Fit Mom USA

Saint Oreck - Patron Saint of the Holidays

2009-12-12T04:19:00.000-08:00

'Tis the season to be totally on lock down, prepared for any bomb-like threat that rears its head. Such threats include ornament exchange parties, unplanned Christmas carolers, and phone calls from my mother. My head is not so much in a tizzy during these few weeks as it is on enemy patrol, smile cemented in place, planning strategic cookie baking missions in between wrapping my kids' gifts and getting in articles that should have been written last week. Crazy Town has been invaded with whimsical merry-making and I have no control.

Last week a client was telling me about a vacuum salesperson who was stalking her, trying to sell her a $2,100 machine that should also churn butter at that price. This client, Julie, is also a friend whose son in my son's class at school. I see Julie at school, at work and occasionally at mass. Still, it was odd that her vacuum was in my dream last night. Odder still that Father Ronnie wielded the super-powered sucker during mass. Instead of passing out the Eucharist in the traditional manner of hand to hand or hand to mouth, Father Ronnie held the vacuum facing the congregation and shot out the round wafers across the room and each landed perfectly in the recipients' mouths. Instead of being completely alarmed, all I could think was how economical - both in time and physical effort - this method was, particularly during the very busy season of Advent.

I am not kidding.

Really, I'm not complaining. I like the holidays - all cozy and sing-y and gift-y. The kids get a break from school, which by now they need, and clients phase off a bit until I wrangle them back in at the start of the New Year with a gentle reminder of how much they really do NOT like big butts and I cannot lie. I'm using that extra time to get the house together for this year's visitors - my sister, her husband, their twin 3-year-olds and my mother. Mother will be staying at the Intercontinental downtown, to all of our reliefs. Including her own.

To the normal person, "getting the house ready" involves light cleaning, changing the bedding and maybe stocking the fridge. To the Mayor of Crazy Town, it is repainting the bathroom, changing out the hardware and hunting down every last speck of dirt like a crack smoking Martha Stewart. I have put in a petition to St. Oreck, the Patron Saint of the Holidays for those Whose Homes Must Have Vacuum Lines in the Bedroom Carpets, to also assist with the: broken dishwasher, bugged out laptop, crunching left knee (not a traditional major appliance, I know, but when a girl is asking for stuff...) and lack of fresh garland. Not a whole lot of response so far but I'm thinking positively.

Now, enough of this chatter, I have blinds to wipe down, clients to see and there is a blue light sale on Knees at the KMart this afternoon. Gotta run...

Merry, merry you all.

Leggo My Ego

2009-11-27T17:57:00.000-08:00

Much like compassion and good manners, there is a shortage of waffles in America. A crisis for certain, but nothing that we Americans can't handle. Hundreds of people will be forced to eat eggs or oatmeal for breakfast. But, for god's sake man, they will eat.

MILF with old tires

2009-11-21T07:05:00.000-08:00

A couple of months back, I took Betty to the shop for a rehab. Like her mother, she had been through a hurricane and came out still intact, but scarred. And a little moldy. I totally ignored the smirk on the I'm-twenty-years-old-and-fast-as-hell-with-a-super-cool-new-bike-with-big-boy-tires-and-aero-bars snarky little kid who graciously told me he'd clean her up and all that. He slapped on a speedometer and asked me what kind of tape I wanted on the handlebars.

Betty Bianchi was purchased 9 years ago when I first started doing sprint triathlons. I named her Betty because she was bright orange with a sassy Italian attitude to match. She reminded me of my even earlier Skater Betty years that were marked with asymmetrical haircuts and lots of heavy sighing. 11 years ago she was hot, new and top of the line. Today she is a middle-aged woman in need of a boob job.

I don't mind riding her - I take pride in the fact that she's been through everything with me. I didn't have Mr. Fabulous change the bike seat because I don't know what's new for the tush. My shoes work just fine, thank you very much. I told him to put on pink tape not because I wanted pink tape on my bike, but because I wanted to watch him grimace while wrapping the bars with hospital pink tape tape that blatantely clashes with Betty's orange body.

That part I do regret.

But now I want to give her some lovin'. She and her mother deserve some pampering. I'm not giving her up for a more aerodynamic new bike because I'm still never going to win first place and those 2 minutes I might gain just don't encourage me to be disloyal to my girl. Does she need aero bars? Yes. Could she stand some fancy new tires that look like giant frisbees? Yes.

But does she totally rock my world and make me feel like a female Lance Armstrong?

Hell, yes.

My 9 year old bike. These fabulous Michael Kors shoes that border on hooker-height high. Homemade chocolate chip cookies. My youngest child calling waffles "fafflees".

