Archive for the ‘Wellness’ Category

I know “the right amount” – whatever that means – of stress is supposed to be good for you. It lights a fire under you, driving you to deliver excellence at a warp-speed pace.

And I’m totally down with excellence. I just have an issue with the warp-speed pace bit.

Which means that when I come home to Momover Central after a long day in Gotham, I am wired like a nuclear power plant. And because I have a relatively short window between when I walk through that door and when I have to hit the hay, winding down is, shall we say, challenging.

And newsflash: Wine doesn’t work. I explained the reason why in my book, even though it pained me to do so, because so many stressed-out new mommies like to hit the bottle after they (finally, finally, please God finally) put their Diapered Darlings down for the night.

So here’s a recap of the wine-doesn’t-work scenario: Yes, it relaxes you. And even helps you fall asleep. (Although pass-out is actually more like it.) But then, a few hours in, the effects wear off and your body starts to go into a mini-withdrawal. And that mini-withdrawal makes you wake up.

Personally, when I wake up in the middle of the night, that’s it bro. I’m up. I’ve had just enough sleep so that my brain can start working again, and it does. So much so that I stumble out of bed, find a notepad and pen, and start scribbling in the dark. My To Do list, points for stories I’m writing, ideas for blog posts like this epic masterpiece, etc., etc.

Although I use a lot of those 2 a.m. scribblings, I’d rather just stay asleep.

So on Sunday evening, after yet another “workend” – grrr times a million – I nabbed a bottle of Dream Water from my neighborhood drugstore. And that night I downed it, along with a double dose of the Brain Calm nutritional supplements I’ve been taking for years.

I slept great – straight through the night. And I woke up without the gross, druggy grogginess I always feel after taking a Tylenol PM or those Midnite pills I blogged about a while back.

Of course the double dose of Brain Calm could be the reason I snoozed so soundly. So maybe it really isn’t the Dream Water. Or maybe it’s the whole ball of wax – the Dream Water and the Brain Calm. In scanning the labels, I see that my little Momover Lady Sleep Special is providing me with a whopping dose of GABA and inositol, along with melatonin and 5-HTP.

So just now, because I’m getting totally paranoid that I’m gonna OD on all these pharmacy relaxants, I referred back to my Mama Guru chat with integrative doc Jeffrey Morrison, which is on exactly this very topic. In that Q&A, we cover GABA, inositol, Brain Calm and even Dream Water. Doc Morrison’s take? They’re safe, but if you’re breastfeeding be sure to check with your own physician first before using them.

Alrighty, I feel better about my new post-work, pre-bed drinkie / druggy ritual. Especially since I know I won’t need it in a month or so, when I wrap the project I’m working on and kick it with a festive trip to Fla. (Yay! The Grand Floridian!)

But right now, I gotta jet. And go in search of excellence at a warp-speed pace.

Yesterday, at the Wee Lass’s sixth-birthday bash at the bowling alley at Chelsea Piers (complete mayhem; the longest two hours of my life), one of the other moms told me I was looking slim and trim. “Have you lost weight?” she asked. “Or maybe it’s those jeans?”

“I have no idea,” I replied, “except I can assure you I’m not working any kind of Spanx scenario. I’m not down with shapewear at all.”

Because I’m a big ol’ drama queen, I mock-shivered to emphasize how insanely uncomfy I find all that Spandex-y, circulation-obliterating stuff to be. Yes, I know shapewear has changed a lot of women’s lives, but I’d personally rather run a 10k or starve myself for a week rather than sausage myself into the modern-day equivalent of a full-body girdle just to look hot at some schmancy soirée.

Still, it may behoove me to at lease know where I stand, pound-wise. Keeping your weight low – and stable – is wildly important in the fight against a number of diseases, including heart ailments, Type 2 diabetes and certain cancers.

And then there’s the vanity aspect, bien sur.

I recently read this super fun interview with Tom Ford in which he said he weighs himself literally every day of his life. Of course he does; he’s an international sex symbol beloved by people of all stripes and sexes the world over. But Ford’s point was really more about the youthifying effects of staying slim as one moves inexorably further into middle age.

