I know, I know. Kale is the “queen of greens” because it is one one of the most nutritious vegetables in the world–packed with antioxidants and anti-inflammatory qualities–vitamin K, vitamin A, and vitamin C.
Yet, I hate it. Here is what I have to say about kale.
You do not like green kale and ham?
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.
Could you, would you, with a goat?
I would not, could not, with a goat!
Would you, could you, on a boat?
I could not, would not, on a boat.
I will not, will not, with a goat.
I will not eat them in the rain.
I will not eat them on a train.
Not in the dark! Not in a tree!
Not in a car! You let me be!
I do not like them in a box.
I do not like them with a fox.
I will not eat them in a house.
I do not like them with a mouse.
I do not like them here or there.
I do not like them ANYWHERE!
But I am amazed by their capabilities and kindness.
Holding hands. Scrubbing stains. Typing like a fiend. Folding clothes. Planting flowers. Feeding the dog. High-fiving. Holding books. Baking cookies. Mixing. Stirring. Snapping. Yeah I can snap.
Writing blog posts. Shaking hands. Swiping debit cards. Pushing grocery carts. Wrapping presents. Scrubbing pots. Signing checks for soccer camps. Patting a back. Braiding hair. Drawing. Tying shoes. Ahem. When are ya gonna learn to tie those shoes yourself, buddy?!
Clapping at kids’ recitals, sports games, graduations. Pulling undies-out-of-buttcracks. Building sandcastles. Burying hamsters. Filling up the kiddie pool. Pumping gas. Smoothing quilts. Googling. Applying make-up. Applying wrinkle cream. Driving. Yeah, I drive one handed.
They always need lotion. They have seen too much sun in their lifetime without sunscreen–oops. They are always cold. I can count the number of manicures I’ve had in my lifetime on, uh, one hand.
My sweet and perfect grandmother had ugly hands. They always smelled like Clorox bleach or chocolate chip cookies. Mine do too. But her hands were powerful and kind. She rolled out pie dough. She was a seamstress by trade and made amazing dresses. She patted me on my leg, like I was a good puppy, while we sat side-by-side. And she would smile at me like I was the best thing in the world.
Though my hands are ugly, I wear my wedding ring with pride (and have for 19 years). I like big costume-jewelry rings. My latest purchase was a ginormous-and-tacky owl ring. I like short-and-simple-no-fuss nails.
And if I need to, I can always borrow my son’s Hulk hands.
My grandmother had a needlepoint hanging in her living room that was stitched, “Take care of the minutes and the hours will take care of themselves.” As a kid, I didn’t know what the hell that meant. Now I do.
It’s about being in the present. And making your time count.
With busy, overscheduled schedules, you’ve heard the phrase “it only takes two minutes.” And “there aren’t enough minutes in the day.” This refers to things such as:
hugging your children
doing stomach crunches
filling up your aluminum water bottle
sitting with your children and asking about their day
checking in with your family on Facebook
reading a book to your child
calling to schedule your mammogram
tweezing your eyebrows
making a sandwich for your child’s lunch
doing 50 push ups
writing an email to your mother
folding half a load of laundry
putting on sunscreen
connecting with 10 Tweeps
scrubbing out the toilet
feeding the goldfish
shaving yur legs
petting the dog
writing a thank you note to your kids’ teacher
putting on mascara and lipstick
making a big batch of tuna for sandwiches the next day
sweeping the kitchen floor
setting the family dinner table
running a vacuum across the living room
filling up the bird feeder
thawing the frozen chicken for dinner
emailing the latest kid’s photo to their grandparents
writing a nice comment on a blog post
taking inventory of all the things you are thankful for
IMing your husband some sweet words
watering the plants above your kitchen sink
laying out coats, backpacks, and shoes the night before
making a protein smoothie
sitting quietly and just breathing
That’s all fine and good. But when you add two minutes here and two minutes there, that’s a lot of minutes. No wonder we often feel overwhelmed.
The point is, you can’t DO everything. You need to pick and choose. Maybe, today is the day you pick and choose a few of the “want tos” rather than the “have tos.” Take some time for yourself. Take some time for your loved ones. Isn’t that more important than cleaning the stupid floor?
And maybe, you’ll find that that time is time well spent.
Wondering how you too can achieve the frump look? It’s really easy.
A t-shirt that you’ve had for ages. This one I’ve had for 19 years. I got it from the bar Carlos O’Brien’s in Puerta Vallarta on my honeymoon. Sentimental. Super soft from a gazillion washings. And who doesn’t like frogs wearing clothes?
Jammy pants. Any type will work. But print ones are best. These have penguins with headphones. How can you resist?
Polar fleece. Finish off the look with a polar fleece hoody. You know, the kind your teen says you look like a dork in? Yeah that one.
You’re set! See how easy that was? Now you’re ready to drop off your kids at school and run into all the glam mothers or go grocery shopping. You can thank me later.
How many ways can you slice a pie? I mean, a METAPHORICAL pie, Silly.
You know those pie charts in business? Where you use percentages to represent how you’re allocating your time and resources?
Well, the same can be applied to your life. How do you spend your day? How much time and resources to you give to your children? Your work? Your spouse? Your exercise? Your adult responsibilities? Your free time?
