CALLING ALL CHRISTMAS LOVERS!

I know it's early for this, but I could use a big favour...

December's issue has a feature on "YOUR FAVOURITE HOLIDAY TRADITIONS EXPOSED!"

Sounds way more ex-rated than it is.

Is a real fir tree a must have?
Presents on Christmas Eve? Or Christmas Morning?
Do you lay on the carpet with a bottle of wine and stare at the lights?
Decorate a gingerbread house?
Fight with your drunk mother-in-law?
Sing carols around the piano?
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire?
Do you like to listen to Bing Crosby and cry in your marshmallows every year?

Mine will be exposed too. I have a couple of lame-o things I MUST do every year. One is a torture and one is a treasure.

What is it you look forward to? What is it you DREAD?

Would you mind emailing me your comments to:
traditions@realwomanontherun.com

Be sure to include your name and age. For fun.
No last names, please.

MANY, many thanks!

"INSTANT GRATIFICATION TAKES TOO LONG." - Carrie Fisher


I sent myself an email today. From one computer to another.

Yes, I have two. One is strictly professional. The other is the 'family' PC - it's been corrupted with Nexopia, YouTube and several mindless games that I LOVE.

I sent myself some stuff to print and to save another copy. Once I hit that teensy little SEND button, I had better hear a 'ding' in my other inbox.

Wait.
Hit Send/Receive.
Hit Send/Receive.
hit Send/Receive.

Argh.

Wait.
Hit Send/Receive.
Nothing.
Go to the washroom.
Hit Send/Receive.
Still nothing.

DAMN IT. Where could it possibly go? I hit send from one computer... and rolled my big easy chair across the floor to the other computer... it should be there.

Hit Send/Receive.

It's been only 1 minute and 43 seconds and I am seriously choked that the message I sent (myself) has not arrived. How can it be lost in cyber space? We are in the same room???


"THERE ARE NO SHORT-CUTS TO ANY PLACE WORTH GOING." - Beverley Sills


Welcome to the world of NOW.

I'm not talking about living in the present. I am talking about always available, instant, immediate, never out of reach from anyone or anything, RIGHT FREAKIN' NOW!!!

Our whole society is conditioned this way.
Most of us own a cell phone. Or a Blackberry. A couple of computers. A number of big electronics. We are moments away from food, drink and fun at any given second of the day. If you can't get to it by driving to the nearest mall or store location, you can certainly Google it, buy it on EBAY or order it from an info-mercial and have it couriered within in a matter of hours.

We are so used to the instant gratification of whatever we want, whenever we want it, that when something doesn't materialize the moment we snap our fingers (or press send) - our blood pressure starts to rise.

Even grocery checkouts are designed to allow you to service yourself. Talk about immediate results. Shorter (most of the time) lineups. No cashier to have to make nicey-nicey with.
In and out.
FAST.
NOW.

We do it with our waistlines. Buy the ad-dom-inizer. The Belly-Flexer. The Lotta-Boob-Maker. Use it just 20 minutes a day, three times and you will look like our model! We're talking about the least possible amount of committment to any kind of fitness program! Then, we're pissed off when we don't lose eleven pounds overnight. Why do you think diet pills are such a HUGE industry? We want to be skinny - and we want it NOW.

Instant gratification.


"INSTANT GRATIFICATION IS NOT SOON ENOUGH." - Meryl Streep


Our dinners are completely ready to eat in 90 seconds. The same roast that used to take Mom a half a day to prepare, we can buy pre-seasoned, tenderized and ready to nuke. NUKE. Good word.

We pop a top if we want a drink.

We are seriously inconvenienced if we have to spend any significant amount of time away from work/television/computers... especially in the kitchen. We live a glorious automated existence. Laundry machines, dishwashers, carstarters, on-line anything.