(I’m occasionally – but not everyday or anything – proud to say I’m a “49-er” just like Ford, Demi Moore and Tom Cruise. We’ll all have benchmark birthdays in 2012, and according to a chit-chat with new mom (!) Kelly Preston in this week’s People, “50 is the new 30!” Hurrah! I think I believe her! I’m trying to!)

The thing is, I’ve completely bought into that old Catherine Deneuve saw about “after a certain age, a woman has to choose between her fanny or her face.” Translation: We’re already losing volume in our mugs; the last thing we want to do is exacerbate that by being emaciated.

Anyway, I’ve decided to take the plunge and weigh myself for the first time in months. Back in a sec…

Alrighty, drumroll please: 106.5

Plugging that number – and my miniscule height – into this handy BMI calculator, I see that I’m at the low-ish end of “normal,” which ranges from 18.5 to 24.9.

I’d like to think that Tom Ford would be super psyched for me. Catherine Deneuve, maybe not so much. Whatevs, can’t please everyone. And healthy is all that really matters, anyway. So know your numbers, mamas!

Despite the fact that I managed to nip out for a little ice-skating on Sunday, I just slogged through a workend. Which means I didn’t get to rest and chillax one iota.

To add insult to injury, we canceled the Saturday nanny because of the snow, which resulted in waaaaay too much quality time with the Wee Lass.

I love her and all, but sheesh – enough is enough.

My point: it’s only Tuesday, but it totally already feels like Friday. This afternoon, circa 5-ish, I said to myself: “Momover Lady, WTH is wrong with you? Why are you so gosh-darn tired?”

And then I remembered my sinister workend, and it was all I could do not to crawl under my desk and pass out.

The funny (okay, it’s not even remotely funny – strike that) thing about 21st century wellness journalists is that we spend oodles of hours writing about stress – on ever more rigorous deadlines. Because there is so much news about stress being hurled at us on a daily basis, the pressure is on to convey it to the masses. Who really need that info, of course, because they’re totally stressed-out.

I know all the smart lifestyle-y things to do to alleviate this modern-day curse. And they are, in rough approximation of importance:

1. Sleep

2.  Exercise (hard enough to break a sweat; none of this reading the Wall Street Journal while barely moving your legs on a recumbent bicycle hooey)

3. Meditation or some other form of relaxation technique, like deep-breathing

4. Eating well – especially keeping a lid on sugar and starchy carbs, which rev up the stress machine, but I’m too brain-dead right now to even begin to explain it

And then there’s other miscellaneous bric-a-brac, like partaking in a hobby (knitting! knitting I completely love you!), or chit-chatting with a great friend who makes you LYAO.

Newsflash: Right now, I’m not gonna do any of that good stuff.

I just flossed the Wee Lass’s teeth (I do that every night for her, because I am Super Mommy), and I am now heading downstairs with a glass of red wine. In mere seconds, I will click on Sunday night’s episode of Downton Abbey. And I will not stress in the slightest about the fact that we’re already three episodes into this season and I’ve only recapped the first one.

I’m behind in a lot of stuff right now, and guess what? Everything will be just fine.

I’m from Tulsa, so I can ask it like this: Did any of y’all happen to catch Paula Deen on Doctor Oz a while back? The episode in which she revealed her deepest, darkest health secret, which was that she smokes like an effing chimney?

Not that she had diabetes, which she’s known about for three freaking years – and easily could have shared with the good doctor, and by extension, us. Nope, that little bombshell she saved for now, when the holidays are behind us and many mamas, myself included, are grappling with the remnants of all that pumpkin pie and fruit cake welded to our asses.

Anyway, back to that Doctor Oz ep. I’ve never really watched Paula Deen’s own show, so for me, this was my first real television encounter with her. And I have to admit I was a little charmed. (I’m not now, which we’ll get to in a minute.) She was working the Fun Southern Granny schtick to the max, and when she finally quasi-copped to the ciggy thing, she said, basically, “I really only hold ‘em Doctor Oz.”

