Sassafrass

In my head, the punchline's always dirty: No longer wrapped in it's own buns

Every time I look at this picture, I laugh. Why? Because I am a 15-year old boy trapped in the body of a curvalicious, highly sophisticated 37ish lady? Maybe. But mostly because this bad boy was parked outside of a hotel housing 473,000 blogging women and 14 men wearing shirts that said stuff like "Show Me Your Tweets" (no joke) and attending a session referring to them as "vaginally-challenged" (also no joke).

I also laugh because I cannot for the life of me figure out why the wiener is nakey these days. Didn't used to be lovingly and safely encased in gushy white buns? Or was it always speeding around on a skateboard toward...ohhh, I don't know...a willing and ravenous griller?

Just asking. Please resume whatever hot dogging you've been heretofore doing on your...umm...own.

Yeah, I'm done now. Thanks.

Now if only we could all meet up for (more) lattes and gimlets

Are you tired of reading about my gallavanting about during BlogHer? Too bad, there's more. But I cross my heart that I'll keep it simple. I just could not let another post go by without offering up a word about some of the amazing women I saw last weekend. And when I say "a word", I really mean a word.

This time. Normally, I'd promise that but then go on and on until your drink was dry and the reasons to excuse yourself from the conversation were Rollodexing through your mind. Just this once, I mean it.

If you are not already reading these women's writing, please do. They are hilarious, clever, insightful, amazing. I loved seeing them in person and have delighted in getting to know their blogs for the first time or all over again. You must meet them, through words. Or if you are lucky like me, in person.

Chris from Notes in the Trenches - Gigglesister

Veep Veep - Tweetalarity

Mike Adamick - Cussbrilliant

Marcie from Grown In My Heart - Mustanglusty

Sahar from Fat Fighter TV - Inspirationlovely

Kristen from a bezillion blogs - OMGcrazyfun

Crazed Parent - Soulspeaker

Grace D (she gets two words, don't argue) - Forgiving, forgiven.

Did you get all that? Not to worry. You will when you read.

When you figure out which of these bloggers is pictured above, shout it out. She wore the wig so she deserves the love.

The Ford event redux: I wore flats for this, friends. Please pay attention.

A week ago, I asked you to tell me what you want in a car. I promised that I would pass your comments along when I met with the people from Ford and toured the plant. You came through and darlings, I kept my promise,  with your smart and savvy suggestions. I was so pleased that the many representatives from the company paid rapt attention at the What Women Want event. They wrote your stuff down, lovelies. On dry erase boards and big pads of paper. It was serious stuff.

Quite honestly, I went to this event both excited and skeptical. I was thrilled to spend the day with a group of amazing women bloggers -- some of whom I know well, some of whom I met that day but have admired for ages, and some of whom I was introduced to for the very first time. I was happy to see a car plant -- so far out of my realm and speaking to a geeky, techie part of me that I don't often reveal. I was also interested to hear what Ford is up to and, frankly, why as a woman I should care.

Then there was the skepticism. I am willing to listen but I am also a label-reader, a researcher, a person who was raised by her father to never opt for the bullshit unnecessary warranty. I went in to the event with that attitude -- open and also analytical.

Apparently, someone was reading my blog while I was gone

Because this was waiting for me in my mailbox when I got back from BlogHer. To the publisher or nice PR lady who sent these to me, I hear you, sister.

                                         

Just one sister trying to save our soles

Do you remember the advice I doled out so confidently about how to make sure your tootsies survive BlogHer? Not only did I give it out, I actually followed it (this time).

To prove it, I've posted the here. The proof, which was burny and blistery and properly and immediately bandaged by the 400 Band-Aids in my bag, and then cushioned by the sweet relief of flip-flops-in-waiting, came from a delightful night spent blissfully wearing whore shoes to party after party packed in the hotel.

Sure, some of you giggled at my feet swathed in plastic strips, but the pain in my soles subsided long before the pain in my temples (damn hotel conference room air).

How about you, BlogHerz? How are your feet feeling a few days later? And for those of you walking around in sassy shoes in your life, what are your best sole-saving tips? Share, share!

How do you want to roll?

Before the sessions and the swag and the swilling of cocktails at BlogHer begins, I will be spending some time talking about something I haven't really talked that much about -- cars.