Yeah. Free time. It’s probably the teensiest slice of pie in your pie chart.
Hey you! Don’t give away all of your pie slices and be left with onlycrumbs.
If your brows are looking a little bushy. And your upper lip is looking a little moustache-y. You might be rocking the Lorax look.
And if you live in Lorax land, you’ll fit right in. By I live in the Land of Milk and Honey. And we don’t let our women look Lorax-y.
So it might be time to waxy your Lorax-y.
Pippi visited the scary wax lady today. Scary because ya don’t really want to come out looking like Tammy Faye. But when they greeted me like Grandmother greeted the wolf, with “My what bushy eyebrows you have,” I knew I was in for a waxalicious treat.
She used so much wax, I thought it was it was Hanukkah.
Is that spinach in your smoothie, or are you happy to see me?
I wrote about the ease and nutrition of protein breakfast smoothies awhile back. Check that here. My newest ingredient? Spinach. Yeah, you heard me. They are officially renamed to Pippi’s Peppy Popeye Smoothies. These nutrition-packed suckers are perfect for when I am running late. Getting the kids out the door for school. And oops, I forgot one of my earrings. And my navy tights don’t match my black outfit. And where is my phone and where are my keys? Time to go. NOW.
But wait! Don’t forget to eat your salad for breakfast! (Seriously, you can’t even taste it. It just looks a teensy bit gaggy.) You, too, can buzz up the smoothie while yelling “Hurry! Time to go! Finish your breakfast! Brush your teeth! Shoes on! Jackets! Backpacks!”
Just talk to my friend Sara, who also sneaks in vegetables. She’s on Twitter @Sar_Wah and her blog is http://www.tisthelife.com/. She’s a super healthy Mum who tries to eat right and have a fulfilling life. Go Sara!
Pippi’s Peppy Popeye Smoothies
a cup or so of nonfat milk
big scoop or 2 Tbs. protein powder (preferably plain)
handful of frozen blueberries
two ginormous handfuls of washed, fresh spinach
Check out the jumbo bag of spinach. I don’t know whether to eat it. Or sleep on it.
Breakfast is important. Partake! And maybe, with the added spinach, you can kick some ass today.
Remember that old commercial? You don’t? Well, I do. It’s from Pantene shampoo, you Silly Goose. Here it is on YouTube to jog your memory:
Well, the other day, I was a bitch. Straight out. Of all places, at Nordstrom. At the Clinique make-up counter, where all things are supposed to be beautiful. My bad attitude was, uh, not beautiful.
Mean to a salesperson on purpose. Sorry. I just felt like it.
So, it was pretty stupid, really. I was there to return some cream. OK, it was anti-wrinkle cream. It was expensive. And they sold me the wrong kind for the wrong skin type. It’s hard for me to find the time to drive to the mall where they sell Clinique, so when I had gotten home and realized they sold me the wrong product and that I would have to go back to make a return, I was perturbed. And THEN, when I went back, they were out of the product I needed and said they could mail it to me. In about 10 days. Meanwhile, I could feel the lines on my face emerging. Like red cracking clay in Australia. You get the picture.
So I threw a little hissy fit right on the spot. Saying how this was unacceptable. That they should not be out of stock. And that it was their mistake in the first place. And that they should mail me the right anti-wrinkle cream pronto. And that they need to give me enough samples to last me until the package arrived.
Well, they listened. And I felt great for my throwing my tantrum. For a little while.
Then on my drive home, I felt guilty. Is it worth being a bitch in the first place if you’re gonna just feel guilty about it? I have enough Mother Guilt going on, thank you very much.
A friend once said to me, “You’re always soooo nice.” And I’m like, “I’m not as nice as you think.” But the reality is, yeah I am usually pretty nice. But that’s exactly the reason why we nice people need to blurt out things once in awhile and be not-so-nice once in awhile. Because things piss me off. And I don’t want to hold them in. Every time. For example: When I’m driving. When someone puts me or my family down. When my kids bicker and won’t shut up. When people create hassles for me and I have to go out of my way to fix things. When people are righteous and condescending and they think they are better than me. (Righteous people suck, by the way.) Or, maybe when people look down at me (ala the movie Pretty Woman) when I am shopping for clothes or make-up. And maybe I’m-simply-stopping-in-real-quick-after-soccer-or-football-whatever-you-want-to-call-it-and-maybe-I’m-looking-like-a-sweaty-hag-but-does-that-give-others-a-right-to-look-down-on-me-and-treat-me-like-I-am-not-worthy?
I sometimes don’t want to be nice all the time. And I am worthy (sweat and soccer/football shin guards on and all). And so are you. Except if you are condescending to others. I don’t think those people are as worthy because people who put down others just to pump themselves up? No like.
Oh, and about being beautiful, don’t bother looking for me when you type “most beautiful women” into Google. I may not be the first page when you search. But if you keep scrolling and hit “next page,” I think we all are there somewhere.
I energetically mother three children: 14, 10, and 8, am married to my college sweetheart, and have two dogs. My life is full of laughs. eye rolls, love, and laundry. I'm friendly and genuine and blog about my bumbling life.