Can Cleaning Really Be Fun?

I. Have. Always. Hated. Cleaning.  Always.  With a daughter, it is now a must-do-more-often chore.

As I was vacuuming the other day, I started getting the “omg I hate this crap” feeling.  I didn’t want to pitch a fit because my boyfriend is good about cleaning and this actually helps get it done.  Then it dawned on me that if I approach this as exercise, it can make it a bit more fun.  With a new baby, finding time to exercise is a bit more challenging anyhow.  So kill two birds with one stone.

I flexed my arm muscles as I pushed the heavy contraption across the floor.  I did squats as I lifted things to vacuum under.

I put all of the laundry in a few baskets to make sure they would give me a challenge to carry down to the laundry room.  Carefully, I took them down each step and squeezed my gluteus maximus as I went.

As I wipe the kitchen counter or cook, I do one legged squats.  As I carry baby in the Bjorn, I do more squats because I have the beauty of an extra weight.

As I mop, I focus on keeping my back straight, alternate my arms, and make sure I bend with my knees when needed.

Who knew my love of yoga and working my body could bleed over into the chore I loathe the most?

Call me crazy, but I always try to find a positive outlook in things, especially things that I’ve always despised.  I haven’t always been that way, but that’s another story.

Get your cleaning on today folks!


Phoenix Couldn’t Have a Better Father

I took this pic the other morning when I was heading out.  My two loves comfortably sleeping.  Clearly Phoenix feels secure.  And that’s all I want for her, always.

Secure as an infant.

Secure as a toddler.

Secure as a preteen.

Secure as a teen.

Secure as a young adult.

Secure as an adult.

You get the idea.

He even makes me feel secure when I am on the verge of crazy.  Ladies, don’t settle for less than a partner who will bring you back down to reality.

Phoenix and I love you daddy!  xoxo

Prenatal vitamin (for the breast milk of course, no more babies yet)


cinnamon raisin toast with peanut butter

two eggs


It’s my daily regimen and it’s so damn good.

I Wish Everyone…

To be peaceful and at ease

To be healthy, happy, and safe.

Nearly 1800 people showed up for OM Street in West Hartford, CT yesterday.  I was one.  The feeling was glorious.  It was the perfect mix of the sun’s warmth and a cool breeze to start the day.

Such a large group meditation and workout provides such a wonderful feeling in my soul.  I love testing my body’s strength as well as my strength to ignore chaos.  We heard cars, folks walking by on their cell phones, and sirens.  We were able to tune them out and tune into ourselves.

Being just about two months post partum (not sure if you can spot my breast pads in the pic lol), I still am rebuilding my strength.  When I get through a full practice with only one pose difficulty, it motivates me to continue practicing.  It shows me that I AM building up my strength again.  We stayed in the goddess pose for quite sometime.  Holy thighs!  My right quad just ain’t up to par yet since ACL surgery last year.

So to all you readers, I wish you to be peaceful and at ease, to be healthy, happy, and safe, ALWAYS.

Love Hate Relationships Come in All Sorts

I’ve struggled with my hair since birth I think.  It’s thick.  It’s curly.  It’s a pain in my ass!  My mom kept it short until I was in the fifth grade and could “handle” it myself.  Now I know why.

I don’t have the “shower and walk out the door” ability.  I need product.  I need appliances.  I need assistance.  Creams, gels, mousses, blow dryers, straighteners.  The whole nine yards.  (My cousin introduced me to a flat iron when I was in my late teens.  Yes.  I had no clue they existed.)  This would all be fine and dandy if I even remotely enjoyed doing my hair.  I don’t.

I wore it in ponytails for years.  Sometimes so tight that my eyes would squint.  Occasionally, I’d throw mousse in it and let the curls hang out.  But that got hot in the summers.  I longed to be able to just get up and go in the mornings with none of the fuss.  I envied boys.