I've opted to set aside the shoe obsession for a day to meet with other bloggers and the people at Ford to discuss what women want in a car. In the past, I've really only had these conversations with The Ex and with my dad, and most of that time was spent hunched over a Consumer Reports or Kelly Blue Book. Now that I am a single mom, my needs have changed and those needs are the sole focus of the conversation. Thankfully, even with my dad as a guide when I do make my next big car purchase, I never have to consider again how many golf bags the trunk will hold.

When I sit down at the discussion tomorrow, I will happily put my single mama needs on the table. And I freely admit that since is the first time in my life I am only focusing on my own needs, I peeked (and swiped) what I heard some other mamas saying (thanks, ladies...I'm still learning).

I want a car that easily accommodates a car seat, preferably with ample room on each side for other back-seat passengers.

I want a car that gets great gas mileage and I would love it to be a hybrid.

I want a car with enough ports to plug in my iPod, charge my laptop and juice up my phone.

I want a car with a place to stash my bag.

I want a car with a dash and windshield that does not create horrible blind spots for shorter (ahem) drivers.

I want a car that looks sporty and comes in fun colors and that I feel really reflects me.

I want a car that has top-notch reliability and doesn't cost a fortune to repair or replace with one tiny, hard-to-find part.

I want a car that has airbags that will pad every part of each passenger's body with any kind of serious impact.

Above all, I want my car to be safe.

Now, it is your turn. What do you want in a car, wimmins?

Ford wants to know and tomorrow, I'd love to tell them what you're thinking.

7 ways to make sure your feet survive BlogHer (or any other big event). Especially if you insist upon wearing sassy shoes

You are all on your way to BlogHer, if you are not already here. My own BlogHer began last night, sitting around a table with some of the women who inspire me, support me, and make me laugh, think, and tear up the most. These are my friends. Seeing them was like finding my way back to the circle with my tribe.

One of them, the illustrious and lovely CityMama, challenged me to do a post of shoe recommendations for BlogHer. That was weeks ago. It has yet to be written. But I will tell you that I was shocked to see that the Crocs sandals she swore up and down to me really were cute but that I skeptically had to see in person actually (God love you, honey) really were cute. They are red and strappy and very sassy. She also swears they are comfortable, but only two days tromping through a giant hotel and around the city to an endless string of parties will reveal that (usually counted in number of gummy blister bandages).

Since your shoes are already on your feet, packed tight in your bag or lost at O'Hare somewhere, I will offer you these  7 tips for gracefully sashaying through the BlogHer weekend. Remember, kittens, hangovers subside but callouses are forever.

Do break in your shoes. I know you don't want to hear this and I know you will probably ignore me. But do know that even one night of clomping around your hotel room can help break in your shoes. Even more importantly, it is enough time to develop some red flags streaked across your toes and heels that will tell you exactly where to strategically place Band-Aids when you put them on to actually leave the room.

Don't worry if someone stops by for a libation or some pre-conf goss. If they've been to BlogHer before it won't even faze them why you are wearing clicky shoes with your yoga pants and last year's swag t-shirt.

Do fill your toiletry bag with Band-Aids and blister bandages. And not the generic kind that are way cheaper. Trust me. You will regret it. Instead, opt for the good kind. Band-Aids that are plastic-y (not the fibery ones or clear ones) that match no one's skin color stay put the best. When you are choosing blister gear, get the bandages that are gummy and protect existing boo-boos as well as prevent rubbing. You feet's pain and misery is well worth the eight or ten bucks you throw down for them, trust me.

Do buy a package of cushy inserts to take with you. I wear heels a lot, so I have a stock of these at the ready in my shoe organizer. If you don't pick up a package of three when you are buying Band-Aids. I recommend the pre-shaped ones you don't have to cut (recognizable as the cheap kinds, once again) that have adhesive tape to easily fit (and stay) in your shoes. If you do not use them, do stash them in your bag. If the balls of your feet start burning or your shoes unexpectedly start slipping off your heels mid-day, you will thank the goddesses of all things shoe whoreish that you have inserts handy.

Do carry a pair of flip-flops in your bag. I will not do the sensible thing and wear flats or tennies, so I will be sure I have relief in the form of flip-flops with me at all times.

