Hilary

Hurts So Good

When it comes to working out, I’ve been advised by my doctor not to do any exercises that force me to pull up on the top of my foot and potentially cause more damage to my tendons. Basically, don’t insert your foot into anything that has a strap across the top (peace out, spinning!). I’ve been practically living on the elliptical machine since I’d been given clearance to work out, but it was getting boring. I kept seeing people working themselves into a lather on the stair climbers. The gym has 4 brand-new ones that are in constant use. I figured if one ever opened up, I’d give it a go.

Let me tell you, that stair climber is no joke! I set a personal goal of 30 minute or 300 calories, whichever came first. By the end of the first song on my work-out mix, I had talked myself down to 3 minutes, which was the duration of the next song! Seriously, I tried slowing down the pace, but that was making me snag my foot on the lip of the next step. Not wanting to faceplant and then bodysurf down the treads, I upped the pace, but my arms were the ones getting the workout, since I was holding on for dear life. The woman next to me started to alternate walking up the stairs in a traditional manner, then walking up the stairs leading with her left foot in a side step, then rotating and leading with her right foot. I was waiting to see if she was going to do it backwards, but she must have been fearing the faceplant/bodysurf combo and changed her mind.

I will say, I was in a flop sweat almost immediately and that, to me, is always a good judge of how well and how hard I’ve work out. So, I decided to keep the stair climber in the mix. It’s been a few weeks, and I’m getting bored again. I haven’t been back to kettlebells, I doubt I’ll go back to the studio. When the weather gets warmer, I’ll swing my own bells like I was doing before. In the interim, I’m looking for something else to work multiple muscle groups at once. I tried doing one of those barre classes; there was a Groupon for three classes for the price of one. It was a good deal, but I ended up losing money because I had to hire a sitter to keep the wee one so I could go to class. Not cost effective. Plus, we’re already paying for a gym that has childcare; I needed to find something else.

I was chatting with a friend of mine who had done both kettlebell and barre with me. She mentioned how she took up swimming after a serious injury. Swimming. . .interesting.

Now, I do know how to swim. I was never one of those girls growing up who was afraid of getting her hair wet and never learned. I did take lessons. We belonged to the community pool and I fought long and hard to pass the requisite levels so I could move from kiddie pool, to mid pool, to full access. There was a badge system in place – yellow, purple, and red. You had to wear your badge on your suit and the lifeguards were eagle eyed about it. If you were a yellow badge in the deep end? Forget it! Automatic whistle blow and swim of shame to shallower waters. So, I worked hard to get that red badge for all access. I can remember treading water like my life depended on it. Actually, it did; I’d just swum across the length of the pool after diving in. If I couldn’t keep my head up, it was going to be back to purple badge-dom.

Fast forward to college. I took scuba diving as my phys ed. requirement. Not a lot of “our kind of people” in that class, let me tell you. Our dives were limited to the pool in Kinesiology building, but it was still a great experience. Somewhere along the way, I retained enough information to keep myself safe in the water.

After the girls were of an age, I wanted them to be good swimmers, too. It’s not about being an Olympian, though that would be nice (I’m sure there are lots of scholarships for Black swimmers). It’s not about flipping around in the pool during the summer and playing Marco Polo with your friends. It’s a a life skill that they need to have, plain and simple. So, summer after summer, I signed them up for lessons. You can imagine how that went.

We’re at the point where I’ll ask them what they plan to do if they go to a pool party and everyone else is in the water. Mo’s response, “I’ll read a book on the side.”

Oy.

Well, after some thought, I realized, I need to lead by example. My godmother had never learned how to swim and after she retired, at age 65, she learned. Started from scratch with lessons. So, I followed her lead. I signed myself up for some lessons and had my first one yesterday. The thing is, I can swim. I can keep myself afloat, I can get to the edge. I’m not going to win any races, and I’m not going to win any prizes for gracefulness, but I can do it. I just want to do it better. My instructor says I have a good basis; I need to fine tune some things, but the foundation is there.

Today, I am aching in places I haven’t thought about since anatomy class (gracilis, anyone?). But it’s good, it’s very good. I ran into my instructor on the way to the car as I was leaving the gym today and introduced her to Mo, who is home with me on Spring Break. As we were buckling up, Mo was incredulous that I was taking swimming lessons. I reminded her that we’ll be able to go to the pool this summer and swim together, to which she replied, “I’m just going to sit on the side and read a book.”

