Or five.

And because I am now officially dairy-free, may I suggest coconut milk ice cream as a nice alternative for The Reverse Sundae?

Sometimes, you just gotta live it up. No matter what diet or eating plan you are following, carrots sticks and chicken breasts are going to get boring if you don’t treat yourself every now and then.
So what’s a mama to do?

Live it up, of course! But play it smart.

That’s how I came up with what I like to call the Reverse Sundae. I was up late one night working on my book and decided I wanted to have some ice-cream. Six months ago, that would have meant a huge bowl, ignored serving sizes, and enough sugar to put an elephant into a coma. But things have changed. I’m working with a nutritionist now, eating as clean as possible and learning more everyday, and best of all, I no longer suffer from the All or Nothing mindset that used to doom me and my good efforts the moment I let a pinkie toe off the proverbial wagon.

So I went down to the freezer and pulled out my Haggen Daaz Five Vanilla ice-cream pint and prepped the counter to slice up some fresh berries and a banana. I also made sure to get my dessert bowl out of the cupboard…the huge bowls I used to use are no longer the first thing I reach for.

Once the berries were slices and nearing the top of my dessert bowl (about a cup of fruit, I think), I placed two smallish scoops of Haagen Daaz on top of my fruit. If I had to do this again, I’d probably say I used less than a serving size and may use even less when I make my next Reverse Sundae.

And that’s it! I grabbed a spoon and headed back up to my computer, enjoying every single bite of cooled and creamy fruit as I wrote. I got my fix, a nice serving of fruit to go with it, and felt great about my decision, my new creation, and myself when the last bite was done.

Give it a try and see what you think!

This post originally appeared at Bookieboo.com!

I already own this…

…so it didn’t take long to flutter my eyelashes and click submit on the order for these…

And when that little blue box arrived in the mail, I could only smile.

I have more to lose to make my goals for a healthier me, but dammit, people? I made it this far. And that’s worth celebrating.

“Mama! Where’s my kettlebell?”

She’s standing between me and the TV, arms folded and hip jutted out to the side. Buttercup has been wanting in lately on the Pauline’s Search for a Smaller Ass Healty Kick and that means less solitary Ohms and more creative inclusion. I grab the remote and hit pause on the Gaiam kettlebell workout I just bought, set down my own four-pound bell of wonder, and start scanning the room.

“Let’ see what we can find for you to use.”

Buttercup smiles. She’s in!

“What about this?” I hand her the pink Disney princess squishy softball that was wedged under the couch. I’m figuring it’s small enough to handle and light enough for her to mimic the movements without hurting herself.

“No. It doesn’t look like yours.”

Okayyyyy….

I sigh and walk into her playroom, Buttercup hot on my trail. She isn’t going to settle for a cheap substitute. She wants Mama’s kettlebell. And Mama isn’t gonna get her workout in until Buttercup is happy.

I’m not going to argue. I’m thrilled my little girl gets to see me setting a good example. And I am doubly happy that she associates exercise with being healthy and strong instead of the words that plagued my formative years.

Fat. Big. Calories.

I was bulimic by the time I was 15. I was eating disordered long before then, hiding in the food pantry to binge as a small child.

Buttercup wants a kettlebell to be healthy and strong. I want to encourage the positive.

“Baby, I can’t find anything for you to use. Will you let Mama finish my 20-minute workout and then you can sit down with me on the computer to order you a kettlebell for kids? One that is safe for you to use?”

She considers while I hope like hell that such a thing exists. If not, it’s back to working out after she is asleep, knowing full well I will have lost all motivation by then and go back to making excuses.

“Okay, mama.”

So I work out. She plays. And when we are both done, we sit down on the couch with my laptop. Thanks to a twitter recommendation, I find a sweet stuffed kettlebell toy named Buffy on etsy. I buy it. And Buttercup is beaming.

When it shows up in the mail, Buttercup declares it her new best friend and wants to sleep with it. I, however, did not just pay $28 for a new addition to the Ignored Stuffed Animal Collection.

“Does Mama sleep with my workout equipment?” I point to my yoga mat, kettlebell, and hand weights sitting in the corner of the living room. “Or do I only use them for being healthy and strong?”

Buttercup chews on her lip, torn between the desire to play with her toy and the one to be like me. She breaks into a huge grin.

“No,” she says, laughing. “That would be silly.”

“Yeah,” I say, “it would.

“Being healthy and strong isn’t silly, right?”

“Of course not.”

She nods her head at my response and sits down on the floor to velcro on her her sparkly gym shoes. She stands up, Buffy at the ready and her own little face the very picture of determination.

