Tuesday, June 24, 2014

An Analysis of Good Housekeeping's* Proven Diet Secrets

*Or a similar magazine. Don't remember, crushing disappointment has made me block out the details.

I was standing in line behind a really slow customer at the grocery store last night, and picked up the Good Housekeeping (or something like that) off the rack which promised something like Proven Weight Loss Secrets or maybe Weight Loss Secrets that Really Work. 

Seeing as my most comfortable mom jeans have suddenly become my tightest skinny jeans, I figured I'd read it for free while standing in line.  I mean why commit to buying the magazine if I don't know if it's good, right?  It's not like I ever buy magazines about house keeping.  I mean a house keeper cleans. I don't want to read about cleaning. 

GH (or whoever they were) gets some serious credit for having a easily locatable table of contents that referenced the teasers on the cover.  When one is stealthily reading magazines in the grocery line there is nothing worse than having to turn through 5 pages of ads to find the dang table of contents. 

I located the page and started skimming as quickly as I could.

 Diet blah blah blah Exercise blah blah blah.

This is there secret to losing weight? Diet and exercise?  I knew that! Everyone knows that!  This is not revolutionary!  That is no fun and hard work and not at all what I was looking for!

There were two secrets I didn't know:  drink more water and get more sleep.  I like to take naps.  I am taking the author's advice and starting the day with a glass of water while my coffee brews.  I'll let you know if it turns out to be a dieting miracle, but I don't have my hopes up. 

(I planned on linking to their article but I can't find it online. Perhaps it wasn't even Good Housekeeping that I read, but one of its clones. I did find this article on how to lose ten pounds and spoiler: it says to eat 1300 calories a day.)

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Guest Post by my Brother, Papa Bear

My brother just had a new baby, and I asked him to guest post about  because he's a great writer and I think the male view of parenthood is underrepresented in the blogosphere.   Also, I'm back in school and have been neglecting my blog. (But that last bit is self-serving. I should go with the first two reasons.)

Please welcome Papa Bear, my 6'9" brother, and read his essay written in the middle of the night like all good parenting stories. I'm proud to be his sister.

Papa Bear. Note how close his head is to the ceiling.
Yes, he is really that tall.
June 9, 2014 12:06 A.M.   

Vigilant : adj.: keeping careful watch for danger or difficulty

I am an old man and have known a great many troubles,

but most of them have never happened.
Mark Twain

As I sit here, in the darkness of the third day of my son's third week of life, I realize I do not worry for him. He will most likely get scrapes and bumps, bruises and hurts; all of which we will bandage and I will comfort him. These are important things for him to have. Danger in small amounts, enough to learn from, to build confidence in himself. 

I do not worry, but I am vigilant to any dangers he cannot handle; and at just past two weeks there is a lot he cannot handle. Spitting up while lying down is his newest challenge. And when I hear a gurgle, I'm quick to raise him up, pat his back until greeted with mama's milk or a burp. He is also challenged and challenges me to what I expect in a nights' rest; but I am learning to appreciate the quiet darkness, to hearing his panting breathing from his bassinet; hearing him self soothe, sucking fingers or thumbs, to succor himself back to sleep.

I think my generation and the one that followed has become too worried for our children, forgetting we once were children. We have allowed safety to overrule common sense; we have followed the government and manufacturers warnings to the letter, often quoting them as gospel; when they are mainly, merely suggestions.  We once rode big wheels too fast down hills, that were way too steep; far exceeding manufacturers recommendations. We ate mud and threw snowballs; we walked to school during the blizzard of '78, because that's what our parents and their parents did. We rode our skateboards in pools and in traffic; we invented sports that didn't exist before we lived, because that's how crazy we were. I know you think, "well, I didn't." But enough people did; otherwise the X-Games wouldn't exist.

Vigilance should be our watchword; not worry. Caution and consideration, not fear and doubt. We should be ready to remove unnecessary danger, replace it with a little danger; fear has a place, it sharpens our senses, let's us know when to pay attention and when to relax. If you've never reached for a hot pan only to pull back a burned finger; you will never know how hot you can handle and how hot you can't.

No, I won't let my son play with a knife, but I will teach him to use one and expect he will know how to use one - to cook- far before other children are allowed to use spoons. I know life will come at him hard and fast, and I look forward to standing beside him: Papa's got your back! We who stand watchful in night, listening to coyotes baying and howling in the woods, we lock our windows and doors. There are things out there in the darkness to worry, even to fear; things to go bump in the night, but we stand vigilant to keep him safe.

Baby Bear, I love you. Papa has always got your back; I will stand up, tall as I am, to watch over you; keep you safe, bandage your knees and wash your cuts, hold you as you cry and comfort your heart when life and others break it. I love you, and you will not fear, (or only fear a little) while I am on watch.

Friday, June 6, 2014


Mama, can you put this in your pocket?"  Tiny Pants held out a fistful of sticks he had collected along the shore.
"No, Tiny, you put them in your pockets," I said.
"But, Mama, my pockets are full!" 

What could I do? I allowed the latest additions to his stick and rock collection to fill my pockets as we walked along the beach.  

"Look, Mama! A torpedo!"  Tiny Pants held out his latest treasure:

It was nice blue color, and it had a stick that went in and out. In a six year old boy's mind, it was an awesome treasure.

"No!  Drop it, Tiny Pants!  It's garbage."

"But what is it?" he asked.

"I don't know, but it's plastic. We only collect nature, not plastic."

Of course I knew what it was. I am female, and I menstruate. I have even used such a thing before, but never on the beach. I've always been astonished by the sheer volume of tampon applicators along every shoreline I have visited. I've never seen a beach without them.  Do they float better than other garbage and thus wash up on the sand? But what about all the rest of the refuse? Why is is predominantly tampon applicators that liter the beaches, and not piles of other flotsam? 

Do women use them nonchalantly on the beach and bury them? I can't imagine this would be the case. Sure, one or two women might do that, but practically every single beach I have been on in my entire life  has had at least one little menstrual torpedo on it. 

Did aliens come and collect an astonishing number of tampons, thinking they were weapons, and once they realized they were not, just throw them on the beaches?

Or are they made of something completely indestructible, and like cockroaches, can survive anything?  Are these insertion units really the same ones I saw in my own childhood?  Perhaps tampon applicators are neither created nor destroyed, merely redistributed upon our shores.