This kid. . .

IN: ON: March 14, 2013 TAGS: funny stuff, my girls, working out BY: Hilary

The Opposite of Yes

(image)

I say “no” quite a bit.

I mean, a lot.

Like, I say “no” like a Valley girl says “like”. Oy!

I say it more than I’d like to, really, but sometimes, it just has to be done. I don’t think I’ll ever be the kind of parent who let’s their kids have a free-for-all for a day when all she says is “yes”. I tried that once and by the time the breakfast dishes had been cleared and put away, I had developed a nervous tic in my eye and was in serious need of some anti-hypertensives.

It’s not that I’m trying to be the next Mommie Dearest. I just like to have things a certain way. I want my children to behave a certain way, which basically boils down to acting like civilized human beings who have some semblance of home training.

I toss out the word “no” like Paula Deen adds butter to a recipe. I’m not afraid to be embarassed in a public place. I’ve been that mom, the one whose kids are crying in hysterically in the shopping cart because they’ve just been told they can’t have Frosted Fruity Lucky Pebbly Charms with the toy surprise inside. But of course, to Mr. and Mrs. Public, they just see me pushing the cart while my kids are red-faced, snot-nosed misfits in need of a parent with a firm hand and no fear of setting boundaries. I want to say, “Look lady, two aisles ago, it was all peace, love, and rainbows. They wanted the cereal, I said ‘Not today,’ and all hell broke loose.” It wasn’t like I was doing a Rumplestiltskin impression in the paper products aisle shouting, “No, no, no, no!” all the while. I will admit, though, there are times when I wonder how that would go over instead of my even toned negative response and attempts to redirect the conversation. I have to believe that if I went all Rumplestiltskin, they’d snap to real quick.

In an ideal world, I’m the adult, what I say goes. I make the rules and they get followed. I’m the big cheese, you know, all of those parental adages that all equate to the same thing — “Because I said so,” and it’s all firmly ensconced in their wee little brains causing them to tow the party line.

I say “no” when I’m trying to prevent my children from coming to bodily harm. I say “no” when I’m trying to keep them from turning into zombies after they’ve already watched an hour (cough::two::cough) of tv and are begging for more. I say “no” when they’re trying to wear shorts and tank tops when the temperature is calling for 50 degrees and fog, despite the fact that it is indeed spring. I say “no” because I’m doing it for their own good.

Oy, I went there.

The thing is, though, I don’t like saying “no”. It’s so negative. Add to the fact that most of time, I say “no” and they keep on doing whatever it is they’re doing. So the “no” becomes “No” with a captial “N” before it goes into a full blown, “NO!” whereupon my eys get big, my eyebrows scale up my face and rest in my hairline, and the cord in my neck makes an appearance. Funny enough, my voice drops several octaves. It was never more apparent to me at how much I say “no” than when the giels started singing this song and substituted my voice during one of the lyrics.

A little backstory: on the kids radio station, there’s a song called “Highway 40”. The folks that are singing it, Freddie Prinze and his puppet sidekick, sing the lyric, “I’m going down Highway 40 in my big ol’ pick-up truck.” That’s the entirety of the song. The hook is that they sing the lyrics in different voices every time. For instance, they’ll say, “Let’s sing it like monsters!” or “Let’s sing it like old ladies!” or my favorite, “Let’s sing it like Tom Brokaw!” Classic.

In any event, the girls were at dinner and decided to give it a go. They did it like monsters, like fish, like Dracula, like Scottish people (Mo’s idea) and like French people. Then Mo said, “Let’s sing it like Mom when she’s angry!” which basically sounded like the monster version with a few “no’s” sprinkled in.

Ouch.

I’m afraid all of the girls’ childhood memories will be of me like some kind of suburban Kali, each of my eight arms wielding some kind of time sucking device like an iPhone, Starbucks cup, Chipotle bag, and so on, with a big, fat cartoon bubble of the word “NO” floating out of my mouth. I can’t have that on my conscience.