Do wear wedges if you must wear heels. Wedges have a wider area to distribute the stress placed on the foot from being cranked up in high heels (as opposed to two tiny pressure points of the center of the heel and the ball of the foot). I find that I can wear wedges comfortably for hours beyond the adorable jobbies that look fabulous but are not meant for standing more than ten minutes. I bought a cute pair of satin and cork wedge sandals that I am hoping look and work just as fine with my jeans as with my party dresses.

Don't have any shame about skipping out on a session or meet-up to go up to your room and soak your feet in the tub. Fill the tub with just enough warm water,and bubbles or gel soap, and relax for ten or fifteen while you and your tootsies take a much-needed break. Consider it self-care from the very bottom up. Don't fret about what you are missing since you will re-emerge refreshed, re-energized and ready to stomp it out.

4 favorite Chicago places you absolutely must visit during BlogHer

Am I the only one getting a little anxious over all there is to do BlogHer weekend? How in the world are we ever supposed to pay attention to the conference schedule? Especially when there are so many fabulous places in Chicago to eat, toast each other, and devise wicked plans with our favorite lady-friends to take over the interwebs?

Since BlogHer is back in my city (thank you, very much), allow me to be of service to you in your time of scheduling mayhem and big city panic. Here are 4 places I personally think you must go to, if not frequent, while you are in town.

Mind you, these are not just good places. These are some of my very favorite spots in the city. And kittens, you know I would not steer you in the wrong direction in my very own town. Gather your grrrls and put these four places on your itinerary. Now. Seriously. I insist.

1. Violet Hour - This speakeasy-inspired lounge, I've been told, is the perfect place to take your mistress. Perhaps that is because of the high-backed chairs snuggled into dimly-lit pairs. Or perhaps because the louder bar area and the hallway where you will inevitably wait impatiently are partitioned off my smoky-colored velvet curtains. Whomever you choose to accompany you to this, one of my very favorite spots in the city, choose someone who will enjoy the Wicker Park people watching while you stand in line, will ooh and ahh over the gorgeous design and stunning marble bar and will sip one too many ginger syrup and rosehips cocktails with you once you get inside.

2. Anthropologie - If you have only ordered from the catalog or don't have one in your city and you want to shop Chicago style, skip the Magnificent Mile and hop a cap to Anthropologie (there is one on State Street and one on Southport in the Lakeview neighborhood). Trust me, you want to be inside this store. Flipping the pages of the catalog will be mere foreplay for you once you've been to one. The clothes are divine and the sale room is a corner of heaven. Whether you need a sassy little skirt, a pair of good ass jeans, a swingy evening cardigan or a shabby chic something or other to place on your desk when you get home, you will not regret investing in an Anthropolgie souvenir for yourself.

3. Moon Palace in Chinatown - Shhh, don't tell anyone but...one time I was eating with my parents at this family favorite restaurant and we saw Alpana Singh, the glowingly gorgeous, clever host (who has a killer blog) of Chicago's prideful "Check, Please!" show on PBS. When my mother said she has always wanted to write in to nominate Moon Palace to be highlighted on "Check, Please!", Alpana begged her not to. She said it would get too busy and she would be so upset if she couldn't get a table there (now don't the four of you go nominating Moon Palace and making me look bad in front of Alpana after I pinky swore her I'd keep silent). Normally, that would be enough said for a Chicagoan, but I must tell you to be sure to order the sesame chicken and Szchuan green beans. After dinner, wander in and out of the shops and be sure to get a giant bag of fortune cookies to take back to the hotel for after- afterparty noshing.

4. Isabella Lingerie - Of course, of course. You have plenty of Targets bra shops where you live. As much as I am sure you think the 20-jobbers you've been wearing thin are doing a fine job for you, you need to visit the Boobologist. And the Boobologist (or one of her many wonderful staffers) is only at Isabella Lingerie. Trust me and my grrrls (Danielle and Jeanne), this woman will do wonders for your girls. You will spend a lot of money. And when you see your boobs in BlogHer pics all over the the damn place, honey, you will know it was worth every penny.  Take a cab to Isabella in the Lincoln Park neighborhood, where there is very little parking and too many ex-sorors and guys jacked up on Armani cologne and their own biceps who live there to stay way too long. When everything's hoisted, head down the street to Lori's Shoes and try on some fabulous footwear. Also expensive, also hoisting, also fucking fabulous.