We expect immediate relationship success without realistic expectations and without effort, then wonder why marriage is harder than it looks. (On the up-side - if it doesn't work out, you can get divorced in no time flat, be on-line and meet the person of your dreams... the world is your oyster. And the pearl is always juuuusst out of reach

In a world designed to meet our every need, the moment we think it, how do we remain patient?
Where do we seek our solace away from everything and everyone?
Where are the quiet moments?
Are we allowed the freedom of pace?
Would we enjoy quiet moments, if noone was calling us on the phone? Would you feel unimportant? Unloved? Would you relish every moment?
If we turned on our computer and noone sent us a message, would we know what to do with our time? Would you go CRAZY from the lack of mental stimulation?
What if we moved our bodies because it felt good as opposed to because we wanted to look like someone else?


"PATIENCE IS THE ABILITY TO IDLE YOUR MOTOR WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE STRIPPING YOUR GEARS." - Barbara Johnson


I'd like to say that I said 'Aahh, Screw it.' about the email and went and found something else to do. But now that I am done blogging....

Send/Receive.
Send/Receive.

&%*(#

What can I say?
I'm a work in progress.

P M S - Psychotic Mood Shift

I was always one of those women who thought PMS was a female copout; an excuse for poor behavior. A term used by women wanting permission to be held unaccountable for their crummy actions. (Read: berating their husbands, crying over a tub of ice cream while watching Extreme Home Makeover.)

I've spent the best years of my life enjoying 28 sane days between periods. No back pain. No breast tenderness. No mood swings. A little pimple or two, but only before age 22 and after age 35.
I was happy.
Likeable.

But not any more.

Be it known, between days 23 and 25, I switch from Dr. Jeckyll to Mrs. Holy-Shit-Look-Out-Her-Head-Is-About-To-Launch-Off-Her-Body-Because-The-Sun-Came-Up-Today.

Consider that your warning.


P M S - Perpetual Munching Spree

What is it with Days 20-26 of 'the month?'
I am the bottomless pit. Yesterday for lunch I ate tuna salad with spinach, alfalfa sprouts and celery in it. A diet coke, a half bag of tortilla chips with tzatziki and a giant apple. What's wrong with that, you ask? Nothing. It's a wonderfully healthy meal. It was the fourteen giant marshmallows, bowl of Cherry Chocolate Chuck ice cream, slice of toast and jam and 1/2 bag of chocolate chips I ate for desert.

The best day to start your diet is the day after your period begins. The worst day is any day between day 15 and 28. That, apparently, is the time in the month when anything within arms reach becomes fair food play.


P M S - Puffy Midsection

Explanation above.

Yesterday I was wearing the cutest striped sweater dress. I turned sideways and rubbed my belly like I was six months pregnant all over again. There was no sucking it in. Cue the sweatpants.


P M S - Pardon My Sobbing

Seal and Heidi Klum were on Oprah today. I cried. (Yes, I realize there is no reason for that.)


P M S - Pimples May Surface

I have worse skin now than I ever did at fourteen. Only now I have crow's feet, deep creases where I frown and large pores.

I look like a bad halloween mask. The oozie open sore kind.


P M S - Pass My Sweatpants

Pimples. Bloating. Yelling. Crying. Sweatpants.
NOT pretty.


It makes me almost unfit to be in public.
I will never again mock the pre-menstrual pain of millions of women everywhere.

Seriously.

Head ache.
Back ache.
Sore boobs.
Crying over NOTHING.
Exhaustion.
Explosive anger.
Pimples.

P M S - Potential Murder Suspect

Not even funny.
Has anyone seen my husband??

Aaaah... remember the days of diaper rash, late night feedings and slobbery toothless kisses?
Hauling carseats and extra changes of clothes, cheerio snacks and a small toy department every time you put on your shoes to go out.
Ear infections.
Teething pain.
Vaccinations and fevers that followed.
Separation anxiety.
Countless dirty, smelly diapers.

Wasn't life simple then?
I thought THAT was the hard part.


