolve spiritually and emotionally. And please, let’s not forget those rock-hard, 72-year-old abs.

At the risk of oversharing, I’ve been forbidden by my tough-as-nails dental hygienist from using any of the several supersonic toothbrushes I’ve collected in the line of duty as a beauty editor. She won’t even let me use my beloved Ultreo, which is like the freaking Ferrari of the plaque-removal world.

It seems I’m a tad overzealous with my scrubbing, and because of that, I’ve worn away my gums in certain spots. So not a good look, because it’s yet another sign of aging; that’s where the expression “long in the tooth” comes from.

Since I can’t rely on anything battery operated to whiten and brighten, I’m left to analog devices, meaning a soft, wimpy old-school toothbrush that won’t shred my gums to smithereens. But of course I up the ante with my favorite whitening toothpaste of all time: Supersmile. Man, I love that stuff. It’s been around for eons, like the Eighties. Maybe even the 1970s. I just remember reading about it in Vogue while I was in high school, and totally jonesing to try it.

And guess what? Not only did I grow up and move to Gotham (the official home of Supersmile), I’ve chatted with the inventor, Irwin Smigel, on numerous occasions. Dr. Smigel told me his theory about the “protein pellicle,” the gnarly film that collects on our teeth and acts like a stain-magnet until we forcibly remove it.

Now that it’s stocked, oh-so-conveniently, at my local Duane Reade, I buy Supersmile regularly. But I just did a fast lap around the Supersmile website, and I’m gonna order these killer tongue-scrapers of his. They are so genius, right up there with Dr. Smigel’s super-duper, whitening and brightening, $21 toothpaste.

Awwwww…my little labor of love (the one that was delivered roughly four years after the Wee Lass graced us with her presence) has just been named Best New Book 2010, Women’s Health, by USA Book News.

This makes me really happy because the category, women’s health, is so massive and so very, very important. And I’m thrilled that the over-arching message of the Momover book – that every mother on the planet needs to move her personal wellness to the top of the life-priority heap – broke through to the USA Book News “deciders.”

I’m passionate about this mama-health stuff. Of course, even an armchair shrink could tell you that my passion stems from the fact that my own mom didn’t prioritize her personal wellness. Though she made sure that I never missed a checkup, chased me around the house with this positively ghoulish cough syrup and benched me for the slightest sniffle, she didn’t take care of herself.

Mentally, physically or spiritually.

Suffice it to say, I’ve rewritten that script; my daughter is completely used to seeing Mom bursting through the door after a long run or a trip to the salon for a blow-out and pedi. She’s also accustomed to finding me in my walk-in closet, zoning out to one of my beloved ocean meditation CDs. I want that “self-health” for you, too, in whatever way floats your particular boat.

I say: Vive le mama-health! And break out the Champs!

I’m a morning person – and a total geek – so I’m pretty much counting the seconds until the semi-annual Daylight Saving Time switcheroo kicks in on November 7. We’re on the east coast, so the combination of nippier temperatures and pitch blackness when I wake up is a real killer.

(More geekiness, btw: that isn’t a typo above. Who knew it was actually “Saving” rather “Savings”? Not me, until I did a spot of sleuthing…)

But let’s say you live in northern Europe – in the Netherlands, for argument’s sake. With much less winter daylight, wouldn’t the task of scampering out of bed and shuffling the tots to school be infinitely harder? Why yes, it would be infinitely harder. And, in fact, it is infinitely harder.

That’s why my excellent mama-friend Alev, who has contributed several great articles to this site, just bought herself one of those newfangled alarm clocks that simulate sunrise and let you greet the day – even in the dead of winter – in a far less “please, god, nooooo” fashion.

There’s science behind it, and a touch of grooviness, which Alev tells us all about in “Rise and Shine,” her fab new piece which you can access right this very instant by clicking here. This clock sounds promising. Like whip-out-my-Amex kind of promising.