So, I’m trying to avoid using “no” and contractions like “don’t,” “can’t”, “won’t” and the like. Believe me, this is ~~not easy~~, so hard. A self imposed no-ratorium! If I have to put the kibosh on something like why we have to eat the dinner I’ve made instead of having sushi or pizza or anything other than what I’m serving up, I’m trying to say things like, “Maybe next time,” or “Let me think about it.” I call it purposeful vagueness and have added a few other gems to this collection

1. “How about in a few minutes?”
2. “Maybe in a little while.”
3. “As soon as I’m done here, we’ll talk about it.”
4. “I’ll see what I can do.”
5. “That might be a possibility.”

Ka-ching! The girls get an answer which isn’t negative, and I get to feel as though I’m back in the running for Mother of the Year while maintaining that false sense of hope that I really am running this show.

Though I’m tampering down on the “no’s”, I doubt I’ll ever master that “Yes and. . .” approach to parenting. The theory behind that is when your wee one asks for something, you say “Yes and” followed by the parameters in which that thing can be done. For example, when Mo asks to watch TV, I would say, “Yes, and you can do it right after you clean your room!” or when Co asks for yet another snack, I’d say, “Yes, and you have either apples or grapes!” I think this a trick that improv performers use to keep the dialogue going. It’s also handy for when you’re playing with your kids and trying to come up with something witty for your Barbie/My Little Pony/Justice League Action Figure/G.I. Joe to say. But, I digress.

There are times when a firm “No.” is necessary. For instance, if the girls ask me if they can hanglide off the roof using wire-hangers, double sided tape, and a pair of the hub’s underpants, “Let me think about it,” may give them some false hope. In that case, I don’t feel as bad dishing out a steaming plate of “No,” in order to shut the door on that foolishness.

Although, I might like to see that innovation in action. . .

IN: ON: March 7, 2013 TAGS: advice, my girls BY: Hilary

Fun with Photography

All the fun stuff that I like to do has been neglected lately. My brother asked me what it is I’ve been doing. Oh, I don’t know. . .child rearing, laundry, making meals, running a household, laundry, running carpool, doing hair, laundry. You know, the usual.

Somehow, over the week-end, I was able to get everybody occupied and sneak outside to play with my camera for a bit. Talk about neglected! The pictures on the memory card were from Vivian’s birth! I kid, of course, but still, it definitely feels that way. I have several shoots coming up and lots of ideas that I want to test out. I may not be able to get all the images done in one shoot, but I definitely want to have a few slick ones up my sleeve.

If you had driven by the house yesterday, you would have seen me in the driveway, finagling with the tripod and jumping in and out of the car. It was all in the name of photography! When you don’t have models on hand, you’ve got to be your own model.

Here’s the original shot that I was going for.

(image)

Couple canoodling in a car mirror, pretty cute! I think this was the image in a Good Housekeeping magazine on how to bring the zing! back into your relationship. Or maybe it was an article about Greatest Hollywood Kisses or Top Ten Things to Do In a Parked Car. I don’t remember.

I’m hoping that the couple I’m shooting this week-end is game for some out-of-the-box posing. I wouldn’t pose anyone in a way I wouldn’t pose myself, so I got to work figuring out the angles and contortions that would make this work. My biggest concern was the way you’d have to fit yourself in the seat in order for your face to fill the mirror so that I can capture it in the camera.

It wasn’t as tricky as I thought. I parked the car on the flattest part of the driveway and set up the tripod so that it was parallel to the side of the car, with the lens aimed right at the mirror.

I spent a few minutes positioning the side mirror so that I could see the middle of the driver’s side headrest in the glass, figuring my head would be in that spot.

That’s a baby blanket that happened to be in the backseat serving as a placeholder. Real professional, right?

Back to the camera to get the right focal length and focal point, and then to the contortions. Truth to be told, the hardest part was climbing over the center console from the passenger side to the driver’s side. I didn’t want to get in the car on the driver’s side because 1) I have automatic running boards that would have knocked my gear to the ground (perish the thought) the minute I released the handle and 2) Everything was set up, ready to go on that side. I didn’t want to mess with it.

Buns firmly in the seat, remote shutter control in hand, I was ready to go. I wasn’t sure where to look, so I looked everywhere! Up, down, in the mirror, away from the mirror, eyes closed for that pensive visage. It was a hilarious, hot mess.