As my top two children reached the age of eight and nine, I felt like the job of parenting was finally simplified. Hoo-rah!
Emerging independence.
Sleep overs.
Playmates.
No more climbing onto mommy's knee when she is trying to go pee.

Delightful.
Parent hood is a snap.
I am a frickin' expert.
I laugh in the face of motherly challenges. HA-HA!
I've got brilliant, amazing and well-behaved polite and well-rounded children!


Nobody told me that ages eight through twelve were the 'rest-up-and-save-your-strength' years or the 'rally-the-troops-and-be-prepared-for-alien-invasion' years.

I suppose I am not really surprised.

After-all, I have watched my extended family and friends raising teens and young adults and have been amazed at some of the hard roads they've had to face along the way. I've watched with empathetic eyes and thought about how excrutiating it must be to watch your child(ren) making really crappy choices. And through it all, I have tried not to judge. (Because I have four that will be making choices I don't agree with at some point.)

And I also remember what I was doing during those years.
YIKES.
While it was all stuff I would consider to be normal teenage stuff, NOW I cannot deny the terrified parent in me. I know the challenges that kids face. All the learning lessons.


My lovely 13 year old daughter has been smoking at school. (I did it too.) She is in grade 8. (That is the grade I was in too.) We've talked about it in great detail. Several times. We talk about everything. Openly. And while I wasn't surprised she'd tried it, I still was. (Like that made sense.)

She was my left wing healthy choices activist.
She was digusted and perplexed as to why anyone would treat their body so poorly.
Ugh, drugs. YUCK. Smoking. Never.
I can remember her saying, 'I am never going to smoke!'


Hmmm.

So we chatted lots. And dragged her poor brother into it. He would rather pull out his nosehairs than have a family discussion, but I made him listen too. We talked about the hard decisions in life. And thinking about the hard decisions before you are actually faced with making them. Making a plan about how you will respond the first time you are presented with an 'opportunity' to do or try something new.

It is really difficult.

You know, they come into your life, these beautiful, little, perfect, innocent and needy, tender babies. And you don't think that your heart can handle the amount of love you feel for them. You spend your life protecting, nurturing and celebrating the God in their spirits. You see them in single magical moments and base your entire existence around them.

And then you begin to realize that it isn't about you.


My job is to get them from point A to point B. I have to remind myself of that.
Their path is not my path. Their choices are all a part of their own journey.
I can be advisor. Nurturer. I can offer suggestions or recommendations.
But I can't force. And I can't prevent.
And I wouldn't stop.
Or change any of it.

Please dear sweet Lord, let me survive it.

Better yet. Let them survive it.




"Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
and though they are with you, and yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love, but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday." - Kahlil Gibran

There are two new sites that I need to put you in touch with.

The first is www.halogifts.ca .

I've taken an excerpt from their About Us page:

"Imagine acts of kindness being performed for no reason. Imagine if that happened every single day. Imagine the outcome. Spirits would be lifted, joy would be gifted, and happiness would just be. We believe in people. We believe that if everyone performed one act of kindness for nothing in return every single day... that the world would be a better place. Let's start being kind before the illness strikes, before the natural disaster occurs, before the tragedy, before the crisis. Trust us, you will make a difference.

Halo is about paying homage to those people who have already understood this, who have practiced it, and who have no problem doing something kind without getting anything in return. Something for nothing."

They've got a really terrific clip on You Tube that sums up what they do!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1wV0eyWjcc

Halo Gifts was started by six people (Penny Kane, Shanon Hilton, Shawn Gregson, Cheryl Oloriz, Phyllis Kane, Kellie Bent) who had a vision of rewarding everyday people for the kind stuff they do for others. Their mission is to celebrate random acts of kindness. They plan to raise enough money to make kind people's dreams come true. You can let them know about someone you feel deserves their attention and rewards or donate to their foundation.

Wow, another really BIG and wonderful thing happening in Alberta!

Damn, we're good.

Pass It On.