Liveblogging the Gabby Awards: Moving on to the after-party

I'll be honest, no swag bag in the world is going to convince me to see My Life In Ruins. But Nia Vardalos, in her swingy mint dress ans with her quippy presenter comments, was engaging and funny and reminded me of many of my own grrrls. But there' s no time to ponder cinema. We're already on to the after-party with dinner (at last) and drinks (ahhh) and lots of people-watching. Bloghers, you will be ecstatic to know the after-events are at the same hotel we will be oggling each other geekside in just over a month. This event, though, has been styled like an HGTV wedding that makes you want to go through your own ceremony all over again. The chandeliers have been draped in transluscent gold hoops and there are flute vases of palms framing each table. Insignia-ed lamps outline a VIP area where white couches and fuschia centerpieces create a sexy lounge on the dance floor. Considering most everyone is a Greek American, it is an incredibly diverse crowd. Don't you love that? So Chicago... I'm having a blast and have (almost) forgotten not to breathe on everyone around me. P.S. One more lovely note...my gentleman friend's video caused both tears and cheers and so, in the loveliest thank you, they played it again at the end of the awards show.

One more little thing mama loves

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me if women really use hairspray anymore. I gulped, "Ummm, yeah. I guess."

But really, it wasn't a guess. She lives in Manhattan, where women have their own full-of-effort, effortless-looking style. Here in the Midwest, most of us aren't afraid to show off the hours we put in and that means there's plenty of ozone depletion still happening from our hair up.

I'm one of those hair sprayers. I don't use a lot and I certainly am not calling forth any coifs from the late 80s, but I do spritz up some volume at the crown and smooth down a little curl at the jawline. While I'm not as worried about my hair product as my cosmetics, I still wondered if maybe I needed an update.

Then, because the universe works in the most delightful ways, I opened up a bag full of samples I got earlier this year and tossed into a drawer in my bathroom. Among the rosemary soaps and vials of body splash was a packet of Frederic Fekkai Glossing Cream.

I've used it for three days (judiciously since it's a small packet and I'm parceling it out like a four-year old who has been forced to share M&Ms) and it's a little bit of heaven in my hair. It really does shine up all those "crazy colors" (as Lil E calls my highlights) while also smoothing the frizzies and coaxing the waves into the style I am intending to come out of my haphazard blow-drying.

And so, because I am a sucker for marketing (apparently even in adorably small sample sizes) and implications that hairspray is so passe and for hair that looks slightly more like it does when I emerge from the salon than normal, I am hooked.

A word of warning, this stuff is spendy. But if it makes you feel better than its equivalent of thirty bottles of Suave gel spritzer or even five tubs of some kind of organic pomade, then it's worth it, right?

Now that I'm not talking to my hairspray, I have room in my life and bathroom cabinets for more tubes and tubs and pots and pumps full of goodness that really does the trick. What product are you investing in that you think other sassy mamas must use?



If you're doing a little economic stimulation of your own, here are three more things I love (and I'm not ashamed to say, won my heart one itty bitty sample at a time).

Apparently, I suck at giving things away. But simultaneously rocck at raking in shit.

So no one wants to play along with my little Guess The Blogger By Her Shoes game. No worries. No, no...really, no worries. It's all good. I'm fine with all these random pictures of lady feet I have stored on my laptop that not single person wants to mentally fondle (oh Lord, did I type that?).  I will just let you keep on pondering what you should have been mentally fondling (oh dear, did it again).

So Jennifer will get Notting Hill and Project Everlasting and we'll call it a day. Happy reading, Jen!

The good thing is, I happen to be quite lucky at the winnings part of playing games. After stopping by the Alpha Mom suite for a little Sunday morning brunch and rehash over BlogHer weekend (yes, still a topic of discussion, bear with me here for one more post), I got this fun package in the mail.

I won this fun set of CDs as a part of their five senses give-aways at the suaree. Isabel from Alpha Mom sent it over tout de suite, all wrapped up in the most adorable hot pink, customized ribbon. Thanks to Alpha Mom, I've been cranking Yael Naim and Jason Mrrrrrowl-az all week. Thanks, mamas!