“Well, how many do you ‘hold’ every day?” he asked.

“Oh, about 20,” she shot back, to guffaws from the audience, and much fluttering of her inch-long falsies.

I think it was 20 – but I wouldn’t testify to that in a court of law. I’m up early because I have a ton of “real” work to do, and I don’t have time to go and fact-check meticulously. This is more of a soap-boxy, riffy ranty blog post; if you’re demanding top-notch journalism right this second, please look elsewhere.

Anyway, the net-net of the Oz ep was that Deen wanted to stop smoking – her hubby had already done so – and Doctor O promised to help with that. Both of my three-pack-a-day parents died really early – and I struggle with not smoking myself, which I’ve blogged about - so I wish her luck with that. It’s insanely hard to stop smoking, some experts believe it’s even tougher than kicking heroin. Grrr…

Cut to yesterday, and I’m rushing around like a madwoman trying to get the Wee Lass ready for school, and myself ready for work in the Big Apple. Flicking on The Today Show, I see a teaser for Deen and her big sit-down with Al Roker about her recently-revealed diabetes. “Oooh, Momover Lady sooo wants to see that,” I said to myself, stripping for the shower, clicker in hand.

And I did see it, just enough to make me want to vomit up my flaxseed organic oatmeal.

If you guys didn’t see the segment, and would like to, here’s a link to it.

So here’s what put such a massive bee in my bonnet: Deen refuses to admit that her crazy-ass high-fat, high-cal cooking is the key, key, key reason she now has full-blown Type 2 diabetes. She essentially tried to pin it to genetics and age, and said she’s always practiced “moderation.” Bull–t, babe. Consider me no longer charmed by your Fun Southern Granny, Mile-Long Falsies routine.

Huge, huge props to Al, who basically called her on every last bit of her bull—t, including the fact that she’s now being heavily compensated by a diabetes-drug manufacturer. It was in his lovely Al way, but he was tough nonetheless.

Fun, gratuitous factoid about Al and Momover Lady: Back in the day, we both used to work out at the same private gym, and he was such a sweetheart, huffing and puffing away on that elliptical, and greeting everyone with a hearty howdy. Al knows the value of exercising and eating well. He’s had to learn it firsthand.

And also, huge props to Today Show contributor Dr. Roshini Raj, who also did her bit to burst Deen’s “moderation” bubble. Dr. Raj point-blank said that being overweight is “the most defined risk factor” for Type 2 diabetes.

So there you go, Paula Deen. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

I’ve known for a while that I need to work kale into my life. Either that or Swiss chard. Some type of healthy greens that are leaps and bounds beyond iceberg. (Kidding; I don’t do iceberg. But maybe I should. According to this raw foods website, its nutritional value is not to be scoffed at.)

Sooo….I bought a big ol’ mess o’ kale on our last trip to A & P Fresh. And then it sat there, in the crisper, taunting me. Should I cook it? But how? As a rookie cook, I need a clear calendar and a clear mind before I skate out there on the thin ice and merge fire with new ingredients. And since I’ve been working like a dog recently, cooking the kale wasn’t gonna happen anytime soon. Lame, I know. Who cares if I eff it up?

Anyway, I decided to pulverize it instead, with that never-been-used Braun Deluxe Juice Extractor I discovered in my cabinets when I hired the Kitchen Whisperer to help me clutter-bust a few months ago.

So that’s actually two Trys* in one: Using the Extractor for the first time, and kicking off a hopefully long love affair with kale.

*FYI, I’m starting a new feature on Momover.net called ‘The Try.” And it can be anything I think might roust me out of my cozy little comfort zone, be it a return to sewing or creating one of those geeky vision boards.

Back to the juice.

Of course I didn’t have the user manual for the Extractor. Why would I? It was beauty editor graft gifted to me ages ago. In fact, I don’t even know if Braun makes this particular model anymore. Still, I’ve owned other juicers over the years (er, decades), so I figured it couldn’t be that hard to fathom.