Second, there's no place like home. Welcome to www.glindagirls.com .
Remember Glinda, the good witch from the Wizard of Oz?
Well, here is creator/owner Kari Dunlop's definition of what a Glinda Girl is:

1. A female armed with moxie, chutzpah and a can-do attitude who pursues her passions to cultivate a career beyond her dreams.

2. She does what it takes, rises to the occasion, overcomes the odds and can often be heard crashing thru glass ceilings.

3. The words 'no' and 'impossible' do not exist in her dictionary.

4. She resides within all women waiting to be let loose and grab life by the horns and ultimately become an inspiration to others to follow in her footsteps.

Glinda Girls shopping website and warehouse is based out of Calgary. It is the brainchild of the down-to-earth and simply lovely Kari Dunlop. Kari set out to find a calling that filled her own consistently inspired and motivated cup and she chose to honor the creative, inspiriational and driven genius of other bright women. Women who'd stepped out on a limb, followed their dreams, made their own rules and launched into full fledged product success with amazing personal and professional results.

Real Woman on the Run is co-sponsoring a GlindaGirls trunk show during our Home Life Expert, Leah Richardson's annual Christmas Open House.

Book your own. Or at the very least, check out www.glindagirls.com .

I am getting ready to peel the wrapping off about 140 hot dogs.

I don't even like hot dogs. (Don't get me started on the nutritional content It is for a treat lunch at the girls' school and I am on the Special Events planning committee. And tomorrow is hotdog day. So me and 6 other moms are cooking and serving hotdogs over the lunch hour.

Oh, and I need to bake and ice 24 cupcakes for the Baking Fundraiser.

Oh, and I need to finish proofing 40 pages of the November issue, complete my invoicing, set up my Publications account with Canada Post, catch up on entering contacts in the ACT program that I haven't learned yet and get to the bank to do a deposit. That's the short list.... (not to mention - has anyone noticed I haven't been blogging as much lately)

Plus, I need to book a follow up appointment for my son, clean up the kitchen(breakfast dishes), start the buffalo roast I'd planned to cook for dinner and don't even get me started on the myriad of tasks requiring my attention in the home.

Suprisingly I feel pretty damn good; for a woman who is about 6 days behind 'schedule'. I've yet to accomplish the 30 goals I've set, the five books I've been reading or the 8 loads of laundry that have mysteriously appeared since Monday morning.

Here's why: yesterday I took the WHOLE day away from work.
I didn't even check my email - which is underheard of... I had a marvelous day. I ate sushi, bought new boots, read books in an armchair in the bookstore for two hours, meditated and then napped in the sunshine for a whole hour, took my daughter for dinner and then went to a concert.

It was much needed. I feel great. My cup's a little fuller.

The magazine is like a giant vacuum cleaner, sucking up every spare minute in my days and weeks. I am in a serious tug-of-war between my deadlines and to-do list and my family and home commitments. I can't remember the last time I shaved my legs. My time is at a premium.

Balance is over-rated. It just doesn't happen for me.

My life isn't like a teetor-totter, up gently, down gently; some sunny, lovely balancing act.

It's a little more like - swing as high as I can go for five minutes, get off and run to the monkey bars, hang upside down, fall on my head, dust myself off, climb to the top of the swirly slide and ride it screaming fast to the bottom, where I proceed to get on the merry-go-round, spin in circles for a while, until I throw up.

Whoop di do.

Welcome to womanhood, sister.

I'm not doing anything every other woman out there isn't doing, too. We're all juggling, only some of us juggle five balls instead of three. We're all doing the crazy woman dance. Two steps to the left, three back, four forward, one to the right; in this beautiful, busy, crazy hip-hop life dance.

I may be doing the crazy busy woman dance, but I CHOOSE great music. My OWN.

So I've decided to welcome each minute with the unique challenges and gifts it presents to me, and get done only what MUST be done this minute. Sometime today, I'll finish proofing and send the magazine to the printer. Sometime today I'll start a load of laundry. Sometime today, I'll bill clients and be the business woman.