These things also rock my world. Someone else is going to disagree. Someone else always disagrees and it's usually my husband. Whatever.

Disagree all you want, but they make me feel like a hottie. A MILF with old tires.

But can you wrap presents with it?

2009-11-15T14:12:00.000-08:00

I'm old. So what? I can't do anything about that. I'm also very middle-of-the-pack in area races and triathlons. But just because I'm pushing forty doesn't mean I'm going to stop running, biking, doing Pilates and on and on. I just have to do it a little more conscientously.

In addition to actually getting in the cold plunge at the gym instead of talking about it (How do people lie down in that? 5 minutes standing up to just past my knees is all I can handle), I forced rests days on myself. I also came across ROCKTAPE on Twitter. This is how it's described on rocktape.com:

ROCKTAPE is the only Kinesiology tape engineered to meet the demands of endurance athletes like runners, swimmers and cyclists. Unlike other products, ROCKTAPE can be used both to apply compression to promote recovery, or decompression to relieve pain and swelling. ROCKTAPE enhances performance, prevents fatigue, promotes circulation and removes lactic acid.

This is what I say:

Fabulous.

My right knee is my problem child and the tape really does eliminate the immediate soreness after long runs. Yesterday was 12.5 miles on the Tammany Trace. All wrapped up and not only did I not hurt or start crunching, my knee wasn't sore later that afternoon either. Placebo effect? Who knows. All I know is that with the tape on my knee I could've gone another couple of miles had I not needed to rescue my husband from the three kids I left him with back at home.

The website comes with super easy instructions on applications for knees, ankles, elbows and everything in between. I'll keep on ordering this stuff through the long run season and in to the warmer weather races. It doesn't leave marks on me when I remove it and it stays on through sweating, swimming and the Knees Off Pilates exercises - all three seasonless activities.

I'm passing on the samples the guys at ROCKTAPE gave me to Gwen with the bursa and ankle issues, John and his sore tennis elbow and Chelle for her achilles. But not all of it. I'm keeping some for myself.

Another Day in the Life of a Ninja

2009-11-09T11:21:00.000-08:00

Tucker wears a lot of costumes. Star Wars "guys", chef's aprons, G.I. Joe Snake Eyes (even though he's never seen the movie) and Ninjas are his favs. It doesn't come as a surprise to me, considering he is named after a Mardi Gras parade that I really loved and couldn't attend because I was busy birthing said child.

Where's the connection you ask? Mardi Gras, for those of us who live in New Orleans, isn't about naked girls on Bourbon Street (mostly) or sucking down Hurricanes at the speed of light (okay, that part is involved a little). There is a huge portion of the holiday that is family-oriented. For two weeks parades float up and down the streets of the suburbs and of Uptown New Orleans and entertain families perched high on ladders tricked out like mini-carnival rides.

You can wear costumes, you don't have to wear costumes. People can think you are in costume even though you left the house feeling F-I-N-E fine in your new purple shoes and your husband can ask, "where did you get those clown shoes?" and you can then not answer him and refuse him the snack bag you brought along and eat the snacks with gusto even though chips really aren't your thing just to spite him. Well, you could.

With a birthday that falls near or on Mardi Gras every year, Tucker thought that people gathered on St. Charles Avenue in costume just for him. And I let him think that - think of the money I saved on birthday parties! "Yes, sweetie! This is all for you!" I would grandly gesture at all the parades, marching bands and people.

He's old enough now to know that Mommy didn't arrange Mardi Gras for him, but he's not too old to stop wearing his costumes. Here we are today, celebrating the day off from school due to Hurricane Ida. What else could we do but dress like ninjas and prepare for battle?

The lake is really high and I made the boys crouch low "like Ninjas" because Little C wanted to go overboard in a big way.

We lost a big batch of costumes in Katrina, but Tucker would be too big for them now. It's funny because Charlie is the age Tucker was when Katrina struck. Tucker wouldn't fit in to those old costumes, but Charlie could.

I love Mardi Gras. I love Big Old Oak Trees in the Park. I do not love Hurricane Season.

I do, however, love the sweet, cool breeze off Lake Pontchartrain when a storm is just about ready to graze over. I love wearing shorts in November and barbequed oysters.

It's going to rain this afternoon. Going to go throw winter rye grass on the lawn and let Ida water it in.