And indeed it wasn’t.

Luckily, and this never happens, there was a bag of green apples on the counter that were left-over from Hubby’s stint this week as a Helping Parent at the Wee Lass’s school. (Part of the job description for this once-a-year gig is providing a healthy snack for the totlets. Thus the green apples, which were paired with gluten-free cinnamon-flavored rice cakes. Remember when gluten was a non-issue? Along with nuts and dairy? Jesus, these poor kids can’t eat anything anymore.)

Riiiight….the juice. So I pulverized approximately five million green apples and several fistfuls of kale. I even tried to get some stems and stalks in there, but the Extractor seemed to get extremely pissed-off at that, so I backed off on the stems and stalks and focused solely on the fistfuls.

If I’d been really organized, I’d have had all the ingredients on hand for a more professional spin on green juice. Because it’s certainly a “thing” right now. And quite soon, I intend to whip up Kim Snyder’s famous Glowing Green Smoothie.

But I have to say that even though I’m no Kim Snyder, my little makeshift Kale + Green Apple Concoction was really yummy. Kind of a lot of work – all that green sludge to clean off the Extractor, post-juice – but healthy and tasty and absolutely a successful Try. Yay!

I don’t know about you, but my Friday the 13th was way more fun than freaky.

First I jumped rope (2003 jumps, yay!) while watching The Today Show, then I zipped into Gotham for a yummy, chatty lunch with my hyper-groomed friend Jenny, the one I’m always writing about, the one who could win Olympic gold for pulled-togetherness.

Après roasted Brussels sprouts, and as soon as l’addition was settled, I hightailed it back to the wilds of Joisy. But first I had to stop at the magazine store because I accidentally left my new Vanity Fair at the resty and felt the need to replace it instantaneously.

Crazy, right? I could have just as easily turned around and gone back to Blue Water Grill for my precious February VF, thus saving myself $5 or whatever. But I’m like a shark; I move forward or die. Plus, I also wanted to nab the new issues of Oprah, Harper’s Bazaar and Town & Country. Magazine-junkie, thy name is Momover Lady.

Happily, I made it back to Casa Moi just in time to scamper up to our family room and click on Dr. Oz. I had already gotten the heads-up that my Mama Guru and go-to holistic mentor Susan Blum would be making her first appearance, and I didn’t want to miss a second of it.

It was such a great show. She was one of four “disease detectives” Dr. Oz feels are really upsetting the traditional medicine applecart in completely positive way. Specifically, she discussed the underlying causes of fatigue, and how she and her crack team treat the root causes in addition to the symptoms. (If you missed it, you can read Dr. Blum’s article about fatigue and functional medicine on the Dr. Oz website right here.)

Afterward, Dr. Blum also appeared on Fox 5 News. So of course I watched that too.

I took notes on both of these fatigue-centric telly segments – please, we all know what a wellness geek I am – and here are my 4 key learnings:

1. If you have thyroid issues, as I do, get your T3 level checked. Apparently, many traditional docs just hone in on the more-standard thyroid-function markers, namely TSH and T4. Dr. Blum calls T3 the “gas” hormone, aka the one that revs us up. So know your number.

2. Yes, vitamins are important. But if you’re tired all the time, minerals are even more crucial. Dr. Blum’s big three are zinc, selenium and iodine. Previously, I’ve blogged about Dr. Blum’s easy ways to get iodine into your diet. Please read that before gulping down a handful of iodine pills.

3. Food is medicine. We hear this so much lately – and I have to say I think Dr. Oz is doing this country a huge public service with all his chatter about about eating well – but do we really know it? According to Dr. Blum, not only do we need to determine our own unique nutritional deficiencies, we all need to steer of certain items that are universally horrible. Enemy Numero Uno? Sugar.