And it'll all get done.
SOMETIME.

Or it won't.

But it's grand to have a choice.
And I am delighted that I get to put on my fancy shoes and dance.

"We must claim our bodies as our own to love and honour in their infinite shapes and sizes. Fat, thin, soft, hard, puckered, smooth, our bodies are our homes." - Abra Fortune Chernik (20/21 Century Essayist)


I just rolled in from the gym.

I don't know about any of you, but I have to FORCE myself to go to the gym. IT'S WORK! And the remuneration is quite often intangible. My heart is supposed to work better, my immune system stronger, my butt is supposed to get tighter. But unless you are a die-hard gym-rat that eats 5:1 vegtables and protein only, five meals a day... then chances are you still look like you, working your buns off at the gym... only you've got deadly shoulders and decent stamina on the eliptical. YOU GO GIRL!

I don't really love the gym either. All that recycled air. And excess CO2. Germs. I never touch anything until I wash with soap after handling all that weight equipment. I much prefer the fresh air outdoors. But, never fail, come October it's me and 17 other women over the age of 35 vying for use of the treadmill and the weight equipment. All of us look pretty much the same. Softer in the centre, dimply in the rear, rosy in the cheeks and wet under the armpits.

I can't help but compare myself against everyone else while I am there. Not in a negative "ooh see I am better/faster/stronger/thinner than her' way... but in a reassuring myself way. "ooh look, her thighs look like mine. See I AM normal."


"We have to have faith in ourselves. I have never met a woman who, deep down in her core, really believes she has great legs. And if she suspects that she might have great legs, then she's convinced that she has a shrill voice and no neck." - Cynthia Heimel - (20/21 Century Writer)


I am not at the gym to try to acheive the unattainable.
(What is the unattainable? THAT I WILL EVER LOOK LIKE ANYONE OTHER THAN ME.)

No matter how hard I try - I will never have legs like the women in pantyhose or razor ads. I will never have breasts that stand up and sing in a tight tee-shirt with no bra. I will never own abs that are six pack, bounce a quarter on them, 9% body fat abs. WHY? One, because I have no energy, time or desire to work that hard and eat that clean. And two, because I, genetically, am built just as I am. When I look at my mother and my grandmother, I see myself there. I see where my body is destined to be. I see similarities in facial features and skin tone. Cellulite and body tone. AND I AM OKAY WITH THAT.

So why then the gym? Mental health, emotional health, physical health. Because I feel better. Because I am trying to be pro-active. Because I need to move my body. Because I CAN move my body. Because I want to be able to move my body in 40 years.


"God made a very obvious choice when he made me voluptuous; why would I go against what he decided for me? My limbs work, so I am not going to complain about the way my body is shaped." - Drew Barrymore (Actor and Producer)


I saw an ad the other day for a new weight loss product on the market. Another one. This diet pill and magic weight loss fits world we live in is what makes a consistent exercise and weight loss regimen so difficult for women. We are continually told that improving our bodies should be easy and fast. We are always looking for an easy fix. Diets. Pre-cooked, measured and weighed food in microvable boxes.

It's all a big fat lie. YOU ARE BEING LIED TO.

There is nothing easy or fast about being committed to improving your body, losing weight or managing your health through eating better and routine exercise.
Women are yet to believe that it is a lifestyle choice. Exercise is for our own good as opposed to being simply about the way we look. It should be about treating your body well as a gift to yourself. Instead we beat the crap out of ourselves for not looking like 14 year old models in magazines or 20 year old singers and actresses on the television.

Until we get it into our heads that we are not our wrinkles, dimples, stretch marks and 'flaws' we'll continue to be sold on promises of quick fixes and supermodel results.


" I am beautiful as I am. I am the shape that was gifted. My breasts are no longer perfky and upright like when I was a teenager. My hips are wider than that of a fashion model's. For this I am glad, for these are the signs of a life lived." - Cindy Olsen (20/21 Century ADvocate of Topfreedom)