This is not a shoe blog: Guess the blogger by her shoes (part 2)

Congratulations, Jennifer! You win a copy of Project Everlasting and dominion over the easiest contest with the most obvious clues and best odds of all time. No, really, it is an accomplishment. Seriously, you rock. You got the answer right and you won the drawing.

If you haven't already, check out Jennifer's blog, My Beautiful Baby, where she writes honestly about her own divorce and funny anecdotes about said beautiful baby. That hair, those eyes. Sigh. 

Today's isn't going to be so easy. That is, mama's getting stricter with the clues. Or rather, no blatant clues from the sucker lady operating Sassafrass from behind the big pink velvet curtain. The prize is another sweet summer read, Notting Hell by Rachel Johnson.

I had a fabulous time doing the honors of being the author's very first blogger interview and then meeting her a few days later. The book is an easy read that's perfect for the beach or while the kids tear up the lawn while you pray a small bit of tan seeps through your SPF 75.

Now on to the shoes:

We ate ice cream for dinner

Until now, I have chosen not to write about the nine days Lil E and I were apart during his vacation with his dad that was a part of the parenting agreement we signed several weeks ago. I made that choice because that separation was tough for me and because it went much more smoothly than I anticipated.

I kept myself busy at BlogHer and with my best friend and in trying desperately to catch up on sleep I've been losing for months now. I never did rest up, but I never do sleep well when Lil E is away, whether tucked in the suburbs in the toddler bed nestled up to his dad's bed in a new apartment or thousands of miles away in the Pacific Northwest. We spoke every day that we were apart, sometimes filling the phone line with long stories about how he went to the coast and questions about when I would come visit him on vacation. Other nights, he was too tired or weary or distracted and we rushed through our nightly prayer thanking God for Lightning McQueen and ice cream and Fireman Sam and all the people who love us and all the people we love.

When he came back, I braced myself.

This is not a shoe blog: Guess the blogger by her shoes (yup, it's a contest)

Welcome to a fantastic new game that will have you on the edge of your seat, biting those BlogHerfied black nails that are sassy and slightly-more-than-slightly-chipped sassy , thrilled to keep the BlogHer buzz going! One! More! Freaking! Day!

How long can we make the excitement last?! As long as it takes, mamas. As long as it takes.

If you weren't at BlogHer, not to worry. If you aren't a blogger,it's all good. You too can Guess The Blogger By Her Shoes (not the shoes above, darlings, those are all mine...well, all the ones I took to BlogHer anyway).

If you are a blogger reader (love you) then you already know inane details -- like the size of our newly-oomphed bras and ta-tas , the remains of our Catholic (and not-so-Catholic) guilt and where we got our fancy dress-up stuff for super cheap.  Surely, you can piece that all together and guess our shoes, right?

It's easy. Look. Guess. Comment. Easy peasy.

Here's where I make it even easier on you lazy ladies loyal readers and college students doing online research on the topic of "Mommy Bloggers in the New Millennium": You don't even have to guess correctly to win.

(All the juicy details after the jump)

Why must the font gods hate me?

Is it because I've been arguing with my mother? Or possibly, because I've been averaging four hours of sleep a night and a diet of hummus and coffee? Is it payback for walking out of that session on interface something or otherings at BlogHer because I really, really wanted a free latte and one of those Leapfrog aluminum water bottles?

I'm pretty sure it isn't my fault and that all the tinkering around in the HTML swamp has made it much better than it was at 2 a.m. this morning. Please just know I haven't dived off the deep end into the much of bold-italic-GIANT FONT purposely.

I was either pushed by some techy 12-year old who desperately wants to redesign my banner or just lost my balance reaching for a gigantor sandwich and the snooze button. Regardless, hang in there with me through my little hell-vetica and soon we will make things all shiny and pretty around here again.

UPDATE: It seems that overnight, most of the font issues have mended themselves.After being up five times in the night with a wet and jet-lagged boy, now I just think the frustrated font gods are feeling sorry for me. I'm so wiped out but at least the bold is gone.

Apparently, the rule is that you don't have to blog at all when you are at BlogHer?

If that is the rule, then sweet. I am still an ardent A-student.

But if being at BlogHer, with the cocktails and the colleagues and the running into people about whom you know way too many details but cannot remember their name to save your soul....oh! and the sessions, means blogging it all zealously and with the speed of a thousand mojito and swag hangover cures, then damn. I am over, baby. Oh so ovah.