Kerrie Ann's Banana Bread with Secret Bribe

2009-10-13T14:43:00.001-07:00

Lighter-ish Banana Bread with Secret Bribe Ingredient

Cooking spray

1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1/2 cup whole wheat flour

1 tsp baking soda

2 tbsp ground flax

1 tbsp ground cinnamon

1/4 tsp nutmeg

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 stick (1/4 cup) softened butter (can use butter substitute),

1/2 cup granulated sugar

2 eggs (or egg substitute)

1/3 cup fat free vanilla or plain yogurt

3 very ripe bananas smashed (about 1 1/2 cups)

2 tsp vanilla

**Secret ingredient: 2 tablespoons of chocolate chips. They add maybe 140 calories to the entire receipe and encourage kids to eat it!

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Apray 8 inch x 4 inch metal loaf pan with cooking spray.

You are supposed to whisk together dry ingredients (both flours, baking soda, flax meal, cinnamon and salt) and set aside. Personally, I just mix it all at the end after the wet ingredients are combined. What can I say, Martha Stewart? I live on the edge.

Cream butter with sugar. I recommend a mixer. Add eggs one at a time beating thoroughly in between. Mix in yogurt, bananas and vanilla. Fold in flour mixture and mix until just incorporated. Chips are the last thing to jump in. Carefully...and don't nibble!

Carefully spoon batter in to loaf pan. I recommend avoiding even a small taste of the batter as it leads to entirely too much finger-licking and spooning of raw batter.

Bake 55-65 minutes. Check with a toothpick to ensure it is fully cooked throughout. Allow to cool and remove from baking pan.

Quick, invent a 30 hour day for me!

2009-09-30T08:22:00.000-07:00

I think I just agreed to do a Half Iron Man.

I mean, I asked a fellow trainer if he was planning on it and he said yes. Then he asked me and I said I was thinking about it. Before I knew it there was lots of high-fiving and plan making and mentally shopping for cute bike shorts that could really go the distance.

Now I need some Pepto-Bismol and a double espresso.

I have always envisioned myself completing such a race, but that was in bed after a sprint distance tri or two and the ease of knowing it was over. Three kids, a Pilates studio and fitness writing keep me a little busy. Throw in tennis lessons, homework for at least one child, dance lessons and an obsessive need to make a clean, healthy dinner at least 4 nights a week and I’m already one foot in Crazy Town on a regular basis. What part of me thinks that I could actually pull off training for the April 18th New Orleans Iron Man?
Clearly the part that has been drinking vodka.

But now it’s out there and I’m not one to back down. Here are some positives:
1. I work in a health club with many trainers and members who eat triathlon for breakfast. The motivation is palpable.
2. Olympian Ashley Tappin is here and spent all of 15 minutes poolside with me and completely changed the way I have been drowning for the past 10 years. She has agreed to help me but refuses to do it herself because she is smarter than I am.
3. The health club has all the things I need to sneak in workouts throughout the day and in between clients. Swim in the morning, a ride or two after lunch – you get the idea.

So it’s all there for me. All ready to jump on. Except for the handful of negatives:
1. It’s an open water swim for a really long while. Swimming in the water, the open water, for a long distance. Unclear lake water for a whole mile. No nice clean lines like those in a pool
2. It will be my extracurricular life. I would have to give up doing all the other stuff that I never do but imagine doing – shopping, relaxing, reading. Now I won’t even have time to imagine myself hanging out.
3. I need some new gear. This triathlon business is expensive.

So that’s that. I’m approaching a big birthday in a couple of years and have wanted to do something special before I hit it. India always appealed to me and I’d love to whirl the prayer wheels while being all mindful and stuff. However, I don’t know if Child #3 will find that interesting when he is 3.5 or if he would rather pull the prayer flags down, wrap himself up in them and yell, “To infinity and beyond!” with the flags floating behind him like a Super Godlike Hero cape.

Somehow I think cheering Mommy on down the road in his hometown while munching on a beignet would be more appropriate.

You Can Take My Picture Now

2009-09-01T03:40:00.000-07:00

I am well aware of my appointed seat as Councilwoman of Crazy Town. They didn't make me the mayor because of that same awareness. My first visit to Crazy Town was years ago. I distinctly remember being greeted on my 14th birthday when my mother bought me a bikini for my birthday (first one!) and then told me not to eat too much cake so that I could actually wear it.
Knock, knock?
Who's There?
Kerrie.
Kerrie of the bikini story?
Oh! Kerrie! Welcome to Crazy Town! We've been waiting for you...
From that moment on, I have been hyper aware of what I look like, how I move and how my clothes fit. Even though I stopped weighing myself years ago due to a nasty run-in with an eating disorder that followed me for way too many years, I swear I can tell you to the pound when I've gained or lost weight. These days I go by how my work spandex stretches - super tight right after Katrina, then looser again in the months that followed - and what I'm training for. Sprint triathlon season Prana looks differently than Christmas season muu-muus look.