4. When it comes to de-stressing, knitting is great. I turned a massive cartwheel when I heard Dr. Blum say that on Fox 5 News. J’adore knitting, even though I’ve only recently re-discovered it and am firmly stuck in scarf-mode. Essentially what Dr. Blum was saying is that stress-relief is incredibly important to our health. Meditation is a great method for that, obvi, which is why her Blum Center for Health offers lots of how-to classes. (I took one and loved it.) But don’t discount other de-stressers and mood-improvers, be it “knitting, painting or going for a walk in the park.” Loved that. Loooooved that.

You’d never know it from my zippy and in-depth blogging, but I’ve been under considerable stressure of late. I’m in the city three days a week working on a doozy of a project (lots to do, and a microscopic amount of time in which to do it), and on the other two days, I’m ping-ponging between other assignments and a smidge of life-maintenance and mommying.

(For you Word Cops out there: I know it’s supposed to be “smidgen” rather than smidge. But smidgen reminds me of pigeon, perhaps my least favorite bird…)

Miraculously, given all that’s going on, my sleep has been fairly decent. I pretty much konk out by 10, and don’t wake up until about 6 or 7.

But there was one day this week, I think it was Tuesday, when my eyes popped open before 5 and I just went with it. I got up and stayed up. I didn’t need to get the Wee Lass to school until 8:30, nor leave for Gotham before 9, but there I was, starting my day at least two hours before I really needed to.

This is, obvi, far from ideal.

Thus I’ve decided to pretend my bed is a giant iPad docking station.

You know how you plug your Pad into its power source and it flashes that cute little green battery with text reading “52% Charged” or “63% Charged”? Well, I want to be 100% Charged when I start my “official” work day. None of this 49% Charged bullshit, which is inevitably the way I feel when I get up at ungodly hours.

Last night circa 3:45, Thunder and Lightning were knocking the stuffing out of each other, hissing and clawing, as cats are sometimes wont to do. And of course it woke me up, because they were engaged in this loathsome activity at the foot of my bed.

I lay there, awake, for more than an hour. Which brought me to roughly 5 a.m., contemplating: Do I just get up now? Or do I force myself to at least rest here in my cozy docking station, recharging?

I chose Plan B, and lo and behold, I fell back asleep. And lemme tell ya, 100% Charged feels pretty freaking great.

On paper, it would seem like I’d be a perfect candidate for yoga addiction. I’m super-crunchy, love meditation and I totally buy into the notion that poses “massage” certain parts of our bod and get the lymph fluid moving.

The problem: I just don’t like to actually do it. When it’s too easy, I feel like I’m not getting enough of a workout. And when it’s too hard, it hurts like a mother-effer.

Last year, when Hubby and I were embroiled in P90X, we both detested “yoga day” in the workout rotation. There’s nothing breezy about P90X, but that 90 minutes of Yoga X is a killer. And we weren’t alone in our disgruntlement; there is much chatter on the World Wide Interweb about the difficulty – and ouch factor – of that routine.

Yes, I know there is a happy medium, some blissed-out middle ground between a wussy, wimpy faux-ga class (ooh! I just coined another new word! “faux-ga”!) and Yoga X.

But I probably won’t be seeking it out. And in the back of my mind, I’ll also now be recalling snippets of a rather damning story in today’s New York Times Magazine. Entitled “How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body,” it’s excerpted from a new book, and delves into how competitive the practice has become. And how today, no one wants to be caught dead executing simple poses.

Rather, they want to twist themselves like a pretzel, à la the joint-popping possessed chick in that creepy new exorcism movie that’s blowing up the box office this weekend.

In all honesty, I haven’t finished reading the rawther lengthy article yet. I’ve been on serious laundry detail today – seven loads and counting! – and I also had to design the festive invitations for the Wee Lass’s birthday party, which is once again nipping at our heels.

But I’m sure the author will wrap it up with a lovely bow, and tell us how great yoga is for our mind, body and spirit, and how we should totally keep doing it as long as we’re careful not to morph into contortionists just to get that elusive nod of approval from our yoga teacher. Or, better yet, envious glares from our mat-mates.