Instead of boring you all with the play-by-play, here are a few photos that capture it best.

Maybe best is pushing it. These few photos that I did take (hey, it is hard to hold a cup of coffee, a Bloody Mary, a BlackBerry and a camera all at once) just capture.

Regardless of what your very polite mama may have taught you about demurely ordering one last white zin spritzer at last call and then leaving long before the servers stare you down until you are telepathically forced from your seats and out the door, this is how my bloginas respond to that last call hooey. And just so you know, if you happen to meet Bad Kitty for the first time in person forty-seven seconds before the lady in the polyester tux disapprovingly tells you, "Umm, LAST. CALL. honey," and Bad Kitty says, "Order two and run to that table in the corner," just do as Bad Kitty says. You might spill a smidge but it will all be for the best in the end. (More pics after the jump and stealthily hidden from my mother's glance at the page).

He wasn't the only one who was zonked

It was a weekend to wind down.

More precisely, it was a weekend to play in the lake for six hours (the boy), soak up the sun (the mama), eat plenty of confetti-iced angel food cake (the both) and then nap it all off.

He didn't move for two hours.

And this morning just a few minutes pre-swim, he took this one of me. I like think it evokes a certain je suis Jackie O. You don't have to tell me to work it, grrrl twice, even if it is just to shovel roads in the sand, shoo away giant blue dragonflies and ride on the pontoon boat for a few laps around the lake.

Maybe all that attitude came from laptop detox. Or maybe it was all the chips and Diet Coke I consumed all weekend. Maybe it was me gearing up for another court date on Monday. It was possibly the $40 in shipping I just dropped to ship my business cards for BlogHer (holla) that I procrastinated into...well, $40 rush shipping to order. Or perhaps it was me jonesing to hear this song (I'm not kidding, it is as under my skin as my sunburn).  Awww hell, let's be honest. All that attitude was just the result of a good dose of family, a great deal of sun and the intense desire to crawl back into bed.

It was all good, though. All much better than I even thought it would be or even realized I needed.

By the power of the momosphere, we have the powwwwwwer!

Or so it says today in the Daily Herald. This peek inside the power of mommybloggers ranges from political to personal to product placement in our posts and in the marketplace. Lil E and I were thrilled to be a part of this article and we are in great company. See what my amazing sword-yielding CMB colleagues -- Sara, Alma, Devra, Wendy and Amy  -- and the ever-articulate Elisa Camahort from BlogHer have to say.

If you want to read it the real way, simply yell into the castle. My mom is hording every print copy inside city limits at this point.

I heart Jillian Michaels

I'm in love with Jillian Michaels.

Sure, I've got a super-sessy personal trainer who fathered my child, trained me for several big events (including growing and carrying a human being in my belly) and who looks just as bad ass coming through a finish line as he does asleep on the couch with one hand on the remote and the other on the umm...clicker. All those years of commitment and life evolution aside, I'm seriously thinking about running away with Jillian.

That is, if I could keep up. If you've ever seen an episode of The Biggest Loser where Jillian sprints up a hill or karate chops a whiny contestant, you will have an idea of how cut-up her body is and how intense her focus is when it comes to getting fit. In person, all that is magnified.

Jillian led a lunch hosted by AOL Body Life Lab at BlogHer last weekend and I was thrilled to sit down and absorb a little of her intensity. Then my producer at That's Fit, an AOL/Weblogs Inc. blog I write for, suggested that I see if Jillian would be willing to sit down with me one-on-one. The connections came through, the interview fell in place for a celebrity fitness feature we've just launched on the site.

My friend  Kelly Leotard came along and although she is my biggest competition for Jillian's affection (what can I say? Kel's a tattooed muscle grrrl and I'm more lipsticky cuddles), she's brilliantly summed up our way-over-time, teary, giggly, self-help, inspirational, gawking, you'll-have-to-pry-us-away-you-betches session up here.

I'll let you know when my interview with Jillian goes up on That's Fit, but for now, let me share a bit of the wisdom that I've inundated Bruce with in the days that have followed meeting my grrrl:

There's hope for even the biggest haters. Jillian calls herself a "begrudging fitness guru" because she grew up a chubbers kid and hated working out. She found a physical and emotional outlet in martial arts and credits that with keeping her away from smoking and other teenage evils/delights that (ahem) I absolutely know nothing about.