It's not a little ironic that despite my post in Crazy Town, I really do love exercise. Pilates, running, cycling, kickboxing, swimming all have a place in my week. It makes me feel fabulous, is a large part of what I do for work and let's me take a whole lot less Ritalin than I normally would have to take for my ADHD by simply exhausting myself in to a calm state.
Don't judge me. (Interesting fact: many women who have experienced an eating disorder also have had undiagnosed ADD or ADHD. Just saying.)

Today I'm having some marketing pictures and headshots taken and I have practiced every which angle that could possibly make me look like a tinier version of myself. Sideways. With elbows pointing outwards like the girls on the E! show I will never admit to watching. Chin up, eyes down. I'm exhausted with all the criss-crossing of legs and sucking in of cheeks. This could be an Olympic event for God's sake.
I'm sick of it. I don't want my daughter to be like this. I don't want any woman to ever not feel beautiful because she "feels" fat. Fat is not a "feeling" it is a state. Insecurity, now that's a feeling. I'm over it too.
So in my pictures today I'm going to smile. A big, cheesy high school Homecoming kind of smile. I don't know how it's going to come out but I only have this one morning to take them because, of course, I'm on deadline. If you happen to see them, just tell me they look fabulous even if I look like I've been upgraded to President of Crazy Town.

Where you really should visit, it's lovely in the fall.

What I learned from Eminem

2009-08-09T16:13:00.000-07:00

When I have five minutes to myself - already sounding like an oxymoron - I really like it planned exactly as I want it. No cooking, cleaning, picking up trains, answering questions, fielding clients, pulling children off one another - none of it. Usually that time is when I lock myself in a closet with a case of Pinot. Okay, not really, but a girl can dream...
The time I have to myself is the time I get in my own workout. Lately I've been training for these sprint triathlons I thought I gave up on a few years back. I'll never be fast enough to place and with three kids and a Pilates studio, time is too precious to spend hours training. I still will finish what I was coerced in to - that is, two more races and a handful of half-marathons - but am looking forwards to exercising for the fun of it, not the "have to" of it.
Anyhoo...so I'm going to the club and child #1 wants to join me. For those of you who know me, child#1 is my challenge - she will eat until she's blue in the face because she truly loves food. At 2, she only wanted Elmo ("melmo") or the Food Channel. She loved to watch anyone cook and then she'd talk about it with herself. She's not a big fan of excessive movement and when she wants to exercise, I have to jump on that bandwagon. And ride.
So much for my own training session of one Spin class, a 2 mile run and finishing with a .25 mile swim.
Instead I found myself on the gym floor where she likes to workout. We spent time on the treadmill discussing the merits of Selena Gomez vs. Taylor Swift, then we did some ab work, followed by another bit on the elliptical, some more free weights (did you know one of the Jonas brothers is ENGAGED?!) and she did one final round bouncing around on a bosu. I struggled to find a cardio that worked (ended up on a Stairmaster, ick) and loved every flipping minute of it. No I didn't get my work out in, but she did and I managed to do something to move myself around in a way that I don't prescribe for myself normally.
Which brings me to the whole Eminem thing (you were wondering, yes?) - I love running to Lose Yourself or whatever it's called. It makes me go fast and get angry and go faster. This workout with my girl allowed me to Lose Myself in the moment of fitness with daughter, totally unplanned and unrehearsed and she loved it.
So did I.
We need to find more opportunities to work outside our normal boxes and invite teachable moments in, even when that teachable moment occurs in our sole 5 minutes to ourselves. I highly recommend it.

Ice Cream THEN Laps

2009-07-27T10:20:00.000-07:00

God is laughing at me. Or Goddess. Or Allah. Nevermind, ALL of them - Jesus, Buddha and the rest of the Funky Bunch are all having a good long laugh at my expense. That's fine. I'm happy to the butt of the spiritual beings' jokes.

It goes a little like this: I am a trainer - Pilates, Personal trainer and Weight Management Trainer. I love to inspire people to better health and I really do live what I preach. There's very little processed food in my house, I'm a believer in brown rice and I'll sneak in spinach in your martini if you're not careful. My clients listen to me and they have changed their bodies and their attitudes towards food.

I have not, however, had the same success at home.

Even though the ice cream party I won (thank you Edy's!) was a great success and doubled as a neighbhorhood party and Child #3's birthday party (see pic above), it was just another example of what I struggle with every day. My family are eaters. They love food. No, they L-O-V-E food. They'll eat just to eat. They'll talk about eating after they just ate. I know I live in New Orleans, the land of the fried and home of the Boudin, but it's no excuse. I can't keep anything in bulk in the pantry because it will be gone before it should be gone.