BUT! I did get the look that I was going for. The top of my head is cut off, but all things considered, not bad for a first attempt.

I’ll be thumbing through other mags and such for more ideas for upcoming shoots. Now, I just need to find some more models. . .

IN: ON: March 4, 2013 TAGS: photography, photos, pinterest BY: Hilary

photography projects & DIY

Black and White Wednesday: NYC Edition

It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been back from NYC and I’m still reveling. In the course of four days, we accomplished quite a bit, but aside from the quality time, sans bébé’s, with the hubs. The highlight for me would have to be the first day in the city.

Friday, the hubs and I took the train up to NYC from Union Station. Not a bad way to go. A few stops along the way, but there was Wi-Fi and in 3 hours, we were in the Big Apple. We hit the streets with hardly a break. After dropping out bags at the hotel, we trotted across the street for breakfast at a corner coffee shop. After carb-loading on eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns as we sat knee to knee and elbow to elbow with other diners, we bellied over to the subway.

Although I grew up in NJ, literally a stone’s throw from NYC, I have visited the latter more often as an adult. My first experience with the NYC subway was back in 1995 when my brother took me and several of my girlfriends into the city for lunch. This was when the subways were disgusting petri dishes full of all kinds of human detritus. Graffiti, panhandlers, everything that made the subway fearsome and unappealing was at it’s peak right then. Add to the fact that in my pea brain, the whole subway system rendered me dyslexic with its barrage of numbers, letters, and primary colored geometric shapes, I was paranoid that I would never make it to where I wanted to go, let alone where I had started from. I couldn’t wrap my head around uptown and downtown and why I needed to catch the 6 on the NW corner instead of the SW corner in order to go where it was I was going.

(image)

I’d much rather take a cab. Cabs, however add up. As my visits to NYC increased in my adulthood, I was more comfortable grabbing the subway with someone else, someone who knew EXACTLY where we were going. Fast forward to this last trip with our daily itinerary that had us criss-crossing all over the island of Manhattan. There was no way I could cab it up. Add to the fact that on one of the days, the hubs was going to be out of pocket for work related reasons. I decided to get empowered; I studied the subway system before leaving (yes, I’m a dork) and plotted how to get from A to B to C to A to D. Then I saved it to my phone.

I showed the hubs who just shook his head and showed me the subway app. Talk about a game changer! Plug in starting station and your desired arrival station, it tells you how to get there, the shortest route, and what transfers to make. Cue the Hallelujah chorus!

By the end of the trip, I was riding the subway like I’d been doing it for years. I had my metro card ready to swipe, my ear buds in my ears, and I navigated those tunnels with more confidence than I felt. Overall, my biggest fear had been getting mugged or accosted in some way, in addition to getting lost. Although I was a tourist, I didn’t want to look like an easy mark with a map I couldn’t fold or a look on my face that said, “Yes, I’m from the suburbs!” What I discovered is, even if you don’t know where you’re going, walk with purposeful confidence like you do. Then duck into a Starbucks (because there is one on EVERY.SINGLE.CORNER and pull out our your phone to figure it out.

Tribeca

I ventured down to SoHo and Tribeca on Saturday morning, on my own. . .on the subway! It was exhilarating and empowering. And it freaked my parents out when I told them about it. My dad kept telling me I have to be careful about people pushing people onto the subway tracks. I reminded him that I was hugging the wall like it was a long lost lover. My mom gets a little . . .flatulent, shall we say. . .when she gets nervous, so the duration of the call was peppered with bursts of agitated wind followed with, “Oh!” and “Oh, dear!” and “You’re making your mother upset!” I promised them that after I had finished my trip to Tribeca, I met up with the hubs and we traveled together after that. Poor Mom. She had to hang up because we couldn’t hear Dad over her. . .distress.

The Met

We went to check out the Matisse exhibit at the Met, both of which were unbelievable. You would have to visit the museum every day for at least an hour for a year before you could see all it has to offer. We had to cross through several stunning galleries of Greek art and African Art before we found the Matisse exhibit and it was excruciating to have to power through at that fast a clip. Every few few, something else caught my eye (hello, Faberge eggs!) or the hubs would pull up short to take a peek at something else (Egyptian exhibit complete with a walkable replica of a royal tomb).