She confided that "there's nothing more boring than training celebrities." She also told me that she abhors running (holla!) and that she's not giddy with exercise love each time she steps in the gym. Instead, she does it for the way she feels when she's done (I totally agree that is the sweet spot).

In some strange way, doesn't it feel good to know that a fitness guru is hating her way through arms day or spin class? It helps me.

She also was pretty straightforward about the process being ongoing. Friends, that means that this road to wellness never ends.And if we'd all put down the cabbage diet pamphlet for a second, I think we'd all have to agree.

Why is the never-ending exercise and eating right worth it? Jillian says that's just the one and only equation to living heathfully. On top of that, she unabashedly embraces the vanity of loving and wanting a kickass body.

It's OK to testify, sister. She said something I think is radical -- that it is OK to just want to be skinny. I don't think she was referring in any way to the unhealthy extremes but rather, putting words to a lot of feelings a lot of women have had.

I'll raise my hand here and say that I've given lip service to toning up or making sure the engine's purring along when I've joined a class or gotten into a walking routine. But deep in my heart and wobbly bits, I know that I'm also sweating and panting because I want a flatter tummy. Of course, I do not think you have to have a flat tummy to be fabulous or gorgeous and it is certainly not a priority or right for every woman. But is it wrong to want that?

Jillian called it out, I think, when she said that she thinks it is fine to just say, "Look, I don't want to be fat."  And she also said that if you are bigger and healthy and OK with that, then more power to you.

First part Personal, second part Trainer.  She doled out a ton of fitness and nutritional advice, but Jillian Michaels' calling is much bigger than that. As a self-described beneficiary of a lot of therapy, she's personally and professionally invested in helping people make changes for the good in their lives.

She looked at each of us when she said that when people take action in their lives, like taking a walk or going to the gym, they are telling themselves and everyone around them they they are worth it.

"Saying 'I can't'," she said, "is where the craziness comes from. You are strong, you are powerful, and yes, you are capable. Whenever you put that energy into the universe, it will all fall in place."

Can I hear an Amen!? Even Oprah would have beamed at the goodness Jillian threw out to all of us.

Her investment was obvious when women talked, spilled their challenges and heartaches in losing and gaining weight, in getting their husbands on board, in losing friends along the way, in struggling to say that they are worth it. She leaned in, fixed her eyes on the person talking, nodded her head, gave hugs, handed out her email, took care and took time with each woman. It was so connecting, it was almost startling.

All that loveliness and she's on fire. Do you get it now, why I absolutely, positively must dig up my heart rate monitor and willingly, happily hand it over to Jillian?



 

So many righteous grrrls, so little time

As if the blisters weren't enough, my concentration on work is totally diverted to the many accounts of sessions, keynotes and wacked-out drunkenness. I'm glued to Flickr and all the blogs I added to my Google Reader this morning.

Even after our contest to lure in other mamas who might want to braid hair and giggle into the wee hours with us, my roomie and I were very happy to settle into our swank room at the Dub together. Even if (ahem) we didn't surrender all inhibitions.

I was delirious to reunite with City Mama and nearly get booted from a session (and a cab) with my Strollerderby partners in crime, Redsy and Kelly. And swagalicious Sarah and I talked on and on about everything from placentas to potty training over pasta (mmmm).

I found a soul-sister in Charlene, laughed my ass off with Susan (but not at her shoes...oh for the pink suede shoes), talked lots of shop and showed off lil boo pics with Self-Made Mom, loved up the ladies from SV Moms Blog and Chicago Moms Blog, was thrilled to meet Glennia, absorb a bit of Susie Bright's deliciousness, listen to Her Bad Mother talk sense in several sessions and wish that I had bad-ass braids like Ariel Meadow Stallings.

And then there was Jillian Michaels. For the love of fitness and fanfuckingtastic hot laydayyyys, lunch and an interview with Jillian Michaels. Much, much more on my new best friend to follow. But do know that Bruce is half jealous and half eating up every single Jillian story I've told him. Not to worry, though, Jillian stories are full of the good fats).

I've no doubt left out someone wonderful, but I won't worry about that now. Oh no, there are too many baby boy kisses waiting for mama in the next room. If I can wrestle the seizure duckie out of his hand, that is.