I've talked with counselors - they've reassured me there is no deep-seated emotional distressors here. I've consulted peers and they agree that I'm doing all I can to make healthy choices available and to be open and honest about our feelings at all times. Done.

My husband is convinced that it's genetics - his family just loves food and all that comes with it. I didn't want to believe it, but as much as I hate to say this, it's a genetic pattern that as hard as I try to fight, really does exist. As a trainer I have always said it's mind over matter and we need to deal with our food "addictions" to not let food guide our decisions. But here is my own family completely tossing all my teaching out the window. Like the little boy who learns how to make airplane noises before he can speak even though he wasn't taught to do so, a love of food can be genetically engineered.

So I have stopped banging my head against the wall and have given up on arguing, discussing and withholding. I now make healthy choices available and then make sure they all have exercise options daily. If it means one goes to the park, another goes to swim and the last one rides around the driveway in his tricycle, then that's what we do. After the ice cream party, I had a bouncer-thingy, baby pool, slip and slide and bikes out for entertainment for the kids and to allow a calorie-burning outlet. Here's a taste of the set-up:

Balance. That's the name of the game. While the God's must be laughing, I am at least providing them with some joy.

Choosing a Trainer for Hubby

2009-07-20T14:26:00.000-07:00

I'm all for throwing money out the window. Why not? I mean, we only have to pay the mortgage, tuition, electricity, groceries, my shoe habit, the water bill...what's another little something to throw money at? I'm HAPPY to give another trainer the opportunity to work out my husband when I'm a trainer whose hours available are booked, thereby leading one to the conclusion that I, in fact, probably don't suck at training people.

But we mutually have agreed that to train him would be the shortest road to divorce ever taken. Even by Britney Spear's standards.

I'm researching the trainers at the health club in which I work to find the right person for him and I'm feeling a little like a mother choosing the right date for her child. (I'm also finding that I feel sorry for the poor boy or girl who tries to date one of my children.) This is delicate water, like first dates or even engagements, I'm treading in. Background: John doesn't work out. He likes exercise as much as he would enjoy a nice case of head lice. Since my day is centered around health and fitness, being a trainer, a Pilates instructor, a weight management consultant and writer, I can't wrap my head around the person I married not wanting to be fit.

We've argued, I've begged, I've withheld...umm..."stuff" even though I KNOW it's a no-no, in an attempt to coerce him in to getting fit and healthy if not for him, for the kids and for setting a good example. A light bulb went off recently with a bout of shortness of breath and chest pains (not mine at being so irritated that he doesn't flipping want to get fit, but rather his) that caused the argument to turn more somber. So, he's agreed to a trainer. He initiated it in fact.

As long as that person isn't me.

I don't take offense. I wouldn't want him telling me what to do either. This is why I'm searching for a trainer who will push him, but gently, who will encourage him but not fall in to conversation too much as he can get sidetracked, and one who will use the time for both cardio and strength as that will be the only time he gets in either. I have a couple of trainers in mind and oddly, they are both women. One is younger than I am and one is older.

I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, I better get back on the bike training for the next race in two weeks - I have a time to beat and a butt that needs to be smaller than whoever's butt will be training John's!

Triathlon - this time as a mom

2009-07-12T16:21:00.000-07:00

Years ago - eight to be exact - I didn't have kids. I could eat on the sofa and not have to say, "I can because I'm the mom". I could have popcorn for dinner and sleep past 7 a.m. I could train for races at any time of the day or even night and could be on the road or in the pool for as long as it took.

Nanny-nanny-boo-boo.

Not so much any more. Three kids can put the kabosh on any type of training schedule. This time around I was up at 5 am to scoot in a run, and biked and swam in between seeing clients or even did all three right before carline. So if you saw me in line and my hair was wet, it was desperately trying to fit in a workout, not a late, leisurely shower.

Semi-prepared and mostly packed, my friend Rebecca and I set out for Meridian, MS - a three hour drive we could've turned in to 5 hours just because there weren't any kids in the car. Here we are hydrating with wine we talked the Applebee's waitress in to allowing us to sneak out in go-cups (those of you not from New Orleans, a go-cup is the cup restaurants and bars give you to bring your drink out the door as you leave), faces scrubbed and glasses on, ready to sleep without any kids in our beds - are you getting the theme here?

Morning goes by smoothly - I forget my running shorts and will do the race in my biking shorts, completely unable to hide behind excess material. Awesome. I also forget a swim cap, toothbrush and barrettes.