About four years ago, while living in the big city (NYC that is), I decided to chop it all off.  I felt like, if anywhere, NYC was the place to take a plunge like that.  I was introduced to a shop in Harlem that rocked it out EVERY SINGLE TIME I got a haircut.  I finally had the “shower and walk out the door” style I dreamed about!

Because I like to challenge things, I’ve decided to grow it out, again.  But this time, I googled how to.  I even printed out some paperwork so I have a concrete plan and motivation to get through the awkward stages.  PATIENCE is also needed.  However, now I know that I can chop it off again without being hesitant about the outcome.

My hair saga continues…



Let It All Out

Fuck.  Shit.  Damn it.  Motherfucker.  Asshole.  Motherfucker.  Damn it.  Shit.  Fuck.

We teach our kids not to say these.  But aren’t they refreshing?  When I stub my toe, “fudge” just doesn’t cut it.  When I’m annoyed, “rats” just doesn’t cut it.  When I’m pissed, “dang” just doesn’t cut it.

Get in the car or the shower, blast some Eminem, open the windows, and curse.  To me, there’s just nothing like it.  We all have situations that just blow.  Being super-dee-duper chipper all the damn time is just cray cray.

Let it all out.

Then return to your normal scheduled programming.  You can now love hard again.

Baby and Me Yoga

Prenatal yoga becomes postnatal yoga, with a side kick!  😉

Phoenix and I got our yoga on today.  Here I am doing wide legged forward fold, while she is doing shavasana.

Love my little yogi!  <3

Attacking Anxiety without Artificial Agents

Anxiety is real.  It consumes.  It darkens.  It hardens.

We all get worried at times.  But what happens when it’s so strong that it affects every other aspect of your life?  Anxiety happens.

You can’t breathe.  You can’t move.  You can’t be happy.  You want to close your eyes until it goes away.  But you have to go to work, you have to take care of your family, you have to take care of yourself.  The world doesn’t stop because you suffer from anxiety.  This makes the very problem snowball.  Where is the damn freeze button?!

I was prescribed Xanax for PMS.  It worked.  Then I noticed I started taking it more frequently.  Sometimes, just having the bottle in my purse calmed me down, which made me think how much do I really need it.  I didn’t want to depend on a pill.

I started reading self help books.  I started spending time with people who also wanted to focus on bettering themselves, physically and mentally.  I started doing things that made my body feel GOOD.  I changed what I was eating.  I started working out more.  Yoga became my best friend.  I started spending more time outside.  There is nothing like feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin.

If you suffer from anxiety, there is not one solution.  There are many.  Do what works for you, as long as you are not harming yourself or anyone else.  Talk about it.  It’s therapeutic.  Like anything else in life, start with one change.  Breathe.  And I don’t mean a normal breath.  Deep inhales and exhales.  Count to ten.  They work.  A morning mantra like “today will be a good day” will get you farther than you think.

Today, let’s all smile in the mirror and make a promise to ourselves that we will make our damnedest attempt to have a worry free day!

Is Being Honest that Bad?

I’ve always believed the cliche “honesty is the best policy.”  I mean, why sugar coat shit?  I love people who are the same with me.  It means there’s no gray area, no need to wonder what someone is feeling or thinking.

Then there’s the issue of respect.  Is it respectful to be completely honest?  Well, sure, why not?  We are not all put on this planet to have the same ideals.

Should I not be honest because you are “an elder?”  I just don’t think so.  Respect does not equal losing your voice.  Experience and age does give a person a lot to talk about.  I will listen to your stories all day and be genuinely interested.  Hey, I may even learn a thing or two and incorporate them into my life.  But, please, for the love of anything, don’t think your way is the ONLY WAY!

When my daughter is a teenager I may regret saying this, but I hope to hell she grows up being able to respectfully disagree with me.  I hope she learns that she can always speak what she is feeling, even if it’s not something I understand or agree with.

After all, if we can’t lead a life by OUR choices and beliefs, what’s the damn point?