“Then let’s do this.”

Yes, ma’m.

This post originally appeared on Bookieboo

@Raisingboychick

Everyone is allowed to think/talk about themselves as they wish, but seriously, could we stop with the “I’m fat THEREFORE I’m not sexy!” BS? Because I’m fat, and damn fucking skippy I’m sexy. They are not incompatible states of being, thanks very much.

I haven’t been on twitter as often as I used to be, so I consider myself lucky to have seen this sassy bit of  ‘tude come through my stream. It’s the perfect reminder for me, anyway, that even though I might be working for a healthier body tomorrow, there is no fucking reason to not embrace what I have today.

Which? Sounds great and would probably look fantastical on a bill board. Or a Zazzle T-shirt. But it’s not always a theory I am interested in subscribing to. I was a big tall kid in a family of Mexican midgets short people and confused “big” for “fat” without anyone realizing that I was heading straight for an eating disorder. Now I’m a mom with a daughter who is doing her damnedest to make sure I skip the word “fat” in the children’s books I read to her (seriously, Dr. Suess?) and tell strangers she’s tall for her age when they comment on how “big” she is.

I also think I deserve to be canonized for not commenting on the size of  a single one of these dimwits or the asses attached to them to see how they like it, but that’s besides the point.

Forget the number on the scale. For me, it’s about the mental outlook. That’s what defines me and my perception of my body.

When I am depressed and feeling sorry for myself because it’s so hard to lose weight with PCOS and blah blah blah and just give up? No. I don’t feel sexy. Instead, I feel like the 33-year-old version of the 15-year old with her head in the toilet.

But when I am eating right for my body and making the time required for me to exercise? So I can feel good about me no matter how little the scale might move? So I can show my daughter that curvy is pretty and activity is healthy and fun? Yes, even at 200 pounds, you can bet your ass I feel sexy.

Fat, curvy, thick, full-figured or whatever you call it…you can be sexy, too. All it takes is you looking in a mirror and believing it.

Thank you, Arwyn, for the reminder.

I get a lot of those.

And many, to be honest, remain as they began: creative itches I can’t seem to find the time to scratch.

But there are others that become more. These are the ideas that take hold. The ones that keep whispering in my ear saying, “Do something about it, you idiot.”

So I did.

I got serious and told the world I was working on an anthology.

I wanted to gather your stories. The kind that would make any mother wondering why she was still wearing her maternity yoga pants five months after pushing the kid out know that she isn’t the only one. The kind that spoke to the magnitude of physical changes a woman’s body will endure while creating new life. The joys of motherhood. And the cursing at the scale months, and even years down the road.

If this idea ever becomes a reality, I want those who pick up the book not want to put it down.  I want reports of laughter and tears and muffin top solidarity. I want smiles and Warm and Fuzzies and “Have you read….? The whole thing just made me feel like a conversation with a group of friends!”

Okay. So I want. Now what?

Since I first announced the anthology on the blog, I have been honored to read some incredible essays by mama writers I respect and admire. Jeanne Bowerman, Lisa Galek, Abigail Green, Robin O’Bryant and  Stephanie St. John have already submitted and I love each and every piece. I’ve laughed, cried, RELATED, and wanted to hug these women for their words, much as I hope my our future readers will respond.

But my idea was still whispering in my ear and I finally got brave enough to start whispering into the ears of those for whom the message was actually intended. If the book is going to speak to those who read it, I was hell-bent on making sure I get voices that speak to me. Like authors Therese Walsh and Lissa Rankin. Both are incredibly talented women.

One made me cry with her beautifully written novel.

The other made me think telling my vagina she is pretty is a good for her self-esteem.

And that, my friends, brings me to The Happy.

THEY SAID YES!

Of course.

When’s the deadline?

WE BELIEVE IN YOUR IDEA!

My initial reaction was a blank stare.

Holy what?

Really?

SQUEEE! (Because some moments are just totally squee-worthy.)

And after I picked my jaw up off of the floor, I thanked both Therese and  Lissa profusely for their gift of time and experience. And then I went all fan-girl again.

*Interested in adding some of this Awesome to your twitter feed? Click on the names and tell them AspiringMama sent you.

Jeanne V. Bowerman

Abigail Green

Stephanie St. John

Lisa Galek

Lissa Rankin

Therese Walsh

Robin O’Bryant

*I would love to read your submission, as well. For more information on the anthology idea, please click here. The deadline is April 6 and I can’t wait to read what you have to share.