I knew going in to the race there were going to be some hills. For someone who lives literally below sea-level, I figured this was to be a challenge I could conquer by taking a lot of Spin classes. Basically, it worked. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

In the nice, clean pool I am fast, confident and strong. (Sidebar: Pilates has completely changed the way I swim: core work has made me so much stronger and all the breath work increased my lung capacity tremendously). In the pool. I wasn't worried about the swim, I just knew it was going to be looking up instead of to the side during freestyle. Two strokes in to my race swim, I got kicked in the face and swallowed half the lake. Freaking out, I tried to stand only to realize there was a drop-off the size of a moon crater. Choking and pretty near hyperventilating, I start my side stroke and am fairly confident I am going to call the nice little man in the canoe to come get my non-running shorts booty out of the water. I aimed for the buoy, then just kept swimming, like a maternal Nemo with one fin in the water, the other out and useless. A couple of times I tried to freestyle and it was just over for that stroke. I side-stroked 1/3 mile until I hit the ground. All done. Stupid water.

Jump on bike, who has always treated me right. Bianchi Betty has been with me since my first race. Even though Katrina sidelined her for nearly two years, she's cleaned up nicely has new pink tape as a decoration. Up the first hill and my chain falls off. I don't fix bikes. I don't fix chains. I really don't even wear chains because I lose jewelry. Thankfully, there was another nice smallish man there to pop it right back on. (Sidebar: felt stupid because there is little skill needed to put a chain back on. Need to learn how to do it properly this week.)

And the hills began. And stopped. And began. And stopped. For 17 miles. At one point I was going 5.8 miles per hour uphill. Seriously. Fastest time going downhill? 34.7 mph. Totally exhilarating.

Run goes by smoothly in my shiny new shoes and before I realize I'm drinking Gatorade and eating a sandwich, it's over. I'm 3 minutes over my goal time - 2 hours and 3 minutes. But I'll take it. Here's us at the finish. Tongue is hanging out of its own accord:

I'm tired. My grammar is atrocious and my writing isn't as I'd like it to be, but I wanted to get this up asap. A mom CAN do a triathlon, even with time constraints, hills, wine and an eternal spandex wardrobe.

I have 3 weeks until the next one. Good thing I got in a Spin class this afternoon.

Carbo-Loading: Before and After

2009-07-08T14:47:00.001-07:00

Poolside. Pre-inside-the-pool-side. This summer it's our main source of entertainment and exercise in this god-forsaken-I-don't-know-why-I'm-shocked-it's-so-hot-in-southeast-Louisiana-in-July-heat.

In the battle of small Frey's vs. the dinner platter, the Small Frey's usually win. So even in summer it's imperative that, just like adults, the kids' caloric intake is balanced with exercise and movement.

I know. I'm a dud. Shut up - it's my job.

The hardest part was trying to find a type of movement that all 3 kids liked and could do. There was no way I was going to do the mad shuffle of one in dance, one in soccer and one in gymnastics that occurs during the school year. If transportation was an event in the Olympics, I will totally at least come in third come fall.

But summers are different and so...we swim. A lot. When I'm training for the swim portion of the triathlon (sprint-distance, slow-going), child #1 and #2 are along side, learning to pace themselves and do laps. #1 did 22 laps today at camp. Yes, I'm proud.

So with all our exercise, we need the carbs to tide us over. Here's the 3 making chocolate chip cookies (snuck in whole wheat flour, flax seeds and cut the butter almost in half - they never knew). That's how we're rolling this summer - carbo-loading before the main exercise event. Post-swim cookies never tasted so good.

Happy Summer!

Blueberry Breakfast Cookie

2009-07-05T14:04:00.001-07:00

It might look like a funky blue blob, but it's really good. These breakfast cookies have all sorts of possibilities to the ingredients, but our most popular is this version. The 2 teaspoons of chocolate chips added let me call them Chocolate Chip Breakfast Cookies to the kids, but the amount is negligable so I don't feel badly giving them a taste of chocolate in the morning.

I'm always looking for something beyond the carbo-loaded, nutrient-absent breakfasts that my kids are addicted to. These breakfast cookies are nice and thick in a I'm-full-after-I-eat-one-and-don't-need-to-snack-one-hour-later kind of way.