As for Matisse, I had know idea how prolific an artist he had been. There were at least five large separate rooms in the exhibition hall whose walls were adorned with his works. And I’m not just talking two 11x14s on each wall. There were portraits, sketches, stills of fruits, and of views from seaside hotel rooms. I’m hardly doing it justice; it was just so amazing. I had been familiar with Matisse and some of the other artists of his generation, but yet, there was not one piece that the hubs and I could identify as his signature work. Van Gogh is easily recognized by sunflowers or Starry Night. Klimt has The Kiss. Gauguin has his Tahitian women. Can’t come up with anything from Matisse (me, personally that is), but there are now pieces that I will associate with the artist from here on out.

After the Met, I persuaded the hubs to take a walk with me to Madison Avenue. There was a little shop that I wanted to visit.

Need I say more?

If you know me, you know I have been trying to get my feet in a pair of these red bottom shoes for about four years now. It all started on Labor Day week-end about three years ago. The hubs and I went to NYC for a week-end. I had my first photo product photo shoot in Harlem, we caught up with friends, strolled through Central Park and went to Bergdorf’s. I knew exactly the shoe I wanted, but sadly Bergdorf didn’t have it in my size. Why I just didn’t go right to the source to begin with escapes me, but no matter. The clerk at BG directed us up to Madison Avenue. Too bad for me, the shop was closed for the season. It was Labor Day week-end, after all, but c’mon! I had shoes to buy and a hub that was willing to crack open his wallet that very day!

So, I went home empty handed, but with a resolve to get myself a pair of red-soled shoes. And I began to save. For three years, I socked away a piece of whatever funds came my way. Once I’d reached my goal in the spring of 2012, I dialed up my girls to plan a week-end away in NYC where we were all going to buy a pair of shoes. The plan was Columbus Day week-end. The trip was in the works and the shoes were in sight. Sure, I could have gone to Saks or Nordstrom and bought a pair, but I was in it for the experience!

Then, September 7, 2012 happened. You know, the night I jacked-up my leg tripping over a trash bag that had broken glass in it. Just the usual on a Friday at 7:30 in the evening, the night before my birthday and my 5 year old’s birthday party at our house. No biggie.

The last five months have found me getting my Lindsay Wagner on, although I’m not bionic, I am feeling very good about where my mobility is at this point. As soon as I could squish my foot into a regular shoe, my resolve to get those CL’s was stronger than ever. So I decided, I would just go and get them myself. And I told the hubs, “Look. I’ve been saving. I want the shoes and I’m going to NYC for the week-end. I’d love it you would come with me, but if you can’t, I’ll see you when I get back.”

It was that serious.

Fast forward to two weeks ago and me and the hubs being buzzed into the store. It was like being on the inside of a genie bottle. Red plush carpet. Round padded ottoman. Shoes lining the walls, hiding out in recessed nooks, in repose on shelves.

not my best work, but i was trying not to geek out.

I couldn’t get my shoes off fast enough. The store isn’t that large, mind you, but there were a crap ton of women in there, all of which had one regular shoe on one foot and on red bottomed shoe on the other foot. We found some free space on a chaise with leopard print pillows and waited for me to flag down a clerk.

I had initially gone in for a pair of Bianca’s in nude, but recently decided black patent leather would be more practical. When I finally got the clerk to help me out, she brought out Bianca, Rolando, Pigalle and the Simple Pump. Decisions, decisions.

Bianca, Pigalle, Rolando and Simple Pump

Two women across the way from me were in deep discussion about the relative comfort of the pointy toe box.

Nude Heels: I really like these, but my toes are all bunched up.
Leopard Wedges: Oh, I have those! My toes go numb after about five minutes, but I love them. They’re so cute!
Clerk: Look, these shoes aren’t meant to be comfortable. Women end up getting a larger size thinking that the toe box is going to give them more room, but in fact, it creates more room in the back of the shoe, so that your heel slips and you’ll walk out of the shoe and fall on your face.
Hubs: Seriously? Are you for real with this?

Poor hubs! He was totes out of his element and completely amazed at the number of shoes being tried on, exchanged and purchased. His analytical mind was reeling; he has to admit that CL’s branding and marketing is unparalleled.