“They” say that the definition of the koo-koo krazies is repeating the same stupid stuff and expecting a different outcome. But I say it’s having a spa at the top of your condo complex and almost never using it.

Yes, in addition to the stunning view of Gotham from the penthouse floor of our tower – reason alone to haul my stressball self up there – we also have a fitness center, a massive whirly swirly hot-tubby thing, a sauna and a steam room.

Of course I’m hitting the gym on a regular basis, obsessed as I am with achieving my 2010 workout goal. But I can count the times on one hand when I’ve wandered to the other side of the immense space and plunked myself in either the hot tub or the steam room. (No sauna for me; all that gloppy, 500-degree H20 gives me an instant claustrophobic panic attack…)

On the few occasions I have visited the Chez Moi spa, it’s been lovely. After hot-tubbing in a decidedly un-Jersey Shore fashion (read: I wasn’t nude, hammered, puffing a ciggie and putting the moves on Pauly D), I headed to the steam room with one of my favorite Andrew Weil meditation CDs. PG-rated and boring, I know, but sooooooo relaxing. Kinda makes me feel like I’m on crack for not doing it more often.

But here’s the thing: I’m not on crack. Like all of us, I just sometimes don’t make enough space in my life for a major time-out. I always feel great when I prioritize my “Mom’s playing hooky” moments – simultaneously sneaky and self-helping.

To prod myself to spa more regularly, I just looked up some of the health benefits of using a steam room. Shocker: there are a million. What am I waiting for?

I was afraid to go bed last night. No, not because of Mub (aka Monster Under the Bed, the cutie from the Pish & Posh books), but because I took leave of my sanity and attended a Nalini Method class at the spectacular new Pure Yoga on the Upper West Side. That place is unspeakably beautiful. All 25,000 square feet of it. Almost making me want to move back into Manhattan…

Yes, I was living in fear that I’d be so sore this morning that I wouldn’t be able to power-stroll the Wee Lass to school. And as I sit here, typing away at circa 6 a.m., I am indeed achy. The good kind of achy, though, like when you’ve busted moves you’re aren’t used to. (As opposed to the trying-to-diaper-your-tot post C-section variety.)

I realize I’m a little late to the “OMG, how cute is Rupa Mehta” party. She’s been teaching yoga for 10 years, and developed the Nalini Method (named after her mommy….awww) in 2003. Still, better late than never, I always say.

So getting back to the class: I walked into a sea of sprightly young fitness editors plunked on their mats. There were ankle weights and blocks and towels and exercise balls and dumb bells and straps and water bottles surrounding our stations. So much gear, I felt like I was in the checkout line at Sports Authority. And in springs Rupa, in an extremely cute outfit, tons of jewelry and Nike gladiator fitness shoes that I totally want. Of course, I also loved the fact that she’s exactly my height. (Read: Olsen Twin-tiny…)

Now exclusive to Pure Yoga, the Nalini Method is a mix of power yoga and barre work with a lot of old-school calisthenics tossed in to liven things up if you start to doze off. (Kidding; you don’t stop moving for the entire hour.) Throughout, Rupa cheers you on: “Find your motivation,” she says. “Set small goals. Teach yourself.” And her eyes are on you the whole time, correcting you when you start to slump and slouch, giving you a big round of vocal applause when you get it right.

Before leaving, I chatted with Rupa, who told me she teaches lots of new mothers, and is totally wired-in to how “vulnerable” they are after giving birth. I couldn’t help but think how perfect that word was to describe the new-mom gestalt: Vulnerable mentally, physically, spiritually. All of which the Nalini Method can address.

Speaking of words, Rupa has written a great little book on spirituality. I’m going to tell you all about it in an upcoming blog post.

I’m a very lucky person, for a lot of reasons – some of which I share with you here, some of which I keep under lock and key.

But one thing I’m very grateful for, and which I have zero qualms about making public, is my long friendship with Cristina Carlino. Not only does Cristina create amazing beauty companies and found charitable organizations that do lots of good in this troubled world of ours, she’s also a big contributor to Momover.net.