3/4 cup of whole wheat flour

1/2 cup flour

1/2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp cinnamon

1/2 tsp nutmeg

1/4 tsp salt

2 tbsp butter

1/4 cup canola oil

1/4 cup dark brown sugar

3 tbsp sugar

1 egg

1/4 cup carrot baby food, preferably organic - can sub with sweet potato

1 tsp vanilla

1/2 cup oats

1/2 cup bran flakes

1/3 cup fruit (raisins, blueberries, dried cherries, whatever)

1/3 cup toasted walnuts (we rarely use this, but it's good)

2 tsp chocolate chips - preferably dark chocolate

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix the dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, mix butter, oil and sugars. Add egg, carrot puree and vanilla. Slowly mix in the dry ingredients. Add cereals, fruit and nuts. (Here's the kicker: slip in a handful - little maybe 2 tsp of chocolate chips and then you can call it Chocolate chip cookies). Make 3-4 tablespoon-sized balls and pat them on to Pam-sprayed cookie sheet. Cook about 12 minutes. You want it to be a little soft in center and then as it cools, the cookie stays moist.

We make these at least once every two weeks and my kids really like them. They are great for when you are running late and about to lose your mind if everyone doesn't get his or her tush in to the car right this instant! Oh, my. Excuse me.

But you know what I mean!

2009-06-21T09:10:00.000-07:00

It's Father's Day and I suck.

In a last ditch effort to save myself from Crazy Screaming Mommyland, I sent him and the three kids to the pool. By himself. On Father's Day.

I know that by Hallmark's standards I should be catering to him, grilling in the 105 heat index, naked except for stilettos, with a smile on my face and angelic greetings for my children. But Hallmark hasn't lived in this house for the past two days, cleaning up puke and very watery, awful poo-poos off every available surface. I have washed the entire bedding from duvet cover to mattress cover twice now, hosed down the deck and cleaned the floors no fewer than 3x each. All the children AND the husband have been sick. And I have been Rosie, the Vomit Maid, trailing behind with Lysol in one hand and a basket of dirty towels in the other. I am tired. I am frazzled. I am calling people names.

So let's just call this an opportunity for John to spend quality time with the beings who allow him to celebrate Father's Day. Never mind that he is poolside sweating and possibly infecting others (that's what chlorine is for, right?), I. Need. A. Break. When they come home smelling like Banana Boat and feeling slightly damp, I will love on all of them.

Betty the Bike is out of the shop after being refurbished after Katrina (I know, 3 years later and she's just now getting paid attention to...). Instead of buying shoes, I just clipped on my Spin shoes for now. I'm completing a sprint triathlon in 3 weeks and I need to get on the road to ride in the humidity. A quick shoe change for a short run and I'll finish up burning frustration. I'm hoping the fresh air also will burn out the smell of puke that is apparently embedded in my nose.

Only after that session...and when I can put down the disinfectant and relax....will I consider anything higher on my feet than a sensible pump. Wish John luck.

Happy Father's Day.

The Ice Cream Party

2009-06-18T11:58:00.000-07:00

School has been out since May 28th. It is now June 17th. That's three weeks. In a musical, those three weeks would have been filled with rollicking, water-filled fun in the sun with over-sized grins and lots of contented sighs. Since we do not live in a Rogers and Hammerstein universe, our summer's been on the brink of pouting, wanting, needing and messy children at all hours of the day. If I take them to the pool, they are hot. If I take need to leave them with a sitter to work, they are bored. If I offer to keep them busy all day, they want to sit around...with the sitter. We already need a Summer Intervention.

In a couple of weeks, they'll go to camp and I'll be back on my game with a regular schedule. Until then, it's the Drive Mommy Insane and Watch the Wine Disappear Show.

That is, until I won The Contest.

One of the wonderful mom blogs out there had a link to the Edy's Grand Ice Cream Summer Block Party (or some other long name like that with lots of capitalized proper nouns). I entered for kicks and won an ice cream party for 100, complete with cups and signs and all that good stuff. I don't know when the party is scheduled to arrive and even less about how ice cream for 100 will be delivered to hot, humid New Orleans. But that doesn't matter. I have the power of Ice Cream Party to hold over their whiny heads until it gets here as such:

"Oh, you don't want to clean your room? Ok, you don't have to come to the Ice Cream Party."

"Your brother needs you to get him a sippy cup and you don't feel like it? I'll just get someone who wants to come to the Ice Cream Party to get it for him"

Three little words haven't had so much meaning in...well, ever. And don't think I'm not going to milk it (pun intended). My dish washer is emptied without complaint and teeth are brushed before I have to threaten brushing them myself with a brillo pad. Life in the Frey house is calm. For now. Until the Ice Cream Party arrives in the mail.

So, Edy's, if you are reading this, please wait until the middle of August before your delivery. That'll be perfect for a "Back To School Ice Cream Party". Thank you.