By the time I got to the Simple Pump, I was beginning to think that I was going to go home empty handed yet again. The Bianca’s were too pointy. My toes were not having it. The Pigalle was the same thing, and Rolando didn’t come in my size. There was no way that I was going to drop over $800 on shoes that made my eyes water just walking around in a circle. Plus the fact that I was taking these little mincing steps? Yeah, that wasn’t going to work. When I finally put my foot in the Simple Pump, it was like putting on a pair of Isotoner slippers!

Remember when Ariel sings into the shell for Ursula the sea witch? Yeah, it was like that.

And there you have it. Victory is mine!

*le sigh*

And yes, I am wearing them while I type this. Only on the carpet, though.

SN: the hubs and I went out for an event yesterday evening. It was raining, and we skittered from the parking garage to the location, he saw that I was wearing a pair of patent leather pumps.

“Are those the shoes?”

“In the rain? You’re kidding right?” and I gave an eye roll so massive, Liz Lemon felt it.

IN: photography projects & DIY ON: February 27, 2013 TAGS: bw wednesday, feel good, me time, photo, photography, vacation, week-end BY: Hilary

Busy as a. . .

(image)

I’ve got a bunch of creative things cooking, metaphorically and really and truly. Per usual, I am here, there and everywhere with balls in the air, irons in the fire, running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off and every other analogy for being insanely busy.

Ironically, the blog is part of this swell of creativity I find myself in and yet, I have yet to find time to write about what’s been going on. It’s not top secret, I just am taking on a few more things in addition to everything else so that this little piece of the blogosphere gets a make-over. I feel so bad! I haven’t even told you about my trip to NYC last week. Four of the best days, ever.

Times Square
Rent the Runway
Harlem
SoHo
Tirbeca Beauty Spa
Tamarind
Century 21
The Plaza
Todd English Food Hall
The Met
Matisse
Madison Avenue.
Subways (by myself, like I was born doing it!)

Those are just the highlights, but really, I can sum it up in just one word:

Louboutin.

Victory is mine! And it’s a great story, too. Just bear with me as I get my act together to bring you a better blog, more stories, more recipes, more things Hilary with One L!

IN: ON: February 25, 2013 TAGS: blogging, life, sharing BY: Hilary

February 14th, 2013

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Last year, I over-achieved with Mo’s card to the exclusion of any Valentine cards for Co. Oops! This year, I was way ahead of the game. I had found this cute idea on Pinterest (obvi) shortly after I had wrapped up Mo’s lollipop filled Valentine. When February rolled around, I remembered that I had pinned this cute idea and got to work.

Basically, you take a bunch of funny pictures of your little person. Using a program like Picasa or Google +, you can collage the pictures and add text. Print out the collages on regular paper )or get extra fancy and print them on cardstock) and affix them to Hershey Kiss filled baggies. Ta-Da! Done and done. I think the most time consuming part was the picture taking and the collage making. I have yet to get on Pinterest today and see what catches my eye for next year. Something tells me, I might be hitting up the drugstore for a box of perforated [insert Cartoon Character of Choice] Valentines.

Yeah, right. . .we all know I’m going to be at tit again. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine sent me the following entry from The Bloggess about Valentine’s Day Under-Achiveing, which simply re-enforced my Type A commitment to this foolishness. I’ll leave you with the link here. Happy Love Day, y’all!

IN: ON: February 14, 2013 TAGS: holidays, photography, photos, pinterest BY: Hilary

photography projects & DIY

Black and White Wednesday: Fashion Edition

In keeping with the fashion and wardrobe topic of late, I thought this Wednesday, I would cull through my “Dress Me Up” Pinterest board and see what things I’d like to put on my bod. Oh, and I recently read in one of my piles of papers that if you choose to keep it simple with a black and white palette when it comes to clothes, wear the white on the bottom instead of the black, otherwise, you could get mistaken for waitstaff at an upscale restaurant. However, if you must wear your black on the bottom as it minimizes and does al kinds of forgiving things to the lower half, add a pop of color or a statement pieces necklace to draw the eye up towards your lovely face. Hey, look at that that! I’m retaining information; now for the application! Stay tuned.