Or maybe he won’t. Maybe we’ve entered a new era of yoga-bashing, with this William J. Broad dude leading the charge. I won’t know until I finish reading. And that’s after I finish Load 8 of laundry.

I’m such a sucker for a sales pitch.

Last weekend, as we were combing the aisles of the local A&P Fresh for provisions (sadly, there’s no Whole Foods by us), I happened upon the tea section of the bevvie aisle.

And there, beaming out at me, was an adorable Indian elephant on the box of Celestial Seasonings Antioxidant Green Tea. “With White Tea for Smooth Taste,” it trumpeted. I was intrigued.

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve read or heard that green tea is the secret to living to 150 and beyond, I’d be heiress-rich.

So that alone should be reason to drink it on a regular basis, yes?

Um, no. Because I detest the taste. Okay, maybe detest is a little strong. But I most certainly don’t like it. So bitter. Of course I could probably add raw sugar or honey or somesuch, but you don’t really do that with green tea, right?

Anyway, over my loooong career as a wellness journalist, I’ve let probably 10 boxes of the stuff expire in my kitchen cupboard because I diligently buy it and then proceed to never drink it.

Thus, obvi, it was with great trepidation that I chucked that box with the cute little bejeweled pachyderm into our shopping cart.

But I’ll be damned if it doesn’t indeed have a “smooth taste.” I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it’s lovely, in the way, say, that chamomile or peppermint are. But it’s at least drinkable.

Oh happiness. Now I can sip all those antioxidants and vitamins A & C. And I just read on Web MD that green tea may help lower cholesterol and fend off diabetes and other modern health scourges. So I’m psyched to find one I actually don’t mind sipping. Bottoms up, my lovelies – and a hearty TGIF.

It’s becoming a dastardly annual ritual: A raging head cold to ring in the New Year. (Oh, and a happy happy one to you, btw. I just know 2012 is going to be amazing for all us Momoverettes.)

After partying with our upstairs neighbors on Saturday night, then scampering down to our pad to flip on the telly and watch the ball drop in Times Square, we lay low yesterday – me hacking and wheezing and working my way through a box of Kleenex until I just couldn’t take it anymore and downed a shot of fluorescent orange DayQuil.

I’m all about the Quils when I get a cold. DayQuil to get through work and chores, Nyquil to sleep – albeit in a weird, druggy haze filled with bizarre-o dreams about flying saucers and whatnot. I don’t think there’s a whole hell of a lot you can do about a cold once it arrives, so you might as well deep-six the symptoms with chemicals.

Also unspeakably helpful in making you feel 1000 percent better: C.O. Bigelow Cold and Flu Soak Herbal Formula No. 122

As I was toweling the Wee Lass off after her shower last night, she said, “Mommy, why don’t you take a bath in my tub? I can help you.”

She and I have this little ritual, involving a bin of bath soaks and salts stashed in my Beauty Armoire, which resides in the landing / playspace area by her room. She loves to play mixologist, dumping a dash of this or a pinch of that in the hot water as it’s swirling. But her most favorite part is sitting on the side of the tub and dipping her toes in the bubbly H20 and chatting with her mama.

At first I wasn’t especially keen on the idea of a hot bath – I wanted to hit the hay and watch an ep of my latest obsession, Upstairs Downstairs - but when I spotted the Bigelow, I reconsidered. And within seconds, we were pouring that in the tub, along with Dr. Teal’s Peppermint Foot Soak and Kneipp Classic Herbal Bath Eucalyptus. Oh, and for good measure, a splash of Dr. Hauschka Sage Bath.

Perhaps it was the special alchemy of all that additional natural sinus relief – the peppermint, the eucalyptus, the sage – mixed in with the Bigelow that did the trick. Or maybe it was mostly the Bigelow itself.

All I know is that my on-the-fly sicko spa bath utterly worked. I felt relaxed and decidedly un-stuffy as I watched the butlers, maids, cooks and footmen whip the fictional 165 Eaton Place in Belgravia, London into gleaming order. A round of applause, please, for almost-six year old girls and their brilliant suggestions.