The Things You Do for Love

2009-06-11T08:39:00.000-07:00

With both of us working and having three children to maneuver through the world, our conversations have been reduced to twitter-like snippets before we start the bedtime routine. Not that my husband John and I have ever been ones to delve deeply into moody discourses on, well, anything. We are too different to do that. He’s a Republican. I’m Independent. He’s from the South. I’m more Southern than Northern now, but you can still here that flat “a” when I say, “Gap”. My profession requires me to move constantly, to stay fit and to motivate others to find joy in exercise. In John’s job, it is mandatory to sit in his chair, blankly staring at a computer monitor, with a trace of drool dotting the corner of his mouth. He is a programmer. I am convinced they strap themselves in for the day and are let free for potty, lunch and the drive home. Somehow our marriage works, with minimum finger-pointing and sniggering.
John is coming up on a big birthday. I’m hoping he sees turning forty as an opportunity to start living some healthful habits, if not for himself, then for his kids. I have visions of him waking up early to go for a quick run before eating his Kashi and driving to work in a hybrid car. Since this is such a lovely dream, I’m throwing in the new Donald Pliner pumps for me and an island Christmas vacation for the family. Dream big.
For his birthday, I’m going to charter an off-shore fishing trip for him. He’ll love it. I’m also getting him a treadmill. He’ll love it as much as he’d love a root canal. Sans drugs. This treadmill is the last frontier of exercise for John. I have encouraged him to get back to playing tennis and he, sounding like my kids, “Has no one to play with.” DVDs, a health club membership, a MALE trainer because, apparently, he cannot train with me. I’ve tried them all. There is a laundry room full of gym-quality free weights that are begging him to pick them up and give them some love. He claims they are not his size. After five years of virtually no exercise, he’s right. I don’t have his size. 2-lb weights can’t be found in the laundry room.
I’m getting bitter.
So, along with the trip, he’s going to get on the treadmill. He will be able to out push-up me and he will run the Crescent City Classic with me come Easter. Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not a shrew (most of the time), I just happen to know his family health history. Alphabetically, it starts with Brain Cancer and roams on down through every other Cancer imaginable. It is sprinkled liberally with obesity, high blood pressure and gastro-intestinal issues. Clearly we cannot cure these diseases with a trot on the treadmill; however, it is a start. I’m sure the kids would like him around to see them get married. I’d like to have someone to share what’s left of our retirement funds.
The treadmill is my own personal Hail Mary pass. This is it. The beginning of the end of the game. He’s going to love the fishing trip. I can’t say that about the treadmill, but with the good comes the bad. And of course, I’ll feel like the bad guy showing up with exercise equipment, but what else can you do? Like holiday dinners at the in-laws, it’s one of the things you do for love.

Links

2009-06-01T13:29:00.002-07:00

Link I Like, Write For, Like and Write For, Am Jealous of
and/or Wish I Created

www.pilatesdigest.com
The website for Pilates professionals and students alike with great articles and solid information.

www.yespilates.com
Great place to pick up tips for everything from Pilates for Surfing to Body Awareness. Read, shop or even design your website with the help of this site!

www.healthfitnessmag.com
Even though it's based in New Orleans, this publication has articles that appeal to most people interested in...you guessed it, health and fitness

Articles and Press

2009-06-01T13:29:00.001-07:00

I'M COMING...I'M COMING....

About

2009-05-24T16:49:00.001-07:00

Kerrie Ann Frey is the founder and owner of Fit Mom USA, a former stroller exercise-based program that has evolved in to an online presence with fitness, wellness, and nutrition information for all men and women.
She began her fitness career as a freelance health and fitness writer looking to be a credible source in the field. Whatever the story called for, she was up for: sprint triathlons, marathons and kite-surfing. To further her professional development, she became A.C.E. PT and LWMC certified. She specialized in training the pre- and post-natal mom at first and eventually included athletes, dads and kids. It was through researching a story that she found her true fitness love – Pilates. Kerrie Ann completed a full Pilates apparatus year-long program requiring 600 hours of study, training and apprenticeship in Louisiana. She is West Coast Pilates certified and trains clients in several studios in the New Orleans area. She loves to dispel the myth that Pilates is just for stretching.
Additionally, she shows her mother that her Master’s in English really was useful when she writes fitness and Pilates-based articles for print and online publications nationally. She is regularly cited as an expert in pre- and post-natal training and Pilates in area publications. Kerrie Ann continues to advise clients on fitness, healthy eating habits for the whole family and positive approaches to a well-balanced lifestyle.
Most importantly, she is mom to Mae, Tucker and Charlie – the Small Freys.