So far, since the relaunch of the site in March, she’s gifted me with two great articles: “Easy Inner Beauty” and “The Changing Room: Getting Your Beauty Back.”

So without further ado, I’d like to direct you to the third Cristina-penned piece: “She Colors My Day: How You and Your Daughter Can Fight For a Breast-Cancer Cure.”

Half essay and half call-to-action, this new article kicks off with Cristina’s moving tale of a friend-of-a-friend who lost the battle to breast cancer, leaving behind four gorgeous, “full-of-smiles” girls. (Of course I’m sobbing as I write this…)

But then, because Cristina is alllllll about finding the good in situations and working really, really, really hard to make things better, she lets us in on the ways she’s teaching her own daughter about staying healthy and having compassion and empathy for those who are facing the disease. Wearing her journalist’s cap, she also brings child development experts Susan Newman and Dan Siegel into the conversation.

It’s a great read, and I’m proud to publish it on this site.

The fact that I call myself an “aspiring vegan” might give the real ones intense fits. And I totally don’t blame them for maybe wanting to box my ears a little. They’re working really hard at this thing, and I’m just surfing along, dipping in and out as I see fit.

But I’ll tell you what makes it about one thousand percent easier: Delicious, ready-made vegan snacks and treats. The Wee Lass and I recently discovered a food truck called The Cinnamon Snail that parks over by her school and purveys the most heavenly “violence-free” donuts and cupcakes that you could ever, ever imagine. Insane. So, so, so yummy…

And now my mom-friend Nancy – the source of so many great tips my head starts to explode a bit when I’m with her – tells me about Vega Whole Food Energy Bars. They were created by on-the-cusp-of-incredibly-famous fitness guru Brendan Brazier, who wins Ironman titles while eating an entirely plant-based diet. Oh, and he’s also written several “Thrive” books which outline his master plan for taking over the world, one animal byproduct-free meal at a time. (I’ll try not to feel like a slacker in comparison if you do too.)

What’s great about Brendan’s bars is that they make it so easy to just get what you need (tons of fiber, protein and crucial Essential Fatty Acids like Omega 3 and 6), minus any garbage and dairy. And of course no meat, but who’d put meat in an energy bar anyway? Unless Beef Jerky somehow got re-classified when I wasn’t looking…

On my next visit to Whole Foods, I intend to procure several Vega bars, including chocolate and berry. Between Brendan and the Cinnamon Snail, the vegan snicky-snack situation is looking up.

It’s bad enough that I’m a bit of a disaster with my own hair (thank god for my trusty InStyler), but where I really fall down on the job is with the Wee Lass’s locks. Now that I’m in charge of getting her to school every morning, the gaping holes in my styling knowledge have become abundantly clear.

We never did the bangs bit with her, so her “look” is just a straightforward bob that hits right above her shoulders. But she looks best — and sees better — with it up and out of her eyes, preferably in a French braid. Too bad I couldn’t do one if you put a gun to my head. (Perhaps that analogy is a tad violent for a peaceful Saturday morning, but you get my drift…)

I’m so desperate to learn this basic styling technique that I even stole a book about the subject from my little lady’s vast library. It’s called Doll Hair: Styling Tips and Tricks for Your Dolls. There’s a companion DVD buried somewhere around these parts, but I don’t want to waste precious practice time looking for it.

Rather than drive the Wee Lass nuts while I get a grip on this situation, I intend to borrow her beauteous Julie doll to deploy as a stunt double. Isn’t she a knockout? I love the brown eyes paired with the goldilocks. So unexpected…

Flipping through my bootlegged book, I can see that braids figure prominently. In addition to French, there are directions for all manner of advanced techniques, including the “Tiara,” the “Shower,” and the “Front Row.”

After a second cup of coffee, I’m gonna get crackin. And if this doesn’t work, I just